Posing for the camera!
Friday, June 22, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
It's a Wrap!
CHEMO CAN KISS IT!! (Thanks to Beth Rutherford for his fantastic photo of my own personal a**. Honest. This is mine. Really.
Last chemo session yesterday! All done with that crap. I still have six months of another infusion therapy (something every three-ish weeks), but it doesn't take all day and I don't get sick or anything. AND MY HAIR WILL GROW BACK!!
Reconstructive surgery is tentatively scheduled for the end of August. The good news is I'm going to have a great new set. The bad news is that I start on an anti-estrogen oral med in three weeks, so you may not be able to see the cha-chas for the beard. Oh, well. Hooters' parties will be announced.
Yesterday WAS a great day, all in all. Claire was my co-pilot and chemo buddy ALL DAY. We left the house at 7:30 and got home about a quarter to six. She also served as pack mule and gopher and did an outstanding job. I think she was also good luck -- the day went very smoothly, no untoward delays or anything. Chemo was running late but they usually are. But the orders were in and they were right and I got the nurse I like best.
How wonderful it was to have Claire with me, and I'm very grateful to have such a fabulous young woman as my part-time daughter. I always have considered myself lucky that her mother was so generous to share with me, and she continues to be a very bright star in my very full life. Her dad likes her, too.
And today of course I feel ok. A little tired but nothing dreadful yet. That's scheduled for Friday through Sunday, if things run true to form.
Thanks to all of my chemo buddies and cheerleaders for getting me this far. When I think about the possessions I treasure most, #1 on the list is the love of my family and friends.
More later!!
Monday, June 18, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
My friend Patricia came to visit!
We had a really good time. This photo was taken after Casey had snatched the bandanna off my head while I was wrestling on the floor with him. He was very proud of himself and wouldn't give it back to me. While I was upstairs finding another one for me, Chuck tied Casey's trophy around his neck. Then Trisha put one on so we'd all match.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Other People Are Stupid Over Their Dogs Too
My friend Greg Mader and his wife Arlene are goofy about Frances, their Rhodesian ridgeback. She simply would NOT stop peeing on the carpeting, so THEY REPLACED THE DOWNSTAIRS CARPETING WITH TILE, and even chose a special, more expensive grout that wouldn't show dog-pee stains. Frances has now taken to going upstairs to pee; and even though they have BOUGHT HER SPECIAL RUGS TO PEE ON, she continues to move them around and pee wherever she wants. Now they are considering REMODELING options that might keep Frances downstairs.
Therefore, I don't feel so bad about posting these photos of Casey. We took him and the camera down to the bayou to let him romp in the big post-rain puddles a couple of weeks ago. (Be sure and click on these so you can see them full size. I just love his face in these action shots.)
He played with a dog named Beau, and they had a terrific time. When we got back from the bayou, we took him out on the patio and gave him a bath. It was only after we'd finished that we realized we'd locked ourselves out. We had no shoes, no keys, no way to get out of the gate -- just a dog and some shampoo. We also had a rock, which Chuck used to break the kitchen window. Sigh.
Therefore, I don't feel so bad about posting these photos of Casey. We took him and the camera down to the bayou to let him romp in the big post-rain puddles a couple of weeks ago. (Be sure and click on these so you can see them full size. I just love his face in these action shots.)
He played with a dog named Beau, and they had a terrific time. When we got back from the bayou, we took him out on the patio and gave him a bath. It was only after we'd finished that we realized we'd locked ourselves out. We had no shoes, no keys, no way to get out of the gate -- just a dog and some shampoo. We also had a rock, which Chuck used to break the kitchen window. Sigh.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Pharmacology Roulette or, Three Days on Diuretics
Chemo #5 came and went on Thursday, May 24. I waited for the inevitable slump and it happened on schedule, the evening of day two following chemo. Unfortunately it hit when we were sitting at Cafe Express Saturday evening with Linda and Terrell after having seen Avenue Montaigne. A darling movie it was, but I was longing to get horizontal all of a sudden and said grumpily, "We have to go walk the dog."
So, we scrambled out of our booth and T&L took us home. I headed to bed and Chuck took Casey out.
I felt like hell, predictably, on Sunday, and on Monday, too, the Memorial Day holiday. But late that evening, I knew I would start to feel better. I didn't. At all.
Tuesday morning was awwwwwwfullll. Previous chemos hadn't felt like this. Lying down was exhausting, and I couldn't stand up for more than a few minutes. Sitting was no help. I was supposed to be back at work, but I was too tired to cry. I even threw up once, and I was really depressed and worried that I was having chemo symptoms from hell.
