Lab week
It is kind of like finals week in college. Except that it is life or death. I know, I know....finals feels like life or death, but in the scheme of your life, it is just a bead. You'll figure that out when you get older.
Cancer patients HATE labs. And waiting for labs. Mine go like this: two hours before my next oncology appointment, I get labs taken in the same building. Because I have a port, this is a relatively easy process. I really like all of the nurses, save for one. She is being trained and is not as adept as the others, but she means well. Still. When I give my name to the front desk and sit down, I always count how many people are in front of me. This can be hard since a lot of people bring their drivers in with them. But, since I usually know almost everyone, I can usually figure it out. Then, I watch the order of nurses. It might be Colby, Barb, Kendra, Kathy, Maeve, Mindy (the trainee), and Lena. Maeve is my favorite. She sports a crew cut, talks incessantly about training her new puppy with her partner and could stick me in her sleep. Then, there is Colby. He is the darkest black man that I have ever seen and has an English accent that sounds like James Bond. He is not chatty, but will answer questions. He was actually a doctor in his native country, but because of a medical snafu, cannot practice doctor medical procedures for 6 months. You can tell that he sees all this sticking patients is demeaning for him, but he is always polite and calm. He could also stick me in his sleep. Barb is a gum chewer and wears her blonde hair in a ponytail as tight as Ariana Grande's. She calls everyone, even men, toots. She wisecracks a lot. Makes jokes that aren't very funny, like..."Ok. So are you ready for your colonoscopy?" She could also stick you in her sleep. In fact, before she did this job, she worked in the infant oncology department and was the one who did all the sticking. She could thread a needle in pitch black. Then, Lena. She has a thick Romanian accent and a heart of gold. She always winces when she sticks you, but never misses the mark. She calls me pretty girl. I suspect that she might call many people that, but I choose to believe that it is just for me.
So, the labs aren't bad. The worst part is the waiting. I often will have an appointment for....say 9:00 and will arrive at 8:45 and not get stuck until 10:00, so I have learned to bring a book. Otherwise, there are magazines that are more than a year old. Magazines like Parenting, Good Housekeeping, and Time. Boring.
And then there is the oncology department. One floor up. Directly on top of the infusion center. I am usually greeted by Chloe, but since she was pregnant and due January 27, I suspect that she will be on maternity leave until Spring. Too bad because Chloe is a whizz at getting through all that pesky paperwork that comes with each appointment.
And then....the appointment. The hard part. I am weighed, have my blood pressure taken, my oxygen level taken and my temperature taken and then escorted into one of 7 rooms. My favorite room is 5 because I have never been given bad news in Room 5. Room 1 is not my favorite for the opposite reason.
And then I wait. Sometimes for 10 minutes. Sometimes for an hour. And then there is a brief knock on the door. If it is one of the PA's, Jennifer or Emily, I usually breathe easier because this means that my labs are pretty good. If it is DR. P, I catch my breath because this usually means bad news. Once in a while, I am surprised and everything is ok, but as a rule, no.
My labs are this Thursday. I have been getting shakier and shakier since Sunday. T tells me that this is useless. Why worry until the day of? I don't know. I just know that when I talk to fellow patients in the chemo room, if someone says, "It's my lab week," we all nod in understanding if you act a little loony.
Because everything hinges on those stinking labs. In my case, if my white blood cell count is below 1.7, I cannot get chemo. If my potassium, magnesium, sodium, or B-12 is low, I have to get them replenished. This involves sitting with bags of whatever I am low on. Bags that take up to 3 hours to infuse into my port. And I have NEVER had all of my electrolytes be normal. I am always low on something. If I am too low for more than 2 visits, I can't get my chemo. But, the big one for me is the CA-15 test. The tumor marker test. If it starts to go up, it means that my treatment is failing and that the cancer has figured out a way around it. So much hinges on those labs. And now, for me....it really is life or death. The treatment that I am on now is my last line of treatment. There is nothing else to offer me if this one fails. My Dr. keeps telling me that she has several patients who are on their 82nd round of this treatment but when I asked her how many didn't fare well on it, she smiles and doesn't answer.
So, wish me well. Thursday is the day for me. I have been off all medication since January 15 because my electrolytes were all out of whack. Now, we shall see if all my rest and um....relaxation has paid off.
