Joseph and I bolted from VCU around 1 p.m. yesterday after my intern said that my MRI was scheduled for 3:30 but ... "no guarantees." My RN - down-to earth, ever-practical Yvette - actually rolled her eyes. A firm, "guaranteed" outpatient schedule seems to be the practical, efficient and respectful (!) way to go. I will make the appointment tomorrow.
So ... we rolled east down I-64 once more where I repeated what seems to be an old post-chemotheraphy, home-again tradition: an immediate couch crash and a deep, long slumbering nap (Baxter in the crook of my knees, Sadie above my hip). Other than a general fatigue, some bloating, and edema, physically I am feeling fine. In fact, Joe and I were discussing how my reactions and recovery to the chemo have gotten better with the passage of time. After rounds #1 and #2, I was OUT with exhaustion. Now, I am functional -- well enough yesterday to enjoy walking the hounds with Joe. That's our bellweather :)
But it's all about the sleep, yes? Last night was pure bliss of eight hour, open-window sleep! A weather front has brought a touch of autumn to our world and we threw open the windows to take full advantage. Soft winds, frog song, and insect calls were the soundtrack of our evening. Fresh air wafted across the bed. Absolute heaven. Life in the hospital is completely cocooned, devoid of natural sounds and air. Occasionally, I can hear the whistle of the trains passing near my hospital window but otherwise all non-hospital noises are absent from life on the floor. No sharp calls from blue jays, no cocky crow caws, no wind in the loblolly pines, no hum of cicadas. Nothing. Just the beep of alarms, the rumbling of carts, and the sound of footsteps in the hall. The smell and feel of fresh air is perhaps even a greater loss! The kids will attest to my craving for fresh air; they have literally often had to beg for the air conditioning to be switched on for the season. I LOVE open windows and gusts of non-conditioned air blowing through the house, fans spinning overhead, natural smells drifting in from the outdoors. In the hospital, of course all is hermetically sealed. Despite my much-appreciated sunshine-filled windows, I do mourn my loss of connection with the natural world in the hospital. Life seems on hold and apart. I'll take exposure to the natural environment any day. Now it's time to open the windows open and enjoy! It's going to be an amazing autumn day and I am determined to take full advantage.
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How can you stave off chemo brain? Well, four hours of sorting out and slogging through 2 inches of insurance and medical statements and I am coming up for air. Obviously, we met our "catastrophic" deductible many many MANY weeks ago; lymphoma treatment is extremely expensive. Thank goodness for insurance. My eyes glaze over when I see some of these fees, particularly the much lower "preferred insurance negotiated amount." The system is crazy. Even though our coverage continues to chug along, discrepancies exist between the insurance company's numbers, VCU's numbers, and our numbers. Have we paid what the insurance company thinks we have paid? Why are some bills still coming in when we are well beyond the point we should be getting any payment requests? Mysteries waiting to be figured out .... I have receipts and know what expenses we have actually paid out but sadly it does NOT match up - yet. Give me time, folks. I love a good challenge.... Football and medical files, a good match :)
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