I’m enjoying a brief respite until Monday the 11th, when I have my second chemo infusion. Currently I have no chemo side effects, my blood infection gone – the IV antibiotics make me a little tired, but other than that, I’m pretty much back to normal. My infusion on Monday will go through my PICC line, which pokes out of my right arm just above my elbow. How I’ll get the last two infusions is still unclear; seems a bit much to have a new port installed just for that, so maybe I’ll keep the PICC line? Time will tell. I’ve confirmed that even though I’ve now had a longer than projected pause between my first and second chemo infusions, I am still on track to do a total of four. We’re just a little bit behind schedule, but it’s fine.
All of the bullshit happened after only my first chemo infusion. Three more to go!
I may have mentioned before that Bob’s rock stage name is Dr. Nasty, because he “didn’t go to four years of nasty medical school to be called Mister.” I’ve now had a chance to learn more about what exactly he studied at nasty medical school.
He’s able to do a medical-ish examination and predict “a full recovery.”
Dispense pills: Absolutely.
Check temperature with oral thermometer: Yes.
Attend all medical appointments with the patient: Yes.
Bring food and supplies as requested by hospitalized patient: More or less.
Prepare food and snacks for patient: Yes.
Assist in wound care: Hell no.
I think the majority of his studies focused on leather apparel and managing groupies. But he continues to do an excellent job overall.
Bob says he knows I’m feeling better because I’ve ramped up my various vendettas. I continue to do battle with Instacart, after being charged $9.99 for $1.40 worth of herbed Neufchatel. I will not tolerate such fraudulent bullshit. I made sure to copy poor Betsy from the Wedge customer service just to expand the circle of people who know I’m a volatile wingnut.
I’ve taken against my home health nurse who comes weekly to change my PICC line bandage and draw blood for labs. The first time she was incredulous that I wanted an appointment later than 10 a.m., and was pushy about asking for a reason why. It turned out to be the only time she was available, so it’s not like I really had a choice. She made a big deal about scheduling me for 11 a.m. today to “better fit my schedule.” But what good is that when she showed up 15 minutes early? The nurse was disparaging about the amount of pet hair in my recovery lair. And she wouldn’t let pets participate at all, so they put on an amazing display as she was leaving: Abbie was doing some deep intimate sniffing that she couldn’t ward off as her hands were full, and Balto the cat attempted an incredible acrobatic leap through the air and super-fast zoom up the stairs, but he slipped and crashed kind of hard. A normal person wouldn’t know there are dog treats in the kombucha bottle in the middle of the living room floor, and would assume we just have garbage laying around. I was in pet-hair covered pajamas both visits. By all appearances, it’s a total shit show over here.
But I’m great! I’m obsessed with The Zoo, the behind-the-scenes TV show about the animals at the Bronx zoo. I needed something to take my mind off constantly thinking about Schitt’s Creek, the best show ever that you should watch immediately if you haven’t already, and then tell me what parts you love the best.