2005-06-10
Chemo: One Down, Five to Go....
Hi, y'all!
Ever, like, feel "a li'l bit Brittany"? No way! Like, ME TOO!!!!!!
[remorphing into human being]
I spent Tuesday and Wednesday this week in Springfield, Illinois, with my sister. She was getting her first chemo treatment and I decided that I should be there to hold the bucket and mop her sweaty brow and do whatever other helpful sister-like post-chemo-treatment thing I could do for her, like try out her drugs to ensure she would know what to expect -- stuff like that. Because I'm selfless and just LIKE that, you know?
She was near-panic-attack frightened going in there -- everyone in my family would just as soon DIE than suffer the involuntary evacuation of our stomach contents via our esphogus and mouth, so naturally she focused on EVERY story she had EVER heard or read where someone got really nauseated or puked after chemo.
She was so keyed up, in fact, that they decided to give her a big old fat shot of Ativan, generic for Lorezpam, street for "pretty damn good buzz", and frankly, I don't understand why they don't give this to everyone for their first treatment. Hell, for ALL of them.
I have a very simple philosophy about medical procedures: if I have to wear a bad open-backed gown and/or have an IV for any purpose, then I have earned a nice buzz. Should be automatic payment. You know you can, you have it right there in your pocket, so just give it to me. Don't worry about me finding a ride home, I will deal with it. Now let's get going. [tap tap tap] Lookit my great veins!
My sister was very upset -- almost embarassed -- that she was being such a "weenie" and such a "bad patient" -- but in reality she was a trooper. A super trooper. A super duper trooper.
Okay, enough with that already.
She was good.
I told her there was absolutely NOTHING wrong with asking 3,000 questions, shredding your cuticles, and having your lips turn blue from fear, especially when this method gets you better drugs.
I do NOT mean to make light of it -- it was extremely scary, and I would do the exact same thing. In fact, I did, but in spite of my repeated queries, they would not give ME something to calm my nerves as well.
Me: Look. I can be so much more supportive of my sister if I have a nice tranquilizer/pain killer buzz. And maybe a doggy bag for later, too. mmmmmkay?
They didn't buy it. I would call them "stingy" or "rat bastards" or "fucking zealot rule followers", but I cannot critisize this group of people. They were incredible -- from the receptionist to the nurses to the doctor's assistant (a darling perky thing named Chrissy) to the doctor herself. I am not kidding -- if I ever need an oncologist and chemo I am moving in with my sister.
Thankfully, she had absolutely NO ill effects afterward as well -- praise BE to drugs. God, WE LOVE DRUGS. I am the drug addict expert in the family so I was able to dazzle her with my proficiency in drugese and she took my advice: "Take every fucking drug they give you as soon as it's okay to take it -- maybe even 15 minutes earler. And the Ativan? Yeah, take TWO of those, okay? Trust me on this. And give me two, too. Wait. Better give me three, because my tolerance is up."
I'm glad I went -- it was great to see her and I think I might even have been helpful to her -- and really. She will NEVER take all of those Ativan -- they gave her WAY too many.
An added bonus was that I got to visit Ursa, The Pot Bellied Monstrosity, Queen of the Roost, Her Piginess.
Yes, my sister has a pig. This picture was taken when she was actually kind of cute and manageable -- she is now 2x this size.
Jesus she is immense. And bossy. And loud. And a little scary. Pigs are hugely into hierarchy, so you have to establish right off the bat that you are Alpha pig -- or at least Alpha-minor-pig -- ensuring that she understands she is Beta-Pig no matter what. The way you do this is when she lunges at you and tries to remove a large quantity of thigh flesh, you smack her very very hard on the side of the face, OR you take your shoe and you put it right on her nose and you firmly but gently push her back.
You only have to do this once for her to figure out two things: (1) you are the senior VP to her director-level pigginess; and (2) you have access to banana bread and honey roasted peanuts, AND you have opposable thumbs, so (3) you are best served to be as cute and snorty as a pig can be to ensure liberal doling out of treats.
So, if I believed in God or anything remotely close to her, I would ask all of you to say a prayer for my sissy poo. Instead I will just ask you to have a beer and toast her good health.
She'll be done August 10th, and I intend to throw her a big ass Pig Roast and I'll invite every single one of you. Mark your calendars.
xquzme at sometime today