Just for laughs III

Just for Laughs II

Just For Laughs!

I've been collecting memes and funny quotes about MDS and here are just a few of my faves:

Something New (Repost from July 19, 2015)

So.

Here I am in the strange and unfamiliar position of needing help.  Suddenly I need to advocate for myself, and I'll admit, it is A LOT harder than sticking up for and protecting your children.  Maybe I gain my strength by helping others and if that is the case, then I somehow seem to be made weaker by having to ask for help and protect myself.

This is my NEW story of Advocacy.

The Extinction of Me (Repost from July 22, 2015)

I was looking around my office today thinking to myself that soon nothing will ever be the same as it was. I can hardly believe that there is going to be a time in the near future where I won't even be able to get up, let alone sit up, answer the phone, run downstairs to the cafeteria for a snack.

It's starting already. This will be the first year since my son was diagnosed that I will not be able to participate in fundraising for JDRF.  I will not be a captain of any team doing any good for anyone. I'm crushed.  

And all of this weepy-ness!  For someone who never used to cry, I am now down to measuring the days in tears shed--once I start, I just can't seem to stop.  And I am not being a big girl about this!  Trust me, there is nothing heroic or courageous going on over here, just rising fear and panic and a lot of muscle cramps from treading water.

I am exhausted. The person I used to know; the person I've spent 45 years imperfecting, is slowly disappearing.

The John Theurer Experience (Repost from August 6, 2015)

The waiting room is beautiful. Cool wavy greens and blues; a selection of sofas, comfy arm chairs, and a plasma TV.  Each section is curtained off by a row of delicate silver chains hanging from the ceiling (leukemia section, transplant dept etc.).  On top of each coffee table sits a variation of the same sculpture; silver balls the size of Christmas tree ornaments piled into a mound which, for some reason, remind me of either caviar or foaming at the mouth depending on my mood. 

There's also a little snack bar with bottled water, coffee, juice, cookies, pretzels, chips etc.  Though it is a very nice thing to do,  it's probably more necessary than nice-- after all, they take so much damn blood each time that they something to keep you from passing out!

It all starts when you enter the lobby.  A pleasant young kid meets you at the door with a clip board..."Cynthia Walker?"---How did they know?!  The kid--name tag says Justin--walks me through registration, waits for me at a considerate distance while I cry through all the insurance questions and then takes me to the lab to have my blood work done.  Justin is discreet about handing me tissues as he rings for the elevator and we are whooshed up to the second floor. 

I remember that first day so clearly. I was pissed off (YES,you can still be pissed while crying hysterically,I've always been a multi-tasker).  I didn't want to be "shown the ropes" so to speak, because I didn't plan on coming back because none of this was real and as soon I wake up I'm gonna kick this kid in his ass for upsetting me with this Bullshit!!  Cancer is not for me.  Its not part of my story. I already have all that I can handle and I am the poster child for "WHATEVER DOESN'T KILL YOU MAKES YOU STRONGER," though I've come close.  So, yes, I very much resented everyone trying to show me around the place as if I were coming back!

And the rest is history.  I am now a member of the elite group of the 'bone marrow and platelet challenged' and while that TOTALLY sucks, there is probably not a warmer, cleaner, kinder more organized place to be than the John Theurer Cancer Center in Hackensack, New Jersey!

Cancer at the Martinique Cafe (Repost from July 30, 2015)

There is a place in New York that is so far from humanity that it teeters on the very edge of reality and so massive that it defies comprehension.  But there shrouded in scaffolding is the entrance to: The Herbert Irving Comprehensive Cancer Center at Columbia Presbyterian hospital.

Yesterday I had an appointment with the world renowned  Dr. Azra Raza, Director of the MDS Center at Columbia University.  From New Jersey, the trip is a good hour and a half.  But on a day like yesterday, the hottest day we've had in 2 years, It felt like an virtual odyssey.  As I sat there filling out the 90 page questionnaire in the cool air conditioning, I continued to sweat.  By the time bloodwork started my face was finally losing its redness and and my limp wet underwear was freezing cold.

