Chemo reflections . . .

Days I and II of chemotherapy are already behind us, now a Bob is resting, I'm writing . . . he said he's feeling a little nauseous today, nothing major, but has a li'l trash can at the head of the bed as he sleeps, just in case.

Bob's parents, Penny and Jim, were up since Wednesday night and just left this afternoon, after taking Bob back to the U for a shot of Neulasta, a drug that's given post-chemo to boost white blood cell production and help resist infections. Chemo kills all fast growing cells; cancer and red and white blood cells are fast growing cells. As such, a patient undergoing chemotherapy is at a great risk for infections, which can make them very sick, interfere with treatment, delay everything . . . a big ol' snowball effect. Hence, the Neulasta. Bob could have taken the injection home after Friday's treatment and done the injection himself, to the tune of $625 out of pocket, or drive back to the U and have it done, where insurance would pick up the cost. You do the math, and while you're at it, figure out why doing the dirty work yourself costs more than going back to the clinic and having a trained professional do it. Just one more item in a long list of what I'm seeing is so wrong with "the system . . ."

Was great to have P&J here for a few days—they came bearing bags of food and energy to burn. They took Bob to his first chemo appointment on Thursday and picked him up after the 2nd on Friday. It was such a wonderful thing to have the extra help (even though I'm a stubborn li'l redhead and have a hard time asking for it . . . or accepting it) and their company. They were chomping at the bit for Bob to say the word to come on up and just be with him. I know Bob was glad to have them here, and to have someone with him while I was at work. (Jim, incidentally, just finished radiation for prostate cancer. He's in great spirits, has a great prognosis and we're thankful the docs caught it early enough so his treatment didn't involve surgery. What a trooper! Dude's 72 years old, and can run circles around others 1/2 his age!)

I took Bob to his 7 a.m. date with Chemo on Friday. I wanted to spend a few hours with him before I went to work. Believe it or not, the 7 a.m. appointment is a great time to go in. We often get up early anyhow these days—4 a.m. is not unusual in this house, especially for Bob–traffic is smooth as buttah, and leaving at 6:15, we're still get to the U in Mpls in no time.

As we were sitting in the hallway of the Masonic Cancer Center, waiting for the clinic to open, an elderly couple rounded the corner and I heard one of them say, "Look here! Can't believe someone's here before us, honey!" I smiled, we shared some pleasant exchanges about the traffic, weather, etc. I couldn't say for sure, but I'd guess they were at least in their 70's, but sharp as a tack and clearly "regulars" at the ol' Bar Infusion. Clinic staff, as they entered the building to start their day, greeted the couple by name. They were like campground hosts at state parks, laughing, joking around with the staff and other patients. Wife went into the Infusion room and came out to announce she'd staked out "their spot." Husband asked if we were here for the first time. I said, "Well, technically, second. He stared yesterday." He gave us a big grin. "Don't worry, you'll figure it all out before long." I asked how long he's been coming for chemo. He gave a big sigh, and said, "Well, I keep all my appointments and everything on my computer at home, but overall, it's been about 11 years." Holy shit. With attitude to boot. I love this man. I need to think of him and his wife when I start slipping in my role . . .

As Bob said, his nurse (at least for now), is the niece of very good friends of P & J's. She's awesome. He got the VIP room again on Friday. Next to the bathroom, which is convenient for Bob, as he's got to wheel his IV pump with him (the photo I posted is Bob in the VIP Quarters, with his Grand Marnier IV . . . he doesn't like the photo, thinks he looks like he's on death's doorstep. I think he looks handsome. He's waving to the camera, and is a little sleepy . . .) My rocker is next to the door, so I see everyone peering in at us when they go to the can . . . next time, I'm coming with big Sophia Loren sunglasses, a newspaper to hide behind, just for fun. Do you know who we are?!? My 2 1/2 hour shift went quickly; Bob actually slept much of the time. I listened to the news on the little TV monitor above his bead and surfed the web on my phone. Bob's good friend, Paul, called while I was with Bob. He's got a work assignment that will require lots of travel for him, and offered the use of his condo in Mpls., should we need/want a place to crash/stay/escape to as needed. "Gotta take care of my peeps," he told me. He's a good man, that Paulie. Love him!

Penny made the legendary Polish Penicillin last night for dinner. Big, fat dumplings swimming in chicken broth, with juicy, golden browned chicken legs on the side—it was all that those Andrzejeks said it would be, and more. . . even though there was not even one itty-bitty, teenie-tiny little vegetable floating around in the soup, it was sofa king good, I think we all had two or three bowls each—even Bob! Since P & J have been here, his appetite has been almost like the good ol' days. Maybe that is the trick—have a few more peeps hanging around . . . normally, it's just us and the dogs. Might have to look into that, chat with Bob a bit about the thought of a scheduled, round the clock company. Something tells me he's gonna shoot that one down, but ya never know . . . Regardless, he's eating more than I've seen him do in weeks, and that makes me very happy.

As I was leaving for work this morning, Penny asked, "Where are the cleaning supplies? I'll clean the bathrooms for you, mop the floors—whatever you need done, Jen, just tell me!" Those two . . . the energy of teenagers . . . A girl could get used to this. We have room in the basement, maybe I can persuade them to move in, at least for the time being . . . though Rocco likes to get intimate with Gramma P's foot now and then, that could get old real fast. Gotta remember, he is from Kentucky.

Now is another episode in the waiting game. Three weeks till Bob goes in for the next round of chemo, which is when they'll hospitalize him for 5 days and administer lethal doses of a drug called methotrexate, along with an antidote. Sometimes, there is such a thing as too much information. . .