Then I called the nurses, because Chuck had pointed out that the difference between this chemo and the last one was the diuretic I'd been put on by Dr. Fighter Pilot. I had complained mightily about my puffy feet and ankles and the astonishing weight gain over the previous couple of weeks, so he wrote a scrip for the diuretic. I had started taking it on Friday night.
The good news was that nearly 9 lbs had fallen off of me, but I still felt like I was going to have to get better in order to die.
Long story short: the diuretic had been "parting the Red Sea" strength and had sucked all of the potassium out of me. My blood urea nitrogen levels were elevated, which is what happens when your kidneys aren't working right. Man. That was nasty.
I stopped taking the diuretic and got better in 24 hours. Made it to work for part of the day Friday and was pretty ok by Saturday afternoon.
So, make a note. If you get prescribed a diuretic and you suddenly start feeling like you're having the worst flu ever, CALL THE DOCTOR.
So, we scrambled out of our booth and T&L took us home. I headed to bed and Chuck took Casey out.
I felt like hell, predictably, on Sunday, and on Monday, too, the Memorial Day holiday. But late that evening, I knew I would start to feel better. I didn't. At all.
Tuesday morning was awwwwwwfullll. Previous chemos hadn't felt like this. Lying down was exhausting, and I couldn't stand up for more than a few minutes. Sitting was no help. I was supposed to be back at work, but I was too tired to cry. I even threw up once, and I was really depressed and worried that I was having chemo symptoms from hell.
Then I called the nurses, because Chuck had pointed out that the difference between this chemo and the last one was the diuretic I'd been put on by Dr. Fighter Pilot. I had complained mightily about my puffy feet and ankles and the astonishing weight gain over the previous couple of weeks, so he wrote a scrip for the diuretic. I had started taking it on Friday night.
The good news was that nearly 9 lbs had fallen off of me, but I still felt like I was going to have to get better in order to die.
Long story short: the diuretic had been "parting the Red Sea" strength and had sucked all of the potassium out of me. My blood urea nitrogen levels were elevated, which is what happens when your kidneys aren't working right. Man. That was nasty.
I stopped taking the diuretic and got better in 24 hours. Made it to work for part of the day Friday and was pretty ok by Saturday afternoon.
So, make a note. If you get prescribed a diuretic and you suddenly start feeling like you're having the worst flu ever, CALL THE DOCTOR.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Five down. One to go.
Hello, all. I finished my fifth chemo last night about 8 pm. Only one more, scheduled for June 19th, the Tuesday after Ann's and Mark's wedding. Dr. Fighter Pilot (Valero) said he really didn't like moving dates like that; I pointed out to him that we'd done it before, when he'd had jury duty. He said O.
Yesterday's schedule was done by a person that MD Anderson obviously hired from the airlines. Blood work at 7. Heart scan at 8. Heart scan takes a while, but I had 45 minutes before the third appointment, which should have been enough, but of course the heart scan machine had a broken heart or something. So I had to go climb onto another one and was running behind by the time they were through. I raced to the third appointment. Valero was running only about an hour late. I was out of there by 11:30. My next appointment -- the chemo -- was scheduled for 5 PM!!
Of course all beds are booked all day long. I went on up to infusion and asked to be put on standby. I got in at 4:15. By then my blood pressure was reading a little high (!), so we had to find me a blood pressure med before we could start infusing. I called Chuck at 7:30, and he and Casey picked me up just before 8 pm. Not so bad.
Honestly there must be 50 beds in that unit and they were ALL full, all day. Folks are dying to get in there. ahee. Sorry.
I do sometimes feel like kind of a fraud because I'm not sick, exactly. So many of those people look just awful and you know they feel like hell, too. I'm just annoyed and retaining fluid.
We're coming up to the holiday weekend, and I'll be down and whining by Sunday morning but hopefully bouncing back by Tuesday. Busy days ahead.
Hope all are well. We are fine. Soon there will be hair!!
Yesterday's schedule was done by a person that MD Anderson obviously hired from the airlines. Blood work at 7. Heart scan at 8. Heart scan takes a while, but I had 45 minutes before the third appointment, which should have been enough, but of course the heart scan machine had a broken heart or something. So I had to go climb onto another one and was running behind by the time they were through. I raced to the third appointment. Valero was running only about an hour late. I was out of there by 11:30. My next appointment -- the chemo -- was scheduled for 5 PM!!
Of course all beds are booked all day long. I went on up to infusion and asked to be put on standby. I got in at 4:15. By then my blood pressure was reading a little high (!), so we had to find me a blood pressure med before we could start infusing. I called Chuck at 7:30, and he and Casey picked me up just before 8 pm. Not so bad.
