IT TAKES A VILLAGE IDIOT

Although I would like to, I can not claim credit for this blog title-- it comes from the name of a book that my mother-in-law got for me for mother's day... "It practically jumped off the shelf for you", she said (is this a good thing?). It's about a New Yorka stranded at a summer home in the Catskills. But that's how it kinda is, really-- I feel like I've been picked up and plopped in a world in which I neither understand nor fit-in, with my typical fail-safe companions (e.g., energy, good humor, good health) only in for occasional weekends. But, fear not, I am spared by the people around me, and the nutty things we come up with to amuse ourselves.
I absolutely dread going to chemo because by Monday morning I'm feeling pretty good and I so so so don't want to feel bad again. I'm a chicken. I find things to keep me from leaving the house... can't find my keys, need to get this or that-- you can pretty much see the mental fingernail marks on hardwoods. But actually being there isn't bad at all--dare I admit, fun really. Here is how it goes:
- I go back and get my vitals and Complete Blood Count (CBC) test. This only involves a stick on the finger. (which I am thrilled about every time-- I have come to hate "real" blood draws, which I don't have to get while I have my port)
- I sit back in the waiting room, until I get called into the dr. examination room
- she comes in eventually and goes through my test results (white counts ok, red counts better, but still anemic-- keep those $6k shots comin!)
-I go back out to the front, schedule my neulasta shot for the next day and next session in 2 weeks. Then I wait (again) to get called to the back. The whole preprocess is scheduled for about 30 minutes, and usually takes about 90.
-Next, I go to the back where they administer the chemo. 5 out of 6 times I've gotten a room to myself, which is nice. Michael comes in to "access my port" (how freaky sci-fi-ish is that?) This doesn't hurt much because I put lydacain on the area beforehand. Michael is a huge, quiet guy who is not quick to crack a smile. It has been my mission to charm him. I think I've finally succeeded. (Last time he asked me when I was coming back). He takes some blood samples (I've never heard anything about these, so I assume they've all turned out ok).
-The nurse comes in and gives me my pre-chemo drips. For taxol this involves steroids, benadryl, & tagamet... to reduce nausea and prevent an allergic reaction. When all this is done, she hangs the Taxol, which takes 3+ hours to infuse.
-After the infusion I get the anti-anemia shot in my belly, which I've found hurts A LOT less if I don't get it in my arm, it's room temperature, and they inject it slowly. Go figure.
Then I go home... Doesn't that sound fun?
I always read about people meeting friends who were receiving treatment at the same time. Everyone at my place seems to be 70+ and sleeping (how can people go to these things by themselves?), so this hasn't been the case for me. Luckily for me, I've brought along my own "chemo-buddies". It's been fun because I've gotten to spend one-on-one time with friends and family who I don't often see or (in the case of jim) get to talk to in a quiet setting. Everyone who has accompanied me has gone above and beyond in the "how to amuse Carolyn" department... to the point where a lady in the elevator last monday asked Meghan if she was staying the weekend because she had such a big backpack of stuff with her. Here's what was in her bag of tricks:

• A book of mad libs
• Coloring book and markers
• "It's All About Me: Personality Quizes for you and your Friends" (If our lives were movies, mine would be a comedy, Meg's would be an animated musical)
• A Latch Hook Rug
• A Playboy magazine which she purchased at the airport. Now here I must digress: if you know meghan, the idea of her purchasing a playboy magazine, in an airport, no less, is hilarious. She bought it because when we were in college we got her a playgirl magazine for her 21st birthday for a joke, and when she opened it she threw it across the room in horror. We relished doing dramatic readings from it to see how red she would get. My reaction to her pulling out the playboy was similar to hers in college. "Put that away!" I whispered fiercely. I had gotten quite the reputation a few weeks before when my sweet mother-in-law pulled out a book of what I thought was flower origami and turned out to be "Kokigami: Performance Enhancing Adornments for the Adventurous Man" which is just about the funniest book I have ever seen. I made the mistake of showing the nurse and I swear she didn't come back for 2 hours. Now every time I go in there she makes remarks about me bringing in dirty pictures. And to answer the questions on everone's mind: "Why Playboy?" Because they didn't have Playgirl at the airport. And yes, we did read it when we were safely at home. There's a great article about golf courses that Meg's going to show her husband.
• A PVC-pipe marshmallow blow gun. I highly recommend this for, well, anyone, but particularly anyone hooked up to a chemo IV. Michael came in to see why we were laughing so hard and we shot him. (He complained about "marshmallow bruises" the next day, poor fellow).

Joy can be found anywhere, it seems... as long as you're with the right people.