The appointment went great (although I have really got to stop crying all the damn time!).  Dr. Raza is brilliant, warm, pretty and extremely confident---I like that in a doctor.  It took me a minute to get used to her entourage of medical students and interns but overall it was a very comforting experience and I feel blessed that Dr. Azra is close enough to get to without airfare (though barely)

Just as my bra and underwear were beginning to dry it was time to take the trek back to work.  So armed with a drawing Dr. Raza made of my bone marrow and the cancer within it and a dying cell phone, I headed to the office. An hour later I stepped off of the A-train and back into the broiling, punishing heat.

I felt so drained from crying, exhausted from the heat, and defeated by the gripping cramps in all of my joints that is par for the course when you have MDS.  I just really needed a fucking win!   And just like in the movies, I looked up and there it was, THE MARTINIQUE CAFE.  I hadn't eaten all day and all I'd had was a Gatorade at the doctors office to keep me from passing out.  I crossed the street and went inside fully expecting to be disappointed by shitty food, bad service and weak air conditioning (it can be difficult to think positive thoughts).

Instead, I had one of the best cheeseburgers of my life and the air was so crisp and cool in there!  I had a diet Pepsi with lime while the waitress charged my phone at the front desk.  I sat there for a long time thinking about my life, reminiscing about the buttery brioche bun my burger was on and decided not to go back to work at all that day.  I was so proud of myself :)

My Back, My Neck! (Repost from Saturday, August 1, 2015)

Have you ever tried folding a piece of paper, a gum wrapper, a dollar bill as small as you can?  When I was a kid, I used to do that.  I would just keep folding and folding until it got too small to fold anymore.

THAT is what my body feels like every morning.  There have even been mornings where I can't even move and my husband has to drop Tylenol into my mouth and pour water in so I can swallow them.  I just lie there until it kicks in and then I can get up.  Even with OTC pain killers move around like an old lady.  The nurse at my Oncologist's office asked me what hurt. "Everything," I said.  They asked me to be for specific (heavy sigh).

I mean what else does EVERYTHING mean?!!!  And you know the answer I got?  That this doesn't sound like it has anything to do with the cancer and that I should follow up with my primary care physician.....

SRSLY?!?!

Decisions, Decisions.....

So, the rash is back.  I don't know if it is THE  rash of 2015 but it is A rash and it's looking ugly.  The Rash of 2015 was positively legendary.  It covered every part of my body, front and back, top to bottom.  My doctors still talk about it.  I had that rash for almost 6 months!  My face blew up so big that my eyes were swollen shut.  It was a bad time and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

A few days ago I noticed the rash on my stomach returning. Then I noticed a little bit of it on my legs.  There's also a little bit of it on my forearms and hands.  And my husband alerted me to rash behind my ears and under my chin which which has been inching its way up to my face...just a bit.

And then there are my hands.  They hurt.  And my hips.  Oh and my neck and clavicles.  Not at all like the crippling joint and muscle pain I had previously.  That was The Inflammation of 2015.  LOL!

This week is chemo week so my doctors see me every day.  They see my rash progressing.  They see that I'm in a little pain from inflammation. I had a slight fever and felt so ill this morning that I was late to chemo.  Naturally they are concerned.  My transplant is scheduled for the 2nd week in September which is a long way off.  I planned it that way so that I could spend the summer with my kids and be there when my son starts his new middle school.  However, my doctor thinks we should now do it sooner.

"Despite rather aggressive management of your auto-immune issues, we are not really managing them at all.  I have some concerns that between now and September, the next issue you have may not be as benign as an all over body rash or crippling joint pain.  I'm specifically concerned about the vasculitis you had in your neck a month or two ago...what if something like that came back or worse?I'm not trying to scare you but it could complicate your transplant."

