The sixth stab is the charm

Not sure if I can really type for long with all this stuff on my arm, but I can't really reach my pen, so here I am. I wore a sleeveless shirt over the weekend, trying to garage sale as much of my stuff as possible to help pay for this treatment and my time off. My sport climbing gear was very popular for a minute. Sold two ropes (one 60 meters, one 70 meters) for a steal, 15 quickdraws, and 3 chalk bags. I kept my flower one even though I should probably sell it too. One guy who asked how long the rope was replied to my answer of 70 meters with, Oh, okay. Well, I need 200 feet. 

"Kill me now," I thought.

Looking down at my arms, I couldn't help but wonder what these young climbers must be thinking about me selling my gear. Addict? Junkie? Needs to pay for her habit. Oh well. I think I seem like a nice person regardless.

Day 8. They struggled trying to get a good vein today. And, apparently, topical anesthesia is only for port patients. Those nurses really like those ports. 

​Drew blood when I arrived, so that was stab one. But then they couldn't place the IV. The nurse tried twice and got another nurse to come over, so that's three more stabs. She got my left forearm going. The first nurse came back and pushed my iron supplement for about 7.5 minutes. Went through fine, but it felt a little pinched and seemed to be swelling a little. Fun fact: that iron makes urine turn blackish brown.

The guy from radiology came up.

"Hey, Ms. LeBlanc. How are you?" he said, "Hey, so, we're going to get you right now. We can get you in early, so we're just going to bring this whole thing downstairs. But don't worry, I'll get this for you."

I looked at my left arm again. Was it swelling? Was the liquid going under my skin? I couldn't tell. The first nurse came over and took a peek. She was about to disconnect the little adapter and said she was going to flush it, but I stopped her. I just couldn't imagine her telling me it wasn't flushing, or maybe I'd feel that pinching pain again as she pushed the saline through.

"Maybe we just give it a minute. I'll go downstairs and keep an eye on it and see if it keeps swelling."

"So, don't flush it?"

"Well, no. This guy is here, and I'm feeling kind of traumatized from everything right now."

"Okay. The only way we can really know is if we flush it. We'll check it again when you get back."

The wheels on my IV cart aren't doing so well today, either. But the guy pushes it along and picks it up every now and then. As I walk along behind him, I notice a lot of people have people with them, but they're on their phones. Not only are they on their phone, but the patients are on their phones too. Is this company? Well, I guess so. I keep walking, not really feeling like I'm missing out on anything. 

A nice fella with an IV stand joins us to go down to radiation. In the elevator, we talk more about ports. He's got one. 

"Yeah, and they charge ya $350 for it too. Coulda made a car payment," he says. "Being sick ain't cheap! How many more do you have left?"

"Four more weeks of chemo after today," I say.

"Yeah, I've got six or seven. I guess they only make ya get 'em if you got a lot to do. Still, I don't know if I needed this thing," he said.

Of course, as he says, six and seven, I think of my students.

"Siiiiiiix seeeevvvvveeeeennnnnn," they chime out in my head.

It happens to be flower day today, and people are passing out bouquets for patients and staff. I don't take any, but I think it's a really nice gesture. One lady stops the radiologist to make sure he can pick one for his wife. Roses. Pink roses, white roses, and some that look like they're a light pink color in the center with a hint of yellow. 

Inside the radiation room, I fit my legs into the mold they made. My skin is starting to show signs of that tissue-like quality older people have. I don't feel like this should be happening to me. My imagination is overactive, and I'm constantly thinking of way more than I can actually do. But I hope. I had to cancel my yoga studio membership, so actually, I'm going to be doing one less thing than I had been doing. I'm glad I did the January challenge at the studio. It's been a while since I've done one.

He tapes the IV line down, and I put my hands on my chest, and they get it started. The machine moves around. I hear the whirring and spitting sounds. I think about sailing. I wonder why I spent so much of my childhood on boats between Florida and Lake Michigan, and yet so few of my adult years. I allow my mind to go there. Floating. I look at where the water falls off the earth on the horizon and the different shades of color in the sky. 

"You look like you're doing better today," one guy says when they return to the room.

"Because I finally (swear word) pooped!" I say.

"Good. I'm glad. I know you were having trouble with that. Hold still one more second so I can measure you."

He makes a measurement. I had gained some weight and then lost it again, so I'm the same as when I started last week. The measurements are to ensure they're treating the correct area each time. Apparently, a gas bubble on Friday slightly pushed the targeted area out of range. 

I'm supposed to see the doctor after, but while in the room, the nurse thinks the IV is infiltrating the area and should not be swelling like it is. Another nurse comes in and looks. She leaves. They decide they're going to remove the IV. She stops the machine, so then, while I'm waiting for someone to come remove it, the machine has two different sets of beeps going off. I sit there. My hand is on my head. Beeep. Bebeep. Beeeep. Bebeep. A handful of minutes pass like this before another nurse comes in. 

"We're going to remove this. A little alcohol will help the adhesive," she says as she dabs the pad with the alcohol while tugging on the corners of the various adhesives. I close my eyes. She pulls it out and turns off the beeping while making a little chit-chat about school, what grade I teach, how I like it, and the STAAR test.

After she leaves, I see a little biohazard blood on the floor. I sit and wait. I hear the doc in the other room. She had tried to come in while the nurse was there, but said she'd come back. I should've stopped her. By the way the muffled dialogue was going, I felt it would take a while to get back to me. I decide I'm not going to wait, so I go out. I let the nurses know about going back upstairs and about the biohazard on the floor. They're sweet, and the radiology guy comes back to help me with my IV stand. I know I'm going to get stabbed again, and I'm not looking forward to it, so I decide to make some coffee at the machine and look at their pretzels and crackers. It took a minute to figure out how the coffee machine works. I am cold. My left hand is ice cold. I feel really tender where the IV had been. I'm all bandaged up. 

The first nurse meets me back at my chair. