Just another day at the hospital

I am trying to be a good sport, truly I am. But, here's the thing: I spent a very long time in the hospital when I was diagnosed with leukemia. I almost died in that room on the second floor at the end of the hall. I can still remember the smell and whenever we have to drive by UNMC, I have to close my eyes.

So, now. Here we go. The thyroid is failing. My cancer markers are up. I need tests and procedures. These are all held in hospitals. I have spent the last three days in a hospital. Day one was getting labs. In and out, easy peasy. Day two was getting an iodine uptake. This was on voting day. I told the universe that the least it could do for me is let the Democrats take the house and not let Ted Cruz win over Beto. We won the house. Thank you. Ted Cruz won, so now we all have to see his snotty little face for years. At least he had to hug Donald Trump. Consider it penance, idiot. You had to kiss the ass of a man who insulted your wife's looks and accused your Dad of being an assassin. but, hey...boys will be boys, right?

Today was spent getting a thyroid ablation. I sat in the early morning hours on the living room sofa, scared. I was bolstered by two bracing texts from my sisters. My sisters and I don't always agree, but they never let me face anything alone. I took a deep breath and drove myself to the hospital.

It is only swallowing a pill. A pill full of radiation. I was terrified but this is only the first step. Next week, once my isolation period is over, I will have a body scan to see where the cancer is hiding this time.

I sat in the car for a long time before I walked into that hospital smell again. I thought about all the people in that building who were stuck in beds and couldn't leave after their procedure. I told myself that it was just radiation.

Just radiation? That even sounds idiotic. Like...it's just poison. It's just Satan. It's just cancer.

I looked at my sister's texts again. I thought about my Dad, my Mother, my wife. Sarah. Conrad. Lucy. I would just go and do this. No time to act like a baby.

I got out of the car and headed into the hospital. I was two feet from the front door and suddenly I just couldn't go in. I was so sick of bad news and procedures and labs. I looked up at the sky and whispered, "I could use a little help here."

A man in a maintenance uniform walked past me and opened the door and then looked back at me, holding it for me. I couldn't just stand there forever. I walked in. As I passed him, he said, "Before you know it, it will be evening and this will be over."

He had no idea who I was or what I was doing there. But, his smile carried me right through that door. The smell hit me. I kept walking.

I took the elevator to the basement. Waited for the pill to arrive for me to swallow. It came in a large silver vial. The nurse smiled at me.

"It is very important that you not touch the pill," she said. "You just pop it into your mouth and this will measure when you start to be radioactive."

She was holding a geiger counter.

Now or never. I popped the pill into my mouth. Before I could even swallow, the geiger counter started loudly clicking,

"I guess I'm radioactive now," I said. I noticed that she had stepped six feet away from me.

She nodded and said that I was free to go, but to sleep alone for three nights, flush the toilet twice after every use and be sure to eat only on plastic or paper plates and use utensils of the same.

"You'll be okay to be around others by Saturday," she said. "But, avoid babies and pregnant women for at least ten days." 

So. Home now. Tomorrow, I can stop the low iodine diet and go back on my meds. Next week, I will be back to normal and we can chase this cancer down.

I feel as if I would do anything to just have a boring, mundane life back. The kind where I don't wake up with my heart hammering at 3 in the morning,

I tell myself to get things together. I can do this. I have beat death twice now and I am a fucking badass. I will NOT be afraid. Just walk the walk until it feels normal.

But, I am so scared. On the inside. In those small hours of the morning.

I think that maybe we should get a dog. I think a dog would be nice.

Maybe after I am not radioactive. I can't believe I just wrote that. Maybe after I'm not radioactive? Ok. Time to embrace it.

I am radioactive, bitches. Keep your distance.

There. That feels MUCH better.