Crap.  Not what I wanted to hear.  Part of me thinks he is over-reacting.  The other part of me thinks I am being willfully blind to the dangers of waiting.  To complicate matters, my sisters planned and paid for a "family reunion" in July with all my brothers and sisters and all of their kids.  I am not going to miss that.  So I figured a happy medium would be to have the transplant at the end of July, after our family vacation.

In the meantime, I will just have to pray that the rash doesn't progress too much further, that I will be able to control the itching and inflammation until the end of July, and that nothing worse develops.

Everything You Wanted To Know About A Bone Marrow Biopsy

What's better than a PICC line?  A Bone Marrow Biopsy!  OK, maybe not.  Still, it is a necessary evil that sounds scarier than it really is.  Mostly.

First of all the biopsy can happen at a hospital, clinic or doctor's office and every place has their own way of doing things.  At Hackensack's John Theurer Cancer Center, they only give local anethesia, but you may hear other people say they were given general anethesia.  Local anesthesia allows the patient is awake to answer questions during the biopsy procedure.

Now let's talk about pain because that's really the thing driving the fear, right?  So...does it hurt? Yes. How much is hard to say because everyone's different.  It is no walk in the park but it also isn't excruciatingly painful.  OK maybe that's not helpful.  Personally, I'd rather have a biopsy than a migrane headache.  Perhaps because a biopsy only lasts about 30 minutes and you're not in pain the whole time.

So my doctor has me lay on my stomach and applies a topical anesthetic before giving me the first shot of local anesthesia, and that hurts like hell (to me) but it's quick.  Because I'm on the "thick" side, I also get a shot of anesthesia deeper in the surrounding area of the pelvic bone where the biopsy will be done.  Yes, that hurts too but again it's pretty quick.  My doctor waits a few minutes for it to kick in before doing the biopsy.

At this point I try to focus on talking to my husband.  I try very hard not to think about what is actually happening back there otherwise I'd probably pass out.  I think there is definitely an element of mind over matter that is critical to getting through it.

To me it feels like a lot of tugging and pulling and wrenching that should hurt but doesn't.  It just feels like pressure.  When we're done, the small wound is bandaged and you're free to go.  It can be uncomfortable to sit in the car (or anyplace that will put pressure on the wound) but again, it's nowhere near unbearable.  I never do a biopsy without my husband because it's easier not to have to drive.  After a day or two it mostly becomes a distant memory.

POOR ME!

So I am about to cross over to the other side: my Short Term Disability (STD) turns into Long Term Disability (LTD) on April 7th which reduces my salary to only 60%.

Diving into the unknown, I do nothing but crunch numbers every day.  I consider myself a good thinker so that's what I do.  All day. Long.

"How can I pay my mortgage?"
"How can I pay for my son's insulin?"
"How can I pay for our family's healthcare?"
"How can I pay our car note?"



I've been told I'm a little high strung.  As a Type A personality I am very faithful to the cause; I stress myself out daily.  I find all of those platitudes and all the advice about not sweating the small stuff or taking things day by day are patently ridiculous! Planning ahead is not only important, it is critical for people like us who have cancer and are headed toward poor.

I will give myself credit for reducing the amount of stress I allow into my life since being diagnosed, although you might not see the difference if you didn't know me before.  'You mean you get more stressed than this?!'  Yes.  Yes I do.  

No Hugs and Kisses Please.

I generally don't leave the house for anything but doctors appointments or treatments.  I hate the way I look. My hair gets thinner and thinner every day.  I've got that weird dry cancer skin, moon-face from all the steroids and a relatively unattractive PICC line in my left arm.

I am not interested in platitudes or lectures about how beauty is only skin deep.  This is MY cancer and I get to feel however the hell I want, thank you very much.


But today was bright and sunny and chilly so I felt inspired to go out.  I asked my husband to come with me to the supermarket and off we went.  I tried to fix my sunglasses on top of my head so that my hair wouldn't look so sparse and I might just be able to pull off "hip" if you saw me from a distance.

