Awesomeness: Cycle 1, day 2

Dear Reader, I'm degrading.

I've had two good days, but the meds are beginning to exact their toll. If Benadryl makes you stoopid, this melange flowing into my body is making me stoooopider and stoooooopider.

It's remarkably hard to do simple things...like type. The words are there; they go from my mind to my fingers, but other things appear on screen.

And so it begins...

As before, this post is authored after the events. Unfortunately, I no longer have the same energy I had whilst living those events. It may come across in the reading. Believe me, Tuesday and Wednesday were GOOD days. I write this Wednesday night, and the wheels are slipping off as I type...

Cycle 1. Day 2.
Word of the day: Awesomeness


It started with a few shout outs!

Facebook Post from Friend
Where is Ray Whitney this morning? Do we have a sighting? Perhaps Nurse Cratchet can help? Pretty boy Floyd how are you doing this morning? Enquiring minds want to know! You've got this!

And Another
What up today? How's your gorgeous and flowing hair?

That's not a bad way to start the day, is it? You awaken, check in on the world, and people are asking for you. Wow. Not feeling lonely at all!

I started a routine. I got up and made my bed. I straightened the room, fussing in a most-OCD way. I then sponge-bathed and brushed my unruly and filthy locks.

I have a feeling that routine will be important soon. I will need things to focus on—marginal gains toward specific milestones. Making my bed is so abhorrent to me on a normal day, that it makes perfect sense to adopt it in this environment. Whatever shakes me up.

Facebook Post
Hey! I'm here! It's been a really good day! I'm riding the positive wave at the moment, and it is good.

After writing that on Facebook I worked to put together the "A Punch in the Neck" article for Wheelsucker.

Nurses and doctors came in and left. I was poked and prodded. And in walked two of my friends, who happen to be colleagues. Surprise visit! Real people!

I played host, and we chatted, and in walks Mom!

Wow!

Visitors are good for the soul. Fortunately, I was feeling good and up for the visits. My energy was up and we were able to joke and gab and just enjoy.

My friends left, and Mom and I ate lunch together. Just for the record, the food here is less-than-desireable. Much of it is horrible. A few things are terrifying. It's just the kind of food that you want nowhere near you when feeling ill—so let's serve it up!

Mom, however, delivered real food. It was good.

Poop

Among the joys of hospitals—and chemotherapy in particular—is that your bowels become the focus of much interest, attention, and conversation. Meds make you constipated. And that can be bad.

As a two-a-day man, this is of profound interest to me.

However, at this point in the narrative, I will refrain from much detail. Suffice it to say that I am still able to produce, though at odd intervals, and I have started on a maintenance dose of Colace.

Pee

This is serious. I need to watch for this.

One of my medications—ifosfamide—causes serious kidney and bladder damage, if it is not adequately managed with other medications and water. So, I need to drink—a lot!—and I need to monitor my pee.

Yellow = good. Brown = not so good. Blood = bad.

On Wednesday I drank 6 liters of water, in addition to the three or four bottles they pumped into me as IV fluid.

My pee is brown.

I got more drinkin' to do.

Steppin' Out

I'm causing a ruckus.

When my doctor and the resident visited, they mentioned that I should be sure to get up and walk about to help "keep everything moving".

I responded: "Great! How many laps?"

Dead air.

"How many laps in a mile?"

They didn't know, but they assured me that the nurses would know (because we all know that nurses know everything, make everything happen, and generally run the joint!).

So, when my nurse and her assistant walked in, I asked.

Ashley, I have a question for you. It's a test. I was told you know the answer.

I looked at her assistant, Michelle.

And if she doesn't know, you MUST give her crap about it all day!

Awkward smiles returned to me.

So, here it is...how many laps of our ward make a mile?

Silence.

She did not know.

And thus began a day-long adventure on the oncology ward!

My room sits across from the office of the administrative nurse for the floor. All day, people go in and out to talk about this and that. I see it and I hear some of it.

For most of the day, the hot topic was: "how many laps make a mile?"

One of the nurses called the physical therapy group, and they estimated that one lap of the hallway is 250ft. Not entirely trusting that measurement, we decided to round up, and it is the officially unofficial decision of me and my nurses that it takes 22 laps to walk a mile around our ward.

You already know what's coming next...

My "real chemo" was scheduled to begin after 8:00pm, when my first, 24-hour infusion was completed. To get myself up for it, I started to walk. I got through 16 laps (with an average of 120 paces per lap), when another visitor arrived.

Monster Man brought himself...and chocolate! Whoo hoo! We chatted and I ate a little and partook of chocolate and was very happy. Bronwyn came in and started my pre-meds, so I was fed and wired.

Monster Man suggested that we finish my laps. He's a competitive runner, so he completely understands my need for concrete goals.

We walked, and talked, and laughed, and everything started to happen a little more...slowly.

The pre-meds gave over to the real meds, and it truly began. Monster man left, and I remained with Bronwyn the Good, and a long night before me.

The Night from Hell

Actually, it wasn't that bad. It was simply unsleeping.

At no point did I get more than 60 minutes of sleep before someone had to do something to check on or give me. I was infused with different drugs in close succession. I swallowed pills. I had my vitals monitored. Bronwyn extracted blood. It was a long night.

I slept when I could. I dozed a bit.

And it was morning.

What will be will be what will be.
I've got this.