Honestly there must be 50 beds in that unit and they were ALL full, all day. Folks are dying to get in there. ahee. Sorry.
I do sometimes feel like kind of a fraud because I'm not sick, exactly. So many of those people look just awful and you know they feel like hell, too. I'm just annoyed and retaining fluid.
We're coming up to the holiday weekend, and I'll be down and whining by Sunday morning but hopefully bouncing back by Tuesday. Busy days ahead.
Hope all are well. We are fine. Soon there will be hair!!
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Ok. Really. Do I have to help the cause of medical science too?
I am planning to back out of the study I said I'd be a part of. Why? Well, because I'm a bad and selfish person. Also, if the study is as loopy as the steps and missteps I've witnessed to get into the damned thing, they'll probably kill me. So here's how it went.
When I first met with the oncologist Dr. Valero back in February, he asked me if I would be part of a study about bone health and cancer drugs and all that. He said it would be a heckuva deal. I'd be put on one or another clinical trial drugs and I wouldn't have to pay for my Actonel the whole time. That appealed to me. Free meds! I says ok, and he says someone will contact me.
Someone called me at work and then mailed me a form. I read the form and called her and asked if she wanted me to mail it back. She said no, that they'd meet with me the next time I was in. So, I stopped taking the Actonel thinking that that drug would be given when I had chemo. But Dr. V didn't mention it at my chemo appointment, and honestly I was so nervous about my first chemo I had forgotten to ask.
When the second chemo came up, three weeks later, I mentioned to Dr. V that I thought I was supposed to be part of a study, and he said, "Yes, they will contact you." But no one did. DITTO at the third appointment.
When I got my appointment schedule in the mail for the fourth chemo, there was a visit to a dental oncologist scheduled for mid-morning. When I got into see Valero, I asked, "Why am I going to a dentist?" He replied, "The study people should have explained that to you," and he went ahead to explain that they'd be checking my teeth to make certain that my teeth-bones (whatever) were in good shape for one of the protocols I'd be on. I said I hadn't heard from anyone and he said he'd find her.
Then a nice person named Kimberly came in and had me sign a bunch of papers. She said I'd be in one of three protocols -- two drugs are administered by mouth, one by infusion. I said fine. I figured if I drew infusion, I'm already having that done every three weeks anyway.
THEN, I get through chemo 4 last Thursday. And then YESTERDAY, when I'm home feeling like someone should have gotten the license number on the garbage truck that ran me down, Kimberly calls to tell me that I've been randomized to the infusion group and that I have an 8 am this morning. I said, "Uh, no. I don't think I'm going to feel like dragging myself in for yet another infusion, given that I'm five days out from chemo. Also, I'm not supposed to get stuck with a needle, even a clean one, this close to chemo, am I?" (I mean, it's in ALL the paperwork. It's why I can't get a pedicure, for God's sake.)
Kimberly says, "Oh, that's ok for this." By which she means, WE can stick you and risk your getting an infection for our study, but your toes have to look like they've been done by a three year old for six months. So I say I can't make it, and she says brightly, "Fine. We can postpone it. I can set you up for Friday." I said I'd call her back.
And when I do call her back, I'm going to tell her I'm not playing unless the infusions can take place during the chemo. First, a "30 minute infusion at MD Anderson" involves driving there, remembering to apply the lidocaine to that the needle doesn't hurt, paying $11 to park the car, having them weigh me, applying more lidocaine, taking my blood pressure, making "oooo" noises about the blood pressure, putting me in a bed, and dripping me with stuff. Oh yes. And remember that NO ONE IS EVER ON TIME at MD Anderson. Each of my chemo sessions has been at least an hour late, if not more. My 10 am appt with the dental oncologist the other day happened at NOON. I'm thinking half a day each time. Good grief. I got a job, people.
So, whattya think? Am I justified here in denying them my body and my time for research? I need an amen.
When I first met with the oncologist Dr. Valero back in February, he asked me if I would be part of a study about bone health and cancer drugs and all that. He said it would be a heckuva deal. I'd be put on one or another clinical trial drugs and I wouldn't have to pay for my Actonel the whole time. That appealed to me. Free meds! I says ok, and he says someone will contact me.
Someone called me at work and then mailed me a form. I read the form and called her and asked if she wanted me to mail it back. She said no, that they'd meet with me the next time I was in. So, I stopped taking the Actonel thinking that that drug would be given when I had chemo. But Dr. V didn't mention it at my chemo appointment, and honestly I was so nervous about my first chemo I had forgotten to ask.
