Saturday, June 29, 2013

Pull This

Thursday, I accompanied "my" client to his oncologist and chemo appointments.  This time, things were not so happy and bright and fun; in fact, it was down right depressing.  He was in an appropriately angry, dark funk, the chemo lab was relatively empty, I was having a pity-party of my own (in no relation to the situation at hand) and he was having a new type of chemo that took over six hours....six hours!  That's not including lab work and doctor time. Six hours is a long time to sit in a chair and get chemicals pumped into your veins.  Of course, six hours in a chemo lab cured my pity party--I've got nothing to whine about, as evidenced by  staring into the faces of people who really have reason to have a pity party should they choose.

I didn't see any of them having a pity party, so I knocked it right off.

The client was sound asleep and I had to pee.  I decided it would be okay to use the chemo lab's toilet; after all, I'd seen other people go in there and there weren't a lot of people around, anyways.  It was a very large bathroom, a private room, not stalls--a one seater with a locking door.  You know, a regular bathroom.  So, I'm doing my thing, toilet paper properly placed on the toilet seat as taught by my mother, peeing as I needed to pee....I reach for the toilet paper.....

....and accidentally grab the emergency call cord and set off the bathroom call alarm.

Dear god, I was MORTIFIED!

Pants at my ankles, no time to wipe, I lunged for the door, terrified a nurse would burst in to save me from certain doom.  Because it was a large bathroom, I had to take a few pants-on-the-ground bursts to get to the door.  I opened it part way and yelled, "I'm okay!"  The nurse was already at the door....a nurse I know, of course....and, she starts laughing.  

"Will you PLEASE push the cancel button?"  I turned and looked.  Dang, that master's degree of mine didn't go very far--I never saw the cancel button, right by the pull cord.

I pushed the cancel button and finished my business.  Trust me when I say I didn't want to come out of that bathroom.  There was no hiding, though--the bathroom is located for all to see.

Note to self: Remember there is probably a cancel button near panic buttons.

Thankfully, none of the patients seemed to notice, as there really were few people there and no one was near the bathroom.  I took my walk of shame back toward my chair, thankful "my" client was still sound asleep.  The nurse, still laughing, said, "I wasn't going to come in! I would have just knocked and asked if you were okay." I nodded and admitted to being quite mortified.  "You didn't have to answer the door!"  We laughed about me and my mid-pee scramble to keep her from bursting in.

She then said, "wait 'til I tell my sister!"

Oh dear god!

I happen to be long-time friends with the nurse's sister, so I knew she would follow through and that my ankle-pants-emergency-alarm-pee would be the talk of the town.  Or, at least within our circle of friends.

Although I was embarrassed, I was cured of all that ailed me.  I chuckled as I thought "Every cloud has a silver lining."

Some even come with emergency pull cords.


Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Happy Birthday, Freckles "Helen" Warrior Princess, 13 years young.  The wife and I cannot believe this dog is still kicking.  We originally guessed she'd be on the planet for 16 years, then changed our minds when she had her brush with death--we decided we'd be good with getting to ten years.  Although mostly blind and mostly deaf, this dog rocks and she most certainly could make it a few more rounds.

Recently, the wife and I were invited to go to friends' summer home.  Being the gracious hostesses that they are, our friends told us they would provide everything, including the food.  They asked if I wanted some veggie burgers; I assured them that was not necessary, as I can always find things to eat from the foods others are eating.  (I can usually feast on non-meat-ified side dishes, if nothing else.)  Besides, they said we'd be making shish-kabobs and those are always easy to modify for vegetarian needs.  I was so sure of the situation that I didn't even bring chocolate along for the trip.

Those who know me know that I cannot live without chocolate.  This is not an exaggeration--it is a bonafide addiction.  I'm not sure what possessed me to leave home without chocolate, as I am not kidding about taking it everywhere--I've held up lines in airports as the TSA tries to figure out what is in my carry on (Dove Dark Chocolates make for interesting x-rays, I guess), I've hidden bags of M&Ms so I wouldn't have to share them, I've planned for days how I can bring chocolate wherever I am going.  Why I decided this trip not to bring any is beyond me.

So, we get to the house and all is well.  It is absolutely delightful and it is wonderful to be with friends in such a stress-free setting.  As it is lunch time when we arrive, we are ushered into the house....

....and, that is when we learn our friends are on a five-day, "reset" liquid diet/cleanse.

We had NO idea that our friends would not be eating this weekend--heck, we had no idea that they would even consider a five day cleanse, let alone do such a cleanse on a vacation.  Who goes on vacation and sucks down nothing more than diet shakes? I mean, isn't that against the law? If it isn't, it should be.  And, if they aren't eating....what have they brought along for us to eat? I had envisioned a lot more than something that shoots out of a blender.

I was stymied about why they were providing the food when they weren't planning to eat any of it.

