root pump plus
January 17, 2007 § 6 Comments
I received the email notification over a week ago:
Appointment reminder for Tuesday 1/16/2007
9:30am Dr Steven Come
10:00am CHAIR 20
I always liked the even number chairs.
Yesterday began with the ritual blood tests and taking of vital signs confirming I can tolerate another “treatment”. But first, an appointment with Dr Come.
The bad guys (aka cancer cells) have been sucking up the ACT/cytoxin cocktail since early December. Tricked into drinking a poison elixir (hee hee hee) my cancer cells are convulsing and spewing out of me in a river of Wisosky tea.
Dr Come is two steps ahead, he does not under estimate our enemy. Even as the tumor shrinks, and quite notably, he does not want to give them a chance to become immune. After 4 dense doses of ACT/cytoxin he’ll change my meds and on January 30th, two weeks from today, I’ll mainline Taxol instead. There’s always an “X” in these meds though they never use the word poison they are not afraid to drop a hint in naming.
By the time I entered the “treatment” room. It was a full house. All Monday treatments moved to Tuesday again due to the long holiday weekend. My regular nurse, Julie has Tuesday off. Jacqueline was subbing for her.
I eyed Chair 20. It was occupied. Marty handed over the parking ticket for a validation sticker and we waited as they reviewed the seating chart. Like a hot restaurant on a Friday night, we hung at the reception desk until they banished us to the waiting area. No bar or jazz trio in sight.
They called my name. My chair was ready.
The maitre’d offered me Chair 21.
“Do you have anything in an even number perhaps?”
The answer was no. This wasn’t a case of slipping her a $20 or even waiting for a chair to open up. You get what you get and you don’t get upset.
Chair 21, it was like going back in time.
I pushed into the blue vinyl recliner, accepted the blanket the Jacqueline offered and paid minimal attention to the drip. Only enough to alert the nurse of a burning sensation, the tell tale sign of a bad reaction. After one vial of ACT and a red flare-up on my hand near the infusion site we paused. Eventually it faded and the syringe in the IV resumed.
I pack for treatments like I would a road trip; ipod charged, slippers, thermos. Clementine’s and tea, my cell phone, my notebook, I don’t bother with the camera.
My favorite volunteer came by, Roger.
He offered us a Turkey sandwich. I passed, but I was happy to see that someone had tipped them off about his nausea-inducing menu a couple weeks back of egg salad and chicken salad sandwiches.
Roger had a present for me. Truth is I couldn’t help but notice the stash of holiday gift bags on the receptionist’s table. He pulled a bright red bag off the counter and handed it to me. I would have guessed a mug with Santa, maybe a stuffed reindeer; my hopes weren’t high for anything practical. Happily, my cleaning lady appreciated all my re-gifts; fruitcakes and candy dishes. I was sure this had her name on it as well.
The bag was heavier than expected. I opened it. Inside were three large cans of hair product; Hairspray, hair gel and giant red can called “Big Sexy Hair” root pump plus humidity resistant volumizing spray mousse.
“Roger, I don’t have hair.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, it will grow back.
I hand back two of three cans, it’s just too generous (and too heavy to carry). I hold on to the “Big Sexy Hair” root pump plus humidity resistant volumizing spray mousse.
I fall asleep for some period time. I dream about big sexy hair. When I wake up Marty tells me that Roger had come by again and sang me a lullaby.
I can hardly wait for my next treatment.