When the second chemo came up, three weeks later, I mentioned to Dr. V that I thought I was supposed to be part of a study, and he said, "Yes, they will contact you." But no one did. DITTO at the third appointment.
When I got my appointment schedule in the mail for the fourth chemo, there was a visit to a dental oncologist scheduled for mid-morning. When I got into see Valero, I asked, "Why am I going to a dentist?" He replied, "The study people should have explained that to you," and he went ahead to explain that they'd be checking my teeth to make certain that my teeth-bones (whatever) were in good shape for one of the protocols I'd be on. I said I hadn't heard from anyone and he said he'd find her.
Then a nice person named Kimberly came in and had me sign a bunch of papers. She said I'd be in one of three protocols -- two drugs are administered by mouth, one by infusion. I said fine. I figured if I drew infusion, I'm already having that done every three weeks anyway.
THEN, I get through chemo 4 last Thursday. And then YESTERDAY, when I'm home feeling like someone should have gotten the license number on the garbage truck that ran me down, Kimberly calls to tell me that I've been randomized to the infusion group and that I have an 8 am this morning. I said, "Uh, no. I don't think I'm going to feel like dragging myself in for yet another infusion, given that I'm five days out from chemo. Also, I'm not supposed to get stuck with a needle, even a clean one, this close to chemo, am I?" (I mean, it's in ALL the paperwork. It's why I can't get a pedicure, for God's sake.)
Kimberly says, "Oh, that's ok for this." By which she means, WE can stick you and risk your getting an infection for our study, but your toes have to look like they've been done by a three year old for six months. So I say I can't make it, and she says brightly, "Fine. We can postpone it. I can set you up for Friday." I said I'd call her back.
And when I do call her back, I'm going to tell her I'm not playing unless the infusions can take place during the chemo. First, a "30 minute infusion at MD Anderson" involves driving there, remembering to apply the lidocaine to that the needle doesn't hurt, paying $11 to park the car, having them weigh me, applying more lidocaine, taking my blood pressure, making "oooo" noises about the blood pressure, putting me in a bed, and dripping me with stuff. Oh yes. And remember that NO ONE IS EVER ON TIME at MD Anderson. Each of my chemo sessions has been at least an hour late, if not more. My 10 am appt with the dental oncologist the other day happened at NOON. I'm thinking half a day each time. Good grief. I got a job, people.
So, whattya think? Am I justified here in denying them my body and my time for research? I need an amen.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Exotic patient complement at MD Anderson
They say people from all over the world come to MD Anderson. However, a large complement seems to be from Gulf Coast and deep East Texas, and many of those seem to be unclear on the concept of "indoor voice." There is a big-voiced man sitting too close to me (about half the length of a football field away) who makes Larry Murphy and David Ross sound positively upper class British. And he's chatty.
He bought him a 72 Chevelle and paid only 8 hunnert dollers for it, cause the woe-man who owned that thang had the same bank as him and we just done the deal right thar.
The best car I ever bought for her (her is sitting next to him) was a Ford EEEE-lite. No, wait. They bought that off the showroom floor but she didn't lak it so we tuk it back and got a two yar old Mercurry off the used lot there at Lone Store Ford (say MERcurry out loud to approximate the pronunciation) that had been owned by a doctor and that thang drove perfect for yars. 38 malls to the gallon.
He just said they might be interested in a Hyundai, once they get back home, They're real popaler and they look nass, those hon-dees.
Other interesting sightings: There was a woman in full chador (is the the right word?) in the breast center waiting room earlier. She was quiet. Draped completely in black from head to foot, she revealed only her dark pretty eyes. I was thinking, "I bet it's easy for YOU to get dressed in the morning . . ."
Chemo #4 starts about 1 pm or whenever I get over there. Right now I'm waiting in dental oncology, with Mr. Mercurry Chevelle and "her." This appt is to get me started in some kind of study. Whatever. Pat Caver is bringing lunch and magazines for the duration.
He bought him a 72 Chevelle and paid only 8 hunnert dollers for it, cause the woe-man who owned that thang had the same bank as him and we just done the deal right thar.
The best car I ever bought for her (her is sitting next to him) was a Ford EEEE-lite. No, wait. They bought that off the showroom floor but she didn't lak it so we tuk it back and got a two yar old Mercurry off the used lot there at Lone Store Ford (say MERcurry out loud to approximate the pronunciation) that had been owned by a doctor and that thang drove perfect for yars. 38 malls to the gallon.
He just said they might be interested in a Hyundai, once they get back home, They're real popaler and they look nass, those hon-dees.