I surveyed the counter and didn't see anything but a mound of shake packets, four bags of chips, two bags of popcorn and a bunch of pears.  Now, I like a good chip now and then but I'm not a big fan.  I don't eat popcorn 'cuz it bothers my parts and I hate pears.  (I apologize to the pears of the world--I'm just not a fan.)  I saw a loaf of bread and a bag of giant fire-pit-sized marshmallows...I don't eat those, either but I do love bread.  I figured if marshmallows were on the premises, Hershey bars couldn't be far behind.  I cursed myself for (1) saying "no" to veggie burgers; and, (2) not bringing chocolate on the trip.   I found a 1/2 jar of peanut butter in the cupboard, so I whipped up a peanut butter and butter sandwich with a side of chips.  Good enough for jazz.  At least I didn't have to have one of those shakes.

The chocolate thing REALLY bothered me; in fact, I was on the verge of panic. I had found the Hershey bars but they were very limited in number and definitely had been set aside for s'more making.  I knew it would not be appropriate to break into the pack during the first hour at the house.  There was nothing else.  I was doomed.  Not only would I be eating peanut butter and butter sandwiches, I would be twitching on the ground, going through sugar withdrawal.

I hate to admit it, but in the wee hours of Saturday morning, in a moment of desperation, I dug through every drawer, every nook, every storage bin and the entire pantry.  I am pleased to say I hit the jackpot when I found a 1/2 bag of chocolate chips (probably from 2009).  A true addict, I opened that bag and shoveled them in.

And no, I did not share them.  In fact, I did not mention that I had found them or eaten any of them.  I made sure I'd have some for Sunday, too.

Suffice it to say, when it came time for s'mores, I was first in line.  I had several non-marshmallowed s'mores, weeping silently to have access to the chocolate that had taunted me.  I don't know what the hurry was, as our friends certainly weren't eating any.  While shoveling in s'more #3, I realized that it really would be okay to eat the extra chocolate bars.  Score! Breakfast was planned for tomorrow......

Who doesn't love a peanut butter, butter and chocolate bar sandwich?

I should have put some chips on the sandwich. That would have taken it to gourmet level.

I am pleased to report that a good time was had by all and that their liquid diet didn't really slow me down in the long run.  I suppose I should "do" something about this chocolate addiction but really have no motivation to do so; in fact, I have more motivation to go on a five day cleanse than address my chocolate consumption.

They did mention that one of the shake flavors was chocolate.....

Saturday, June 08, 2013

Beginning, Middle, End

I am at the beginning, middle and end....of four clients' life journeys.  The one at the beginning of her journey is pregnant.  The one at the end is dying of cancer.  The ones in the middle are getting married.  I'm most interested in the young man who is dying, as he's the client I've spent the most time with and he's the one who is the most fun to be around.

Now, I know that sounds mighty weird, but it's true.  The two getting married are fine and it's fun to serve as their officiant, but really--not much going on there.  The one who is pregnant--well, that's a whole 'nother story of which we shan't discuss today.  The one who is dying--well, let's just say I'm not sure how we didn't get kicked out of chemo last week....for laughing and goofing around too much.

Lest you think he is in denial, let me assure you that he most certainly is not.  He is very aware of his terminal illness and recognizes that his time is very short.  He's gone through the denial, the anger, the bargaining and has moved on to living and on to acceptance.  His comment to me at one point during our chemo conversation: "What do they want me to do, sit around crying, boo hoo?  I have cancer.  Crying isn't going to change a thing.  So, I'm going to have fun.  I'm still alive!"

Lest you think I'm in denial, let me assure you that I am most certainly not.  I've gone down this road once before with another client and I am here to tell you it was one of the most humbling, touching, life-changing things I think I've ever done.  I know this guy is terminal and that there isn't going to be a miracle cure.  I know his time is very short.  I know that I am going to have a lot of fun along this short journey and he's asked me to come along.

It is not depressing in any capacity.  It is the opposite.  He is alive and he is living every minute.  In fact, he is a real pain in the ass, especially to his mental health providers.  But, if you were dying, wouldn't you rather be a pain in the ass than a passive slug, agonizing over how many hours you might still have to live?  And, wouldn't you want to put your anger somewhere?  Acceptance or not, it still sucks to be dying of cancer, so you might as well put your anger somewhere rather than carry it along for the ride.

If you want to be alive, be around someone who is dying.

One of the younger staff (young enough that I'm old enough to be her mother and teetering on grandmother-hood) always looks a bit squeamish and somewhat mortified when he and I talk.  We talk about dying and wishes for the funeral--openly, loudly, irreverently.  We make fun of songs he wants played as he dies and where he wants his ashes to go.  We laugh about the past and wonder how we didn't know each other back in the '80's.  (We have not fully established that we did or didn't know each other--with my ever-changing hair-do's, it's hard for most people to figure this out.)  I think she can't figure out why I talk to him about dying, so I assure her it is all right and that he is probably relieved to have one person who is willing to be honest and willing to listen about all this.

If she pays attention, she will see that we talk much more about life than death.

In true maudlin fashion, I remind her that he may outlive both of us, as there might be a bus out there with our name on it and it's gonna squish us like a bug.