Fingers crossed.
Cancer patients HATE labs. And waiting for labs. Mine go like this: two hours before my next oncology appointment, I get labs taken in the same building. Because I have a port, this is a relatively easy process. I really like all of the nurses, save for one. She is being trained and is not as adept as the others, but she means well. Still. When I give my name to the front desk and sit down, I always count how many people are in front of me. This can be hard since a lot of people bring their drivers in with them. But, since I usually know almost everyone, I can usually figure it out. Then, I watch the order of nurses. It might be Colby, Barb, Kendra, Kathy, Maeve, Mindy (the trainee), and Lena. Maeve is my favorite. She sports a crew cut, talks incessantly about training her new puppy with her partner and could stick me in her sleep. Then, there is Colby. He is the darkest black man that I have ever seen and has an English accent that sounds like James Bond. He is not chatty, but will answer questions. He was actually a doctor in his native country, but because of a medical snafu, cannot practice doctor medical procedures for 6 months. You can tell that he sees all this sticking patients is demeaning for him, but he is always polite and calm. He could also stick me in his sleep. Barb is a gum chewer and wears her blonde hair in a ponytail as tight as Ariana Grande's. She calls everyone, even men, toots. She wisecracks a lot. Makes jokes that aren't very funny, like..."Ok. So are you ready for your colonoscopy?" She could also stick you in her sleep. In fact, before she did this job, she worked in the infant oncology department and was the one who did all the sticking. She could thread a needle in pitch black. Then, Lena. She has a thick Romanian accent and a heart of gold. She always winces when she sticks you, but never misses the mark. She calls me pretty girl. I suspect that she might call many people that, but I choose to believe that it is just for me.
So, the labs aren't bad. The worst part is the waiting. I often will have an appointment for....say 9:00 and will arrive at 8:45 and not get stuck until 10:00, so I have learned to bring a book. Otherwise, there are magazines that are more than a year old. Magazines like Parenting, Good Housekeeping, and Time. Boring.
And then there is the oncology department. One floor up. Directly on top of the infusion center. I am usually greeted by Chloe, but since she was pregnant and due January 27, I suspect that she will be on maternity leave until Spring. Too bad because Chloe is a whizz at getting through all that pesky paperwork that comes with each appointment.
And then....the appointment. The hard part. I am weighed, have my blood pressure taken, my oxygen level taken and my temperature taken and then escorted into one of 7 rooms. My favorite room is 5 because I have never been given bad news in Room 5. Room 1 is not my favorite for the opposite reason.
And then I wait. Sometimes for 10 minutes. Sometimes for an hour. And then there is a brief knock on the door. If it is one of the PA's, Jennifer or Emily, I usually breathe easier because this means that my labs are pretty good. If it is DR. P, I catch my breath because this usually means bad news. Once in a while, I am surprised and everything is ok, but as a rule, no.
My labs are this Thursday. I have been getting shakier and shakier since Sunday. T tells me that this is useless. Why worry until the day of? I don't know. I just know that when I talk to fellow patients in the chemo room, if someone says, "It's my lab week," we all nod in understanding if you act a little loony.
Because everything hinges on those stinking labs. In my case, if my white blood cell count is below 1.7, I cannot get chemo. If my potassium, magnesium, sodium, or B-12 is low, I have to get them replenished. This involves sitting with bags of whatever I am low on. Bags that take up to 3 hours to infuse into my port. And I have NEVER had all of my electrolytes be normal. I am always low on something. If I am too low for more than 2 visits, I can't get my chemo. But, the big one for me is the CA-15 test. The tumor marker test. If it starts to go up, it means that my treatment is failing and that the cancer has figured out a way around it. So much hinges on those labs. And now, for me....it really is life or death. The treatment that I am on now is my last line of treatment. There is nothing else to offer me if this one fails. My Dr. keeps telling me that she has several patients who are on their 82nd round of this treatment but when I asked her how many didn't fare well on it, she smiles and doesn't answer.
So, wish me well. Thursday is the day for me. I have been off all medication since January 15 because my electrolytes were all out of whack. Now, we shall see if all my rest and um....relaxation has paid off.
Fingers crossed.
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