Other interesting sightings: There was a woman in full chador (is the the right word?) in the breast center waiting room earlier. She was quiet. Draped completely in black from head to foot, she revealed only her dark pretty eyes. I was thinking, "I bet it's easy for YOU to get dressed in the morning . . ."
Chemo #4 starts about 1 pm or whenever I get over there. Right now I'm waiting in dental oncology, with Mr. Mercurry Chevelle and "her." This appt is to get me started in some kind of study. Whatever. Pat Caver is bringing lunch and magazines for the duration.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Possibly more effective than brandishing a firearm
The guy in the Taurus who cut me off on 59 yesterday seemed really amused watching me rant at his face in his rear view mirror. It was clear he could understand my mouthing the words "dumb-ass" (among others) and had full view of all my graphic gestures, but when I could bear his smarmy grin no longer, I snatched my wig off and threw it at my own windshield while calling him even more hideous names.
His smile disappeared at once. His face went pale.
He exited the freeway, most likely to head to the nearest confessional. "Bless me, Father, for I have changed lanes without signalling, and caused some lady in a Honda to tear her hair off."
We can only hope.
Amen.
His smile disappeared at once. His face went pale.
He exited the freeway, most likely to head to the nearest confessional. "Bless me, Father, for I have changed lanes without signalling, and caused some lady in a Honda to tear her hair off."
We can only hope.
Amen.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Springtime in Southeast Texas
We're having a beautiful April here in Houston, which means it isn't stinking hot yet. Here's our blooming patio roof, very bower-like. It was cool enough last night to open windows (if you have THREE fans on you, which I do, that is, but I am a little warm these days).
All is well with me. I seem to have recovered more quickly from Chemo #3 than from the two previous. Perhaps I'm becoming accustomed to hideous chemicals being dripped into my body, but after staying very still for a few days, I was operating at nearly normal speed.
Work is good. We have ANOTHER new CEO, and we in Corporate Communications are pretty excited about this one because he seems to understand and appreciate what we do. His arrival also has lightened my mood and dampened some of my paranoia. We'll see how it goes.
Chuck and Casey are fine. They had a big day yesterday down on the bayou throwing sticks and jumping into puddles (Chuck was the thrower and Casey was the puddle-jumper-innner). After all of the activity, Casey was one mellow dog last night. He does need a tug-o'-war fix about 9 am every night, and he can easily be enticed into a game of keep-away on the staircase before bedtime. Yes, we are silly over this dog.
Lovely weekend coming, and we're looking forward to it. My nephew Jerry Corder is in town for Offshore Technology Conference, so we're hoping to link up with him this evening for dinner. He was a beautiful baby and is a nice grown-up, so it will be fun.
Hope all of you are well.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
I wish I'd thought of this
Check out The Onion's story on how having a friend with cancer is good for your health. It's a SCREAM.
http://www.theonion.com/content/video/a_friends_cancer_good_for_your?utm_source=videomrss
http://www.theonion.com/content/video/a_friends_cancer_good_for_your?utm_source=videomrss
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
This dog is smiling because he just HEARD THE NEWS!
Chuck and I have thought, all along, that I had eight chemos total. We don't know why we thought that, except our notes show that the oncologist told us that. HOWEVER,I have only SIX!! So, as of last Wednesday, I'm HALFWAY THROUGH! Is that great or what? This means I can schedule the last one just after Ann Taylor's wedding and then I'm DONE with the big mess.
Of course there will be smaller hellishness to deal with, but the big chemo is over by mid June and I am a person again shortly thereafter!!!!! We can do a 65th for Chuck after all!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, April 13, 2007
Conversations Overheard in Waiting Room Yesterday
Here are excerpts of conversations I heard and simultaneously e-mailed to Amy yesterday while I was waiting FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF in the plastic surgeon's waiting room. The appointment was just to say hi. Took TWO HOURS to say hi to me. On the other hand, I collected these marvelous conversations, below.
I'm in the waiting room sitting next to Jed, Granny, and Jethro. They have strong opinions on medicine, Don Imus, and numerous other topics. As you might imagine, they can't figure why it is ok to make fun of old white guys, "and old white WOMEN," chimes in Granny, but not anyone else.
And surely no one in here is getting a facelift, they ponder. This place is just for serious surgeries. It is taking everything I've got not to tell them that I'm here to discuss my upcoming boob job.
Now they are talking about how easy it is to tell the front leg of the deer from its back leg, given that someone of their acquaintance actually has a deer leg caught in a screen door. Through the magic of cell phones, they are considering calling the acquaintance to advise her of which leg it might be, based on the description.
"Tell her that a rake is the best thing to move it with," says Jed. And Granny says, "Even if it's a hind leg, tell her she she doesn't need to save it."