Well as hubby and I stood in the bread aisle discussing the merits of rolls versus croissants, a woman comes up and says hello to my husband and gives me a warm peck on the cheek and a very brief squeeze of the shoulders.  Her head is tilted in that way.  You know the way I'm talking about: the "I'm sorry to hear about your cancer" head tilt. The eyes are appropriately hooded and the half smile is modest.  Oh you poor thing. 

I don't need anyone to agree with me on this.  I know for a fact that this is what motivated a perfectly unnecessary (and unwanted) side kiss from this broad.  How can I be so sure?  Well perhaps because we never really got along.  I always thought she was a stuck up asshole and God only knows what she thought about me!  We remained cordial because our kids were in the same class but that was it.

I felt utterly exposed at that moment and no matter how I tried to push it away, I felt myself being lit, then consumed by gloomy sadness.  I asked my husband for the car keys and walked back to the car while he waited on line.  It felt like the longest walk.  I kept feeling like I might be accosted by a parade of neighbors, old friends and an assortment of assholes I would rather avoid.

Finally, safely hidden away in my car, I cried.

UPDATE TO: "Get a PICC line", they said. "You'll love it", they said.

Three days after my dressing change I ended up getting it wet in the shower.  I blow dried it immediately and didn't think it was a big deal but then I thought:  'Don't be an idiot....with your luck you'll contract the Bubonic Plague!'  So I called Sharon, my nurse who is new to the nursing game and shadows more experienced nurses.

She told me to text her a picture of the dressing, which I did, and she said she'd be right over with a senior nurse.  When they arrived the senior nurse looked at my dressing and asked me, "Do you think you accomplished anything by blow drying this?"  Ummm......

She turned out to be quite funny, quite snappy, and quite smart.  I mentioned that flushing was also pretty difficult and she looked at my PICC set up and said "This has got to go.  Did you see this huge kink here?"  Ummm....  She told me that's what I need to look for whenever I have problems flushing the line.

I told her about my heart palpitations and how I slept.  She explained that that can happen with some patients especially people like me who sleep with that arm tucked tightly beneath their head. 

I told her my arm hurts with all those hard plastic pieces digging into my skin and she said "No wonder!" Quickly and efficiently she removed one of my extenders (For some reason I had the 2 lines attached to 2 short extenders which were attached to 2 long extenders). The way she hooked it up, the extenders were not as long as they had been but still long enough to get the job done, and all that extra plastic, tubing, caps and clamps were suddenly gone.  She then added a padded bandage to the underside of my arm to prevent the remaining plastic pieces from digging into my skin.

   I instantly felt more comfortable; a lot less pain.

Wait--there's more!  Without my even telling this magical nurse that my arm band constantly slides down into the crook of my arm, she noticed the imprint of the netting there and said, "I see your PICC cover keeps sliding down.  Here, I'm gonna show you a better way to do this."  And she did!  My cover NEVER slips down now and overall the PICC line situation seems a lot more tolerable.  I still don't love having a PICC line but maybe I don't hate it anymore either.

  

Who knew?

"Get a PICC line", they said. "You'll love it", they said.

"Get a PICC line", they said.  "You'll love it", they said.  Well I got a PIC line and I don't love it.    I mean it's not like I had any real alternative given that most of my veins have collapsed but even still, it is not what I expected.

After waiting for over an hour I was brought into a room similar to that of an X-Ray room or the place where you'd have a CT scan; very cold and very sterile.  A bored older doctor came in and gave me the spiel about what they were gonna do, the risks involved etc. and then quickly left with an air of irritation.  They had me lay on one of those hard, cold hydraulic slabs, covered me with blankets and raised to me to the standing height of the doctor.

Above me there was a giant ultra sound machine and someone came in and strapped my arm to a board.  Here we go!  The "installation" was more like a mini surgery.  Every part of my arm was covered in blue cloth except for the square of flesh that they planned to use for the PICC line.  Next they inserted a painful needle and injected me with something that burned like hell!  Apparently, this was for pain.

