Today we're coming to you from the Tom Baker Bone Marrow Transplant Unit, thanks to the power of laptop computing. I usually end up sleeping when I'm here, but I've always wanted to capture the feelings that I have when I go to these appointments.
The first thing I need to talk about is the way the Foothills hospital makes me feel when I see it. I feel like I'm visiting the World Trade Centre site when I first see the Foothills hospital. It sounds bizarre, but to me it makes sense. I went into the foothills a strong, "healthy" person and all that is left is the rubble left from the assault on my body. The hospital is a reminder of who I used to be, and just seeing the building makes me a bit queasy.
Now, the hard part is when I walk into the building. The feelings I have outside the building change completely when I'm here in the Bone Marrow Transplant Unit. I feel protected, safe, and in good hands. I think just knowing that I'm being examined by the best is comforting and that's why I usually get the best sleeps here. I'm not sleeping today, however but nothing would give me a greater pleasure than to crash on this uncomfortable bed and let the sound of the ventilation system put me to sleep.
I've got to talk about the nurses down here before I continue. I know I've said that the nurses on Unit 57 were the best in the world. Well, spending time in the Bone Marrow Transplant clinic has shown me that the superior quality of nursing in this hospital is not limited to Unit 57. These guys rock down here as well.
That being said, lets get to the actual procedures that happen to me when I'm here. I get directed to a bed and sit there until a nurse comes by to assess me and draw blood. She checks to make sure I don't completely suck at changing my own central line dressings, and she draws blood and flushes my lines to make sure the central line is still working. After that, we pull out my binder (and yes it's as thick as a 3 inch binder now) and go through all the problems of the past to make sure they are being or have been treated. They have this huge checklist that they go through that has every conceivable health problem known to man. We go down that list which takes a few minutes, but I'm glad they are so thorough in their weekly investigation. Us Bone Marrow patients don't have such a great memory sometimes, and it helps to have such an extensive list to check off so I don't end up at home saying "Shit, I forgot to tell them about my toes falling off last night".
After the checkup, comes the waiting. We wait for the doctor to come around and see us. This usually means a wait of over two hours. I would normally have a bit of a problem with this, but then again, it's not that bad if you've got something to do. Besides, the blood tests need to come back before the Doctor's can do anything, and the people who work in the lab here probably see more blood in one day than a slaughterhouse, so I'm quite happy that it only takes 2 hours.
Well, we're in the waiting period right now, so I'm going to save this, and play some Diablo II. It's an older game, but really worth picking up on the discount rack. I'll pick this entry up after I've seen the doctor.
Back again. The doctor was kind enough to drop my Cyclosporin to 150 from 200 twice a day. He also dropped my Prednesone by 10mg instead of 5mg. Tonight and tomorrow will be hard as my body adjusts to the lower dosages, but the good news is that those are the two drugs causing most of the side effects. Big drops in both mean that life should get better. They've scheduled a bone marrow biopsy for the 3rd of February. No word yet on when the line can come out. Dr Chaudry wants to wait until he sees the results of the biopsy before he'll "pull the plug" so to speak.
So now I sit in the Foothills pharmacy, typing away as a severely over-worked pharmacy staff run around trying to get everything for everybody. There are shopping bags full of medications to be picked up by poor bastards like me. I would estimate that there are about 50 full-size paper shopping bags full of drugs behind the counter, and they were most likely put there today. Everyone is polite and courteous, but you can tell that the pharmacy is in desperate need of more space and personnel. Sitting in the pharmacy gives me a chance to observe everyone who comes in. It's a new hobby of mine, since I spend one day a week at the Tom Baker, and until we got the laptop, I had nothing to do but stare at people.
The pharmacy is in the Foothills Hospital side, and there is a great difference in the atmospheres of the Foothills side, compared to the Tom Baker Cancer Centre side. The Foothills is much more lively, and seems to be brimming with life. People are pushing their way through others to get to their appointments, others are standing in lines getting frustrated at the long wait and bitching about how they need to overhaul the health care system. Over at the Tom Baker side, there are no lines, no one is pushing, no one is rushing to an appointment. The patients are running on autopilot, and the visitors are feeling a mixture of sadness and joy. They are sad for their friend/relative/spouse/child, but they are secretly grateful that they don't have cancer.
I forgot to make a journal entry regarding Tuesday's charity dinner at Mykonos. Great food, great people, and I got to meet the owners son who is one month or so ahead of my in the recovery process from a Bone Marrow Transplant. We actually met once before on the day that I was discharged. We actually met right here in the pharmacy as we were both waiting for the over-worked pharmacy to fill our mighty prescriptions. He's the first person I've met that knows how I feel, and I guess I was expecting the two of us to embrace, and be best buddies instantly. We have so much in common after all. I'm actually finding that I want no contact with anyone who is going through what I am. I guess I thought that after I got out of the hospital there would be a person to greet me at my house with a membership badge and a secret handshake. I was part of the Cancer survivor's club. Well, the club doesn't exist, and I think that some cancer survivors feel the same way and just want to stop talking about cancer and get on with their life. I know there are people who feel differently about this than I do, but I just don't want to be reminded about my cancer right now. I know that I flip-flop on this issue so it might be better to ignore everything I just typed. I guess wanting to get back to the gym, and get back to work and get back to being normal.
I've got my drugs now. I've moved rooms as well. I'm now sitting in the "pool room". It's actually the connecting tube between the Tom Baker and the Foothills. The reason I call it the pool room is because the walls are tiled in dark blue, and the floor has that high-school pool floor tiled look. There's a big fan somewhere around here that adds to the atmosphere, so whenever I walk through here I feel like someone should be yelling at me to do 4 more lengths of backstroke.
Well, I hope you enjoyed your tour of the Foothills/Tom Baker Cancer Centre. I've been here for 4 hours now and the total trip[ time away from Caity and the twins is about 6 hours when you factor in drive times. Week in and week out the day long wait gets a little tiring, but I'm not going to complain in the slightest. These guys and gals saved my life, and I think that's worth the wait.
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