And Jethro, who has apparently been charged with making the call, bursts out, "Heck! I want to see it before she gets rid of it!"
I pick up the conversation again when Jethro says he once went to Mexico and paid $25 for a hamburger. He doesn't remember what town it was in, but Granny remembers it was the same place where Elizabeth Taylor went with her eighth husband.
Speaking of food, they are concerned about the buffet being closed by the time they get back to their motel. They may have to go to Olive Garden again.
Jed is complaining right now how brief the anesthesia meeting was. "He didn't even tell me his name," grumbles Jed. "Well," says Granny, "did you get his business card?"
"I didn't want his business card. I didn't want to know him at all," snaps Jed, effectively ending that topic of conversation.
I tune back in when they are trying to remember the character who played "the warsherwoman" on some TV show who was always getting hit with a purse by some old guy who was trying to get a date with her.
"Was it Carol Burnett?"
"No, but the old guy was definitely Tim Conway."
"Maybe it was Saturday Night Live." [And right here let me add, parenthetically, if these overall-ed folks ever watched SNL, it was one of the seaons in which the show had totally jumped the shark.]
"No."
"The woman wasn't all that ugly when she was cleaned up though. I remember that."
I'm enjoying the exchange too much to say "Ruth Buzzi" and "Laugh-in." And if I'd tried to explain that it was she who had hit Arte Johnson with HER purse, then we'd be at it all day.
As it was, this conversation, like the others, just trailed off. While I waited for next GRNF (group random neural firing), they were called in for their appointment. I think Jed was the actual patient. Granny was there for moral support. Jethro obviously had driven the truck.
I'm in the waiting room sitting next to Jed, Granny, and Jethro. They have strong opinions on medicine, Don Imus, and numerous other topics. As you might imagine, they can't figure why it is ok to make fun of old white guys, "and old white WOMEN," chimes in Granny, but not anyone else.
And surely no one in here is getting a facelift, they ponder. This place is just for serious surgeries. It is taking everything I've got not to tell them that I'm here to discuss my upcoming boob job.
Now they are talking about how easy it is to tell the front leg of the deer from its back leg, given that someone of their acquaintance actually has a deer leg caught in a screen door. Through the magic of cell phones, they are considering calling the acquaintance to advise her of which leg it might be, based on the description.
"Tell her that a rake is the best thing to move it with," says Jed. And Granny says, "Even if it's a hind leg, tell her she she doesn't need to save it."
And Jethro, who has apparently been charged with making the call, bursts out, "Heck! I want to see it before she gets rid of it!"
I pick up the conversation again when Jethro says he once went to Mexico and paid $25 for a hamburger. He doesn't remember what town it was in, but Granny remembers it was the same place where Elizabeth Taylor went with her eighth husband.
Speaking of food, they are concerned about the buffet being closed by the time they get back to their motel. They may have to go to Olive Garden again.
Jed is complaining right now how brief the anesthesia meeting was. "He didn't even tell me his name," grumbles Jed. "Well," says Granny, "did you get his business card?"
"I didn't want his business card. I didn't want to know him at all," snaps Jed, effectively ending that topic of conversation.
I tune back in when they are trying to remember the character who played "the warsherwoman" on some TV show who was always getting hit with a purse by some old guy who was trying to get a date with her.
"Was it Carol Burnett?"
"No, but the old guy was definitely Tim Conway."
"Maybe it was Saturday Night Live." [And right here let me add, parenthetically, if these overall-ed folks ever watched SNL, it was one of the seaons in which the show had totally jumped the shark.]
"No."
"The woman wasn't all that ugly when she was cleaned up though. I remember that."
I'm enjoying the exchange too much to say "Ruth Buzzi" and "Laugh-in." And if I'd tried to explain that it was she who had hit Arte Johnson with HER purse, then we'd be at it all day.
As it was, this conversation, like the others, just trailed off. While I waited for next GRNF (group random neural firing), they were called in for their appointment. I think Jed was the actual patient. Granny was there for moral support. Jethro obviously had driven the truck.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Be Alert! America Needs More Lerts!
Yes, I stole the title from an old t-shirt, but this is important. This story is further proof that you need to understand that YOU are a KEY member of your healthcare team. Read, stay focused, pay attention to what people are saying and doing to you. Case in point: went in for chemo yesterday. Number 3. I take three drugs. We all know this.
The nurse came in to check the meds she had against my name and patient number, which I always deeply appreciate. She said, "You have two drugs and then the other stuff." I said, "No, I have three," and I named the third drug. She looked at her orders, apparently written by Chad the pharmacist, the OTHER busiest person at MD Anderson, and said, "Nope. You just have two today."