I have no idea how long he has to live, as his doctor isn't giving numbers.  This is the new way to do things--don't put labels or time frames on it, I guess.  (I'm not sure what I think of that and I'm not sure what I would want to know or not know if this ever happened in my universe.  I plan on never having to tell you the answer from personal experience!)  When I joined the ride, he had 3-12 months to live.  The three months are long gone.  The nine remaining months might be longer or shorter.  Whatever the time frame, we are going to have fun.

If you've never been to a chemo treatment area, you're probably picturing it all wrong. If you are picturing a somber, quiet, dimly-lit room full of bald, sad, gently-weeping patients, you've got it all wrong--well, at least you've got it all wrong in relation to this particular chemo treatment area.  If you are picturing a bunch of lonely (and alone) chemo-receiving people lined up in a row, with no one but each other to talk to, that's wrong, too.  The place is brightly lit, full of life and energy, nurses bustling around, patients talking to friends and family, TV blaring (a little louder than I would like), with most people looking healthier than not. Oh sure, there are people who look extremely sick, frail and have lost their hair.  There are a few people sitting alone as they get their treatment.  Almost everyone falls asleep sometime during their treatment....but, for the most part, it is lively while remaining respectful.   The nurses--oh, the nurses!--they never sit down and are always smiling in a most genuine way.  They stop and chat, check the IVs, chat some more.

The nurses make the place hum with hope, even when there really isn't much hope to be had.  

They remember people's names, what chairs they like to sit in, who is with them.  They keep moving, with all the bells and alarms calling for attention.   They are factual, candid, compassionate, appropriately fun.  It's really not a bad place to be.

(Not that you ever want to have to be there, of course.)

The place brings back happy memories of my client, Harvey, who died many a year ago of breast cancer. I got to join her on her journey of chemo, surgeries, appointments, tests, more surgeries and, in the last moments, death, holding her hand as she passed away.  You would think returning to the same chemo place would bring sadness, but it does not.  It brings back the happy moments we shared while she got her treatment. It brings back memories of going out in public, with her yelling at the cashier and saying inappropriate things. It brings back a sudden urge for a Frosty, as that is what she always wanted when treatment ended.

And, so another client is dying.  It is an honor and privilege to be invited along for the ride.  I'm so glad I was invited.  I'll leave the pregnancy and the newlyweds for someone else to enjoy.

Wednesday, June 05, 2013

I'd like to say that I haven't blogged in a bit because I've been busy reading the new Diagnostic and  Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition...or, that I've been busy doing the artwork of which I have been commissioned to do....or, that I've been installing/painting/cleaning/weeding/changing/fixing something as part of a house project, but really....

....I've just been feeling too pooped to pop.

I haven't been able to figure this out, as nothing in my life has changed--I'm not working more, I haven't changed my diet or sleep architecture (how's that for a fancy way to say I'm sleeping good and following a sleep routine?), I'm not exercising more, I'm not doing anything differently, I don't have any new stressors.....

....then, I figured it out.....

(No, it's not my advancing age.  Shame on you for even thinking that.)

This spring was really tough on my allergies.  I'm not sure if the trees were bionically pollinated this year or what but man, my eyes were watering, my sinuses were screaming, my nose was clogging/running/boogering.  Mowing the lawn and weeding left me with horrible headaches and I just felt rather miserable.  Since I take my allergy pill at night, I thought maybe I should take it in the morning so it would "work" more while I'm awake.

Duh.  I switched my allergy pill to daytime and by Noon, my eyeballs are fighting to stay open.  Daytime somnolence created by a chemical zipping through my body. I never realized the medicine might make me tired because I was sleeping through it.

(If this is my biggest problem I have to deal with, I have got nothing to worry about.  I'm a lucky dawg.)

Allergy sufferers, feel my pain!  We unite in our watery eyes and boxes of kleenex.

I must say, my allergies have been much better since switching to the daytime but the wife says I'm boring because I'm tired.  Of course, my allergies might not be better at all due to the pills--they might be better because the bulk of the  tree pollination is behind us.

And, I might just be boring.

This leaves me with the question: should I change allergy pills? After all, ragweed season isn't far and I still clog up and feel miserable when mowing the lawn.  Ragweed just about takes me down every year.  (Not as badly as cats.  But, I can avoid cats.  I can't avoid ragweed in the Midwest.) I suppose I could go back to getting injections, as those worked like a charm.  I suppose I could try something homeopathic or "natural," but I'd have to find something that worked as good (or better) than the pill I current take and it would have an alcohol-free based tincture.  I could dress in a plastic bubble when outside or wear a surgical mask when mowing.  Scuba gear might work while weeding. I could pay someone to mow the lawn....but, I still have to go outside for walking, walking the dogs, picnicking, living.  I could sleep in a bed of ragweed every night and wait until my body gives up and embraces the goodness of the weed.  I could switch my med back to night time.  Or, I could just stay inside until the wind chill is below zero.

Three Hawk and Argo have offered some ideas that make sense and I've done some research that might lead to some non-medication relief.  You, dear minions of the Addiverse, are welcomed to offer your suggestions.  Maybe we could have a contest.  I'm willing to try your suggestions, as long as they are legal and don't lead me to flunking a drug test.

Until then, I think I'll be tired and boring.

Well, at least tired.