Finally they inserted the PICC line and I was free to go.  I went straight to chemo from there so sure, it was easier than the usual hunt for a serviceable vein, but here's what I didn't know:

1. The PICC line has TWO separate lines coming out of the one port
2. The area where the line was inserted still hurts 2 days later
3. In order to flush the line I need extenders for each line.  The extended tubing reaches my wrist and needs to be wrapped around my arm and covered with an armband they provided, which is very uncomfortable
4. The PICC line may affect your heartbeat
5. Saran Wrap DOES NOT WORK to keep your dressing dry during a shower even if your arm is being held mostly held outside the shower.

So two lines means two flushings every morning with saline and heparin.  The extenders are long and supremely awkward to wrap all that tubing around your arm and with all of the hard plastic parts it's painful all the way around because you can't lean on your elbow or bend your arm fully without encountering some clip or hard part that digs into your skin (see photo above).  Finally, my heartbeat. The first day I had the PICC line installed I felt my heartbeat racing.  Turns out my blood pressure was high so I had to rest.  After resting, my blood pressure went down but my pulse was still racing. 30 minutes and an EKG later I was deemed fit to go home.

But my heart continues to race periodically and it is the worst feeling!!  When the nurse came out to change my dressing, she suggested deep breathing to bring more oxygen to the body so that my heart would not feel like it had to pump faster.   What?!  I mean damn, I feel like we should all be a little more concerned!

And I am supposed to do this for the next 6 months?!?!?

You Learn Something New Every Day

So today I began my second round of Vidaza.  My first round was last month and that's when my platelets dropped to 20 and I needed a transfusion.   I remembered all my MDS friends telling me this would happen during the first or second week so I was totally prepared.

Naturally, I had a MAJOR reaction to the platelets and broke out in hives which they couldn't control for over an hour!  Fine.  Whatever.  Honestly, nothing surprises me anymore.  Because of my reaction, they only gave me half a bag of platelets.

Half a bag of platelets turned out to be plenty because at my next check-up, my platelets were up to 38!

WOO-HOO, SOMEONE ALERT THE MEDIA!

Well.  You can imagine my surprise when this week my platelets were back down to 22 and my doctor asked me which day I'd like to do the platelet transfusion.  Seriously??!?!?  No day.  I would like to choose no day please!  I don't know if I've mentioned it before but transfusions gross me out to the point of nausea.  I can't even look at the bag-o-platelets or I start gagging.

I don't understand.  I thought your platelets drop only the first time you have chemo with Vidaza. You know, the very first time. Turns out that I misunderstood.  Your platelets DO drop the first week you start Vidaza, only it happens EVERY first week you start Vidaza!  That means transfusions once or twice a month!!! (Please Note: After I post this I'll be taking a Zofran!)

So tomorrow I get transfused again and I have resolved to consider violence if they don't give me some SERIOUS pre-meds to avoid another hive debacle like last time.  The only consolation is that my doctor has allowed me to keep my IV in all week because I really have no veins left so we won't have to go through the dreaded stick and poke and thread followed by a band-aid and a call for another nurse to try.

My doctor told me today that I need to get a pick line.  Yet another foreign thing going into my body which also grosses me out. And if you are wondering, yes, I did break from writing this post so I could take a friggin Zofran!  The reasoning behind this is that chemo destroys your veins.  Maybe everyone else knew this...did you?!

Well I didn't.  Guess you learn something new every day!

WIGGED OUT!

I've been watching YouTube videos for months trying to figure out how to "slay" my wig once I get one. My transplant isn't until September but my hair seems to be coming out faster and faster these days and looks so thin and flimsy, I thought why not? I would like to leave the house looking somewhat put together every now and again--is that so much to ask?

So today I figured, let me go out and see what I can see. It was over 75 degrees today which feels like 105 to me. I was alternating between my head being set aflame with a hot flash and just regular sweating. But I'd come this far and today was a "good day" and I never know when the next one is coming so I didn't want to waste it.