I asked her to call the doctor. "I do NOT want to have to come back tomorrow when he figures out we skipped the third drug."
She very kindly called him and found out there was indeed a third drug to be administered and we got that one, too.
I am NOT overly concerned about any of this for my own purposes. I am lucid, capable of rationale thought and reading diretions, not afraid to speak up, and eager and able to advocate for myself. What worries me is all of those other people -- I am ALWAYS the least dreadful looking person in the infusion center; some of these folks are really, really sick. They're in wheelchairs or on walkers, they look like they feel awful, and family members with them also look confused and desperate, which I imagine they are. What happens when THEIR nurse gets the wrong orders?
So, be a lert! And if you're not, take someone with you who is a lert, or at least take someone who is in a bad mood and asks a lot of questions.
On another note, this session's chemo buddy, the ever-popular Peg Newman, taught me to play cribbage. AND, she let me win! (Linda, are you paying attention?)
And guess what else: membership DOES have its privileges. If you want to take the little golf cart trolley from the Mays Clinic to the Main Building, say, if you want Chik-Fil-A for lunch but don't want to make that 12 minute trek through the buildings with a laptop on your shoulder, there are little golf carts with drivers that will take you. HOWEVER, if you're wearing a lab coat or scrubs or an MD Anderson badge or you otherwise look healthy, you have to WAIT. Patients get first priority. Last time I did this, I was dressed in a suit, wearing hair, and apparently looked like a pharm salesman. I had to wait for a second trolley. Yesterday, casually dressed and wearing a bandanna to cover my pate, I was moved to the front of the line. Sweet.
Favorite part of chemo? the food. Excellent ham sandwiches and yogurt and anything else you want. No wine list, though.
Next chemo scheduled for May 3, which is a Thursday. Photos of Casey and other bulletins as they occur.
The nurse came in to check the meds she had against my name and patient number, which I always deeply appreciate. She said, "You have two drugs and then the other stuff." I said, "No, I have three," and I named the third drug. She looked at her orders, apparently written by Chad the pharmacist, the OTHER busiest person at MD Anderson, and said, "Nope. You just have two today."
I asked her to call the doctor. "I do NOT want to have to come back tomorrow when he figures out we skipped the third drug."
She very kindly called him and found out there was indeed a third drug to be administered and we got that one, too.
I am NOT overly concerned about any of this for my own purposes. I am lucid, capable of rationale thought and reading diretions, not afraid to speak up, and eager and able to advocate for myself. What worries me is all of those other people -- I am ALWAYS the least dreadful looking person in the infusion center; some of these folks are really, really sick. They're in wheelchairs or on walkers, they look like they feel awful, and family members with them also look confused and desperate, which I imagine they are. What happens when THEIR nurse gets the wrong orders?
So, be a lert! And if you're not, take someone with you who is a lert, or at least take someone who is in a bad mood and asks a lot of questions.
On another note, this session's chemo buddy, the ever-popular Peg Newman, taught me to play cribbage. AND, she let me win! (Linda, are you paying attention?)
And guess what else: membership DOES have its privileges. If you want to take the little golf cart trolley from the Mays Clinic to the Main Building, say, if you want Chik-Fil-A for lunch but don't want to make that 12 minute trek through the buildings with a laptop on your shoulder, there are little golf carts with drivers that will take you. HOWEVER, if you're wearing a lab coat or scrubs or an MD Anderson badge or you otherwise look healthy, you have to WAIT. Patients get first priority. Last time I did this, I was dressed in a suit, wearing hair, and apparently looked like a pharm salesman. I had to wait for a second trolley. Yesterday, casually dressed and wearing a bandanna to cover my pate, I was moved to the front of the line. Sweet.
Favorite part of chemo? the food. Excellent ham sandwiches and yogurt and anything else you want. No wine list, though.
Next chemo scheduled for May 3, which is a Thursday. Photos of Casey and other bulletins as they occur.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Did everybody have a happy Easter?
We did. Very nice. Had a group over for a light lunch that turned out not to be so light. I recount the menu here so that I'll remember it for next time. Rapee morvandelle (a quiche-like thingy); smoked salmon; steamed asparagus with Hollandaise; sour cream coffee cake (courtesy of Peg); pickled eggs (also courtesy of Peg); beautiful fruit plate made by Chuck; and strawberry shortcakes for dessert, also made by Chuck. AND mimosas and sparkling cherry juice (ditto that Peg-thing). Everybody brought flowers and our downstairs is a riot of tulips! So pretty. Guests included Terrell and Linda; Ann and Mark; Peg, of course; and Linda's young cousin Anita, aged 11, from California. GREAT crowd and Chuck and I had a very nice time.
