chemical party...Cancer #9
Dad’s on a different, more aggressive chemo treatment. Apparently the one they’ve replaced was sort of typical. When this all started his condition demanded a fast course of action so, there wasn’t much time to personalize the plan. He has radiation 5 days a week as well as 5 chemo treatments. Then a 3 week break, than back on again. Well he’s had the radiation from the start…he actually glows a little a night.
Anyway, the chemo has been kicked up a few notches. Four of the five sessions last about 2 hours, give or take, and one lasts 6 hours. This chemical, Cisplatin, is pretty abrasive on the kidneys and stomach. They give an insane amount of fluids, including anti-nausea medication, to flush the kidneys and coat the stomach. It’s more abrasive but, they’ve had good results using this plan on his type of cancer. The doc said, “He’s a young, strong, and healthy guy, besides the uninvited beast that’s taken residence in his chest, and so far he’s tolerated the treatments really well” Ok, so he didn’t say EXACTLY that I may have added a little color to it. The idea is the same though. Anyway, we went in for his 1st out-patient chemo treatment yesterday. As new as all of this is, I was not ready for the chemical party room. Ten cream colored recliners wrapped around a small oval room. The farthest points couldn’t have been twenty four feet. I’m really bad at judging distance so if that’s far I’m not giving you the right idea! I could take fifteen to twenty regular steps from one end to the other. There are a few chairs filled with different types of people, in many different stages of this disease. Like the couple at the far end. If I had to guess I’d say they were in their late twenties. He’s the patient, wearing grey plaid jammy’s, slippers, and a grey shirt. Holding his hand is a pretty, dark haired woman, wearing jeans and a sweater. They have earphones on that are connected to a portable DVD player. They look very comfortable and content, smiling every now and then, I assume at the movie they are watching. He doesn’t look any sicker then me. I wonder if they were as taken with this room as I am the first time they stepped in.
Two chairs up is a woman that I had mistaken for a man. She is so tiny and frail looking. She’s wearing a light blue stocking cap, jeans, and a sweat shirt. She has no hair left, no brows and nothing peeking from under the cap. Next to her is a much healthier woman, they haven’t said a word to each other. They are very docile and sullen, so different from the first couple.
Next to them sits a woman in her mid to late twenties. Unlike everyone else she hasn’t made eye contact with me, no nod of hello, or half cocked knowing smile. You can see that the sickness just beginning to dig its claws into her, the color in her cheeks still hanging on. She’s wearing a smart looking head wrap, sweats, cute shoes and a blanket. She’s a very pretty woman. From just looking at her, I imagine she’s a very strong person, resolute in successfully kicking this diseases ass. She gives an air of confidence in the simplest of actions, the way she smiles at the nurse who hooks her up to what I’ve coined the poison dispenser, or the way she maneuvers the machine when she steps out of the room. She makes me wish I knew her, there’s depth to her eyes, a certain intensity that makes me wonder what she’s like outside of this room. If I get the chance maybe I’ll introduce myself as the daughter of the lung cancer guy. If seems the people who strike up conversation do so by asking what kind of cancer your there for. Seems fitting but, no less strange to me, I guess it goes right along with this whole experience. This room and everyone in it seem surreal. The sun filtering in from the sky light, as bright and airy as it is, does little to lift the gloomy character of the atmosphere. As I sit next to my dad in the corner of the room, I realize that we are just as foreign and unique to everyone else, yet we’re all connected. My heart aches for everyone here, and their families at home. We are all going through our own personal chaos.
Anyway, the chemo has been kicked up a few notches. Four of the five sessions last about 2 hours, give or take, and one lasts 6 hours. This chemical, Cisplatin, is pretty abrasive on the kidneys and stomach. They give an insane amount of fluids, including anti-nausea medication, to flush the kidneys and coat the stomach. It’s more abrasive but, they’ve had good results using this plan on his type of cancer. The doc said, “He’s a young, strong, and healthy guy, besides the uninvited beast that’s taken residence in his chest, and so far he’s tolerated the treatments really well” Ok, so he didn’t say EXACTLY that I may have added a little color to it. The idea is the same though. Anyway, we went in for his 1st out-patient chemo treatment yesterday. As new as all of this is, I was not ready for the chemical party room. Ten cream colored recliners wrapped around a small oval room. The farthest points couldn’t have been twenty four feet. I’m really bad at judging distance so if that’s far I’m not giving you the right idea! I could take fifteen to twenty regular steps from one end to the other. There are a few chairs filled with different types of people, in many different stages of this disease. Like the couple at the far end. If I had to guess I’d say they were in their late twenties. He’s the patient, wearing grey plaid jammy’s, slippers, and a grey shirt. Holding his hand is a pretty, dark haired woman, wearing jeans and a sweater. They have earphones on that are connected to a portable DVD player. They look very comfortable and content, smiling every now and then, I assume at the movie they are watching. He doesn’t look any sicker then me. I wonder if they were as taken with this room as I am the first time they stepped in.
Two chairs up is a woman that I had mistaken for a man. She is so tiny and frail looking. She’s wearing a light blue stocking cap, jeans, and a sweat shirt. She has no hair left, no brows and nothing peeking from under the cap. Next to her is a much healthier woman, they haven’t said a word to each other. They are very docile and sullen, so different from the first couple.
Next to them sits a woman in her mid to late twenties. Unlike everyone else she hasn’t made eye contact with me, no nod of hello, or half cocked knowing smile. You can see that the sickness just beginning to dig its claws into her, the color in her cheeks still hanging on. She’s wearing a smart looking head wrap, sweats, cute shoes and a blanket. She’s a very pretty woman. From just looking at her, I imagine she’s a very strong person, resolute in successfully kicking this diseases ass. She gives an air of confidence in the simplest of actions, the way she smiles at the nurse who hooks her up to what I’ve coined the poison dispenser, or the way she maneuvers the machine when she steps out of the room. She makes me wish I knew her, there’s depth to her eyes, a certain intensity that makes me wonder what she’s like outside of this room. If I get the chance maybe I’ll introduce myself as the daughter of the lung cancer guy. If seems the people who strike up conversation do so by asking what kind of cancer your there for. Seems fitting but, no less strange to me, I guess it goes right along with this whole experience. This room and everyone in it seem surreal. The sun filtering in from the sky light, as bright and airy as it is, does little to lift the gloomy character of the atmosphere. As I sit next to my dad in the corner of the room, I realize that we are just as foreign and unique to everyone else, yet we’re all connected. My heart aches for everyone here, and their families at home. We are all going through our own personal chaos.
posted by elanflux at 11:17 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home