Friday, September 19, 2003

Friday. Wake, shave, yes, shave, and go in for day#5 of Chemo.

There is some stupid ass spam going around about Microsoft Security Updates. This is plugging up my email inbox. I try to clear it out asap. So ifyou get a "box full, message returned" please resend. I paid the $25 to get a larger Yahoo Mailbox. Now i have $25 more space worth of stupid spam. But try to clear it regular like.

I do not know why I get so irrationally hyped up over the needles, but I had a thought, long back, to an extremely traumatic, and very bonding experience with my dad. As a child I was short. Really short. Shortest kid in my class, shortest kid in my school, no growth spurt, something was definitely wrong.

The folks found an Endocrinologist in Dallas. This specialist studies possible errors in your life systems. Is something not right? and how to fix it. All I really remember is I got to go to Dallas on a school day, with my pop. I think I was about 7 or 8 years old. We went to a seedy looking office building, where they strapped me into a chair, and used REALLY long needles to take samples of blood, bone marrow, glands, oh my god it was horrible.

Then they gave me something to help clear out my system, so I puked, and pooped, and puked more. We had a lunch break, pop took me to Burger King, let me get the full whopper King deal, or whatever it was back then, and I clearly remember spraying an entire giant orange soda pop out my nose and all over the bathroom.

The poor man knew I would do it, but wanted to try to give me some lunch. Afterwards, back to the doctors, and back in the chair for more samples. The next strong memory was me, screaming, at the top of my lungs "Daddy, Daddy, don't let the mean man hurt me anymore"

Then it was kinda hazy, more vomit, more needles, I think I have tried to block this out of my mind. But can you imagine the torture of a scientific man, hoping to help his first born son, having to listen to such emotional cries?

At the end of the day, we left, with about 1/3 the samples collected. Pop drove me to Farrel's Ice Cream Palace, where I got to eat the biggest goddamn Ice Cream Sunday I wanted. We talked, and he told me he loved me, no matter how tall I was. But if we wanted to continue this research, we would have to come back for more.

On the way to the car, I told him I loved him, then puked all over the inside of his new car.

We did not go back. Who knows, if we had? I might be 6'2" tall with long blonde hair, and muscles like Arnold. But I am pretty okay with who I am, and I love my pop. And we tried. Our next trip to Dallas was just him and me, and we went to Six Flags over Texas. The hell with the needle doctor. We had fun, and he dispensed fatherly advice that sticks with me today. "Son, never pass up a chance to use a clean bathroom"

So this morning, sitting in the chair, Mary the Oncology nurse was putting the IV into my left arm. It is just a little prick. She is so gentle and caring. I hyperventilate, turn pale white, and almost pass out. I try to reassure her it is my needle anxiety, and nothing she is doing. Cindy, one of the other nurses was trying to distract me, with a 'look over here and smile" but when I looked over, she was inserting an IV into a patient's chest port. ARGGGG

Cool wet towel to my forehead. Atavan in, and I slowly calm down. With the sunlight behind Mary, I can almost see her halo.

Today it kind of mostly caught up to me. The anti-nausea drug helped last night, but I am feeling very tired. I do not want to read. I do not want to think. I just lay in the chair, and watch the bag of poision drip down the clear plastic tube, and into my arm. Between 9am and 2:30 pm, I got up to urinate 6 times. Each time, it smelled like puppy pee.

Lance Armstrong has his "race for the roses' TC foundation to help with research monies. I want to figure out how to build a foundation to provide nice things for nurses. If anyone out there has ANY thoughts on how to start a foundation, and how to raise money, and get it to nurses, for important things, as rewards, anything, please, give me a hint. These ladies help everyone who is sick. I need to find a way to give some sunshine back.

They order in sandwiches for lunch. I had a turkey with provalone, and some cranberry relish sauce. It tastes like cardboard, but I force it in, cause I know I need the food, and I know the anti-nausea will help keep it in me for a while.

Finally my last drips have dripped, and they remove the tape, the IV comes out, and I put pressure on the vein. If you press on it, hard, for about 2 minutes, it helps prevent bruising. My next appointment is September 22nd, to check blood cell counts. I say goodbyes, and thank you's.

Drive home slowly. I am now facing the next 2 weeks of recovery, where my body has to deal with all the chemistry in it. My hair is supposed to thin. I am definitely nauseous. I am tired and out of energy, and when my eyes water, when tears roll down my face, they burn my skin. Dr. Scates says it is the chemo coming out, and I should wash it with water.

I have finished my first week of Chemotherapy.

My tears burn.


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