Casey and Henry played outside. Actually Casey ran around trying to instigate something with Henry while Henry alternated between looking at his watch and begging to come in the house so he could get away from that lunatic. Casey actually knocked over the birdbath, WHILE Chuck was saying, "I don't think he can knock it over. It's pretty heavy." Casey tried to jump ON TOP OF IT. Anita and I SAW him.
Here's our Easter table. That's Peg talking to Anita.
Today I am exhausted from too much activity, I guess. Gotta get ready for Chemo #3 on Wednesday. Oh joy.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
You know what's cute? Casey.
Here he is sleeping on the bookcases in Chuck's office. I used to study for tests like this, certain that the information in the books would leak into my brain. No wonder I crammed four years of college into six.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Becoming More Chemo-Savvy
Tuesday was a long day. Many clusterf***s at MD Anderson. Liz was right. The medicine part is good but the administration is BROKEN. They had to draw blood twice. Let's see. I'm a chemo patient. I'm in a cancer hospital. Wonder if I need the CBCs checked. Nope. Yes? Ok. Stick her again.
I had no appt with the oncologist scheduled, despite attempting to leave messages into the full voice mailbox of the busiest person at MD Anderson -- his scheduler. When I finally got in front of her and kicked a chair, she told me it was the doctor's fault. I told her we should have him fired -- how could I have blood work and chemo scheduled without the oncologist? Then she blamed the nurses. I said we should have them fired too. So when I got in to see Valero and his nurse, I told them that the scheduler and I had decided they were both fired, since they're not doing their jobs.
Chemo started an hour late. Still not sure why. I was there, but my orders weren't. I like the port; that is a pretty carefree way to be hooked up to something. Slick. Doesn't hurt.
Then I reacted to one of the drugs about an hour into things. Woooooeeeee. It was kind of like what happens when Carole eats strawberries, times three or five.
They got benadryl and more steroids into me and started over. So dear Linda's three hours at chemo with Pat turned into SIX. Long day. We didn't get home until after 10, I think. We played two games of Scrabble and then watched TV. The benadryl knocked me out.
The double dose of steroids might have cost me my career yesterday when I went all postal on a conference call. Fred smoothed things over, but there are more eruptions today over my telling a bunch of salespeople that they are WRONG and don't know CRAP about branding a company. I am pretty sure I even pointed out that NO Coca-Cola distributor gets to paint his truck blue, and did they know why that was? Anyway, rough day. And I am not too popular.
Went to the gym this morning. Shana "stretched" me for a while and then we did light weights. I'm blonde today. Already feeling dumber!
I know I'm going to feel like death on a cracker starting tonight or tomorrow. At least I know there's a light at the end of that short tunnel. And as Kelly Coyner says, the SECOND one is now behind me. Only six to go!!
I had no appt with the oncologist scheduled, despite attempting to leave messages into the full voice mailbox of the busiest person at MD Anderson -- his scheduler. When I finally got in front of her and kicked a chair, she told me it was the doctor's fault. I told her we should have him fired -- how could I have blood work and chemo scheduled without the oncologist? Then she blamed the nurses. I said we should have them fired too. So when I got in to see Valero and his nurse, I told them that the scheduler and I had decided they were both fired, since they're not doing their jobs.
Chemo started an hour late. Still not sure why. I was there, but my orders weren't. I like the port; that is a pretty carefree way to be hooked up to something. Slick. Doesn't hurt.
Then I reacted to one of the drugs about an hour into things. Woooooeeeee. It was kind of like what happens when Carole eats strawberries, times three or five.
They got benadryl and more steroids into me and started over. So dear Linda's three hours at chemo with Pat turned into SIX. Long day. We didn't get home until after 10, I think. We played two games of Scrabble and then watched TV. The benadryl knocked me out.
The double dose of steroids might have cost me my career yesterday when I went all postal on a conference call. Fred smoothed things over, but there are more eruptions today over my telling a bunch of salespeople that they are WRONG and don't know CRAP about branding a company. I am pretty sure I even pointed out that NO Coca-Cola distributor gets to paint his truck blue, and did they know why that was? Anyway, rough day. And I am not too popular.
Went to the gym this morning. Shana "stretched" me for a while and then we did light weights. I'm blonde today. Already feeling dumber!
I know I'm going to feel like death on a cracker starting tonight or tomorrow. At least I know there's a light at the end of that short tunnel. And as Kelly Coyner says, the SECOND one is now behind me. Only six to go!!
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