First thing the lady in the store says is, "Miss, do you have a wig cap?" I didn't, so I bought a package for $1.00. As I tug on the wig cap I'm trying to cooly wipe the sweat dripping down my neck and behind my ears as inconspicuously as possible. As I look around at the myriad of wigs I feel the wig cap creeping up. I tug it back down only to have it creep up yet again. I can't figure out if my head is too big or too small? I hustled the wig on quickly before the wig cap could roll off completely. I tried on a straight, black wig; human hair; nice. And the hair was curl-able so that was great too.

I feel the wig cap roll to the top of my head underneath the wig and I sigh inwardly. Sweat drips down my hair, my breasts, my armpits. I needed to get back in my car and blast the air conditioning before I melted into a puddle of hair and sweat! I quickly removed the wig and told her I'd take it, the price was great--$24.00! If I wasn't so hot I would have gotten another one! As I mop my forehead and shove the hated wig cap into my handbag I shake my head, "$24.00 is really a terrific price." The woman looks at me, "Um, I'm sorry Miss but the price is $240.00." She points to the price and I squint until I see it. Yup. $240 dollars.

Needless to say, I left the store empty handed. As I drove home, I thought to myself, why would someone spend so much money to be so damn miserable?!!! Are other women not hot wearing a wig? Does their wig cap and wig not ride up? If that's true....

WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH MY DAMN HEAD?!?

The weak

I learned today how truly weak I really am.  My MDS has advanced slightly and I am now scheduled for a transplant (God willing) later this year.  I was diagnosed in June 2015 and since then it has been nothing but one big cluster fuc*.  It's been one of those "whatever can go wrong, will" kinda deals and my husband has been there through all of it.

I'm one of those people who never cries.  I just don't like crying--and I don't like people who cry either.  Yet I have cried more in the last 7 months than I have in the past 45 years!  My husband has comforted me every time we got another piece of bad news or when I've simply erupted in a hail of lava tears that I just could not seem to stop.  There were times I've cried non-stop for 2 hours!  And I'm never ready for it, you know?  It just . . .happens.  And my strong husband is still right there, holding me, wiping my tears away.

My husband is a strong and gentle man.  Since I've known my husband he has lost his grandmother, both of his parents, his cousin (who may as well have been his brother since they grew up in the same household) and numerous aunts and uncles.  Yet, he never really cried about any of it--at least not that I know of.

Today we had to put our cat, Charlie, to sleep.  Me and my younger son were pretty much out of control crying.  Our 18 year old shed a modest tear or two and my husband held us all together...as usual.  Yet when we got in the car with our empty cat carrier, minus another member of our family, I saw the tears dropping as my husband continued driving and staring straight ahead.

My heart stumbled in my chest and my whole body hurt.  And my soul hurt too.  All I could think of was how to stop it.  Can I buy him something or give him something or somehow turn this shit off please?!!  That's when I realized my weakness.  I don't think I could ever hold him together the way he does with me.  Seeing my husband cry puts me in a panic; undoes me completely.  I am just not equipped to handle the feeling that come crashing down on me when I see my husband cry so I focus solely on how to make it stop.  I came up with all of us going to Coldstone.  Eating has always been my vice so it was a natural default for me.  And who can cry while eating ice cream?

So today my utter weakness became apparent, but what really mystifies me is how has my husband been able to endure so much loss and sadness and all of my tears without breaking?  God must had mapped out a plan in advance.  If someone had to get cancer in our family, who should it be?  The younger one already has Type1 diabetes so that would be sucky.  What about our 18-year old?  Well he already has multiple challenges and would not be able to manage it.  So it's down to me and my husband.  God knew I was the weak one (despite the fact that I've always worn the "strong one" t-shirt) He knew that if the tables were turned and my husband was the one with the cancer, I could never hold our family together.  Because my husband is my weakness.

