Week One. It's a Wrap

"You're in the front row of the chorus line."
I like these words.
At the end of my first week, Dr F gives me the low-down on my blood tests.
They look good. Very good.
I leave the Center with a spring in my step and a big smile on my face. My first week - in the can. My body is responding, G~d is on His throne, and all's right with the world.

My schlep down the hill is uneventful. Two hours later, I pull into my driveway.
I'm home. My house, my family, my bed. Ahhhhhh.
From Friday evening to Sunday afternoon, I can relax. No infusions.

Hubster and One and Only Son prepare Shabbat dinner while I hang out on the couch. You know, I could get used to this. Costco rotisserie chicken and artichokes hit the spot. Yes, I'm a blessed woman.
 And there's more.
On Saturday evening, after a restful Shabbat day of napping, I'm treated to dinner, gifts and lots of love from Lovely Daughter, Son-In-Love, a pile of Grands (count them...5), Hubster and One and Only Son. Pre-Mother's Day, don't you know.
And there's more.
On Sunday, I'm loved on by 3 more Grands.

But now, I must pack up and take my leave. It's been a delightful weekend - too short.
Time to return to Century Wellness Center for my second week.

On Monday, the routine begins again. I meet with Dr I for an exam. All my innards are good and healthy. Recovery is progressing as planned.
As I enter the infusion room, my IV friends are there too. We've all survived our weekend, and we greet each other like college buddies returning from our weekends. We catch each other up with our stories.
Back to the business of healing.

On Tuesday, I meet with Dr M. Such a treat. His upbeat manner is good for the body and soul.
We talk about the weekend and he gives me the blood report from the test taken on Monday.
Yup, my little blood soldiers are doing their job - everyone from the Lieutenants to the Special Forces. All are carrying out their duties.
It's chemo day. Finger pokes and orange juice. Within 2 hours, I'm done.
It's a windy day. I'm ready for a little nap before I venture out to Whole Foods.

My mind goes back to the infusion room at the hospital and I can't help but become sad. Very sick people, curled up in blankets, alone and silent, enduring yet more bags of chemotherapy. Most will be there for 6 to 8 hours. And then there are the ones confined to beds in the cancer ward. Hair gone, strength gone; and many with no hope of recovery. They've given up, biding their time until their bodies can't take the stress of more poison.
Is conventional Western medicine really in the business to save lives...
I wonder.
Next: My friends and their stories.

Hospital Tours

To recap - the Hubster is in the hospital. Diagnosis - heart attack.
No food for you.
Thursday Chinese dinner was becoming a fleeting memory, but a necessary one. He would have to rely on memories of food and water because he was now in fast mode.
 He had IVs in both arms and various poke marks on the back of his hands from blood draws. He probably wouldn't have wanted to drink - leaking issues, don't you know.
Next step - a heart catherterization. His father had one back in the 80s. It was painful.
But, this was the way to see what was going on with his heart.
The hospital he was at was booked up for the procedure and they wanted it done sooner rather than later, so he'd be transported via ambulance to a hospital in another city - about 30 minutes away.
Oh boy, an ambulance ride!
The EMT team came in, made us all laugh with their banter, strapped him in and off he went. I followed by car.
Then I waited. That's hard. The waiting room was cold, no one answered the phone to the nurses station, so I would know what was happening. Did they take him in already? Was he waiting in the bay for his turn ? I pulled out my computer and worked on a project. No use trying to make something happen. I waited. And then, I tried the phone one more time. Sorry, but I'm not a good waiter when I don't have information to go on. The nurse, in a cheery voice told me to come on back. He was done with the procedure. I knew he would have a small amount of sedation, so I expected him to be out of it. But there he was, like nothing had happened, except two nurses were busy around him checking monitors and his wrist. This is where they snaked a thin wire up the artery, injected contrast dye and then watched where it went within the various arteries and veins in his heart.
He was having a good time chatting up the nurses. He mentioned that when they were ready to start the procedure, the tune that was playing over the sound system was, "Highway to Hell." The nurse, with a laugh, apologized and said it was a radio station - no control over the play list. The party was in the recovery bay. The doctor came in, said everything went as planned, a major artery was around 90-95% blocked and the next step would be to have a stent placed in the artery.
After everything checked out, his transport was called for the trip back to the first hospital. When they arrived, the party continued. The two EMT gals (young and cute), two nurses, myself and Hubster who was sitting on the side of the bed spent, oh, around twenty minutes chatting and laughing - like we'd met friends at a mall.
"Well, you ready to head back?" says one of the EMTs.
"Sure, why not, I'm not dressed for a night out on the town."
Back to Hotel Hospital Number One.
Next: Another Night, Another Interruption. Or, What's So Special About Sleep Anyway?