--and my greatest source of strength.



RIP Charlie Simpson - 2016.

I'm Fine.

It's the week after my first round of Vidaza and I feel like shit.  It's kind of an all over sense of malaise. None of me feels good.  All I do everyday is sit in the den watching the Food Network and alternately freezing my ass off and staving off spontaneous combustion (these can't be hot flashes!). I've had hot flashes or "hot waves" as my younger son used to call them and they were hot but not like this.  Cancer seems to be the spice of life; it seasons everything making everything you've ever experienced so much more intense. . .and NOT in a good way!

I baked a cake yesterday.  15 minutes in I was out of breath and needed to rest my elbows on the counter.  Eventually, I finished the cake and that was the extent of my accomplishment for the day. Today's goal is to try to drink 2 Gatorades and a couple of bottles of water to keep myself hydrated in order to combat this pervasive light-headedness.  SRSLY???  That's the only goal?...um yeah, pretty much.  Look, I know I need to accept the way things are.  Accept, accept, accept!  I'm trying, but I can't.  I am so frustrated that just the idea of having to get up and go upstairs to pee seems almost as exhausting as doing it.  

And yes I cry.  Mostly out of frustration.  All of this constant laying around has turned my sofa into a fucking force field of  crackling static that makes me want to kill myself; not to mention the large cavity that has been carved into the cushions in the shape of my body.  I almost have to lay down because as soon as you sit, you are rolled toward the back of the sofa and into the cavity.

I have laundry to do.  I need to cook.  I want to sit at the dining room table to harass...er, um, I mean help my son with his homework.  I want to go to the mall.  I want to go out to lunch with my husband.  I want my cellphone to stop going off every four hours reminding me to take medication.

But I haven't lost my hair yet and I still wake up every morning.  I'm not transfusion-dependent and I have a wonderfully supportive husband and family so I guess that means...

I'm fine.

The Problem with MDS: Vidaza!

The Problem with MDS: Vidaza!: Vidaza .  VEE-DAH-ZAH!!!! Sounds like a delicious Italian dessert, or an exotic island, or maybe a magical incantation like, Abracadabra ! ...

Vidaza!

Vidaza.  VEE-DAH-ZAH!!!! Sounds like a delicious Italian dessert, or an exotic island, or maybe a magical incantation like, Abracadabra!

Not.

Today is day 4 of  my new Vidaza chemotherapy regimen.  It started on Monday and goes for five consecutive days. They say you'll be tired and need to recuperate the week after.  Unlike the Gleevec I took prior to this, Vidaza is given intravenously.  It can also be given by 2 or 3 injections at a time but since their tends to be irritation/rash at the injection site my doctor said intravenous was the way to go (I am still struggling with the "legendary rash of 2015).

As I waited for the elevator in the lobby, I felt light headed, dizzy and slightly nauseated.  All at once I had a bunch of thoughts: I am so tired of feeling sick; I hope I can have a transplant in the next 6-8 months; and I hope it works; and I miss my cousin Jason.  Jason recently died from very aggressive forms of cancer and he suffered just about every moment until it was over.  I'm glad he no longer has to deal with the pain and indignities of being in the throes of stage 4 cancer, but I selfishly miss having some one to talk to (someone who has..had cancer too).  Anyway all those thought stacked up like a sandwich and I burst into tears.  I hate when I do that.  It gets harder and harder to stop once I get started.

Fast forward 40 minutes to the 3rd floor

I'm in an isolation room because I still test positive for C-diff, though I no longer have symptoms thank God!  A pretty Filipino nurse comes in to hunt for a working vein.  I trust Filipinos.  I'm not sure why.  They just seem so...competent.  Anyway, after she inserts the needle and flushes the line, I get IV fluids and Zofran first.  I live on Zofran and Compazine these days because I am just about always nauseous.  After 30 minutes or so, my meds arrive and I get the awesome, extra special VEE-DAH-ZAH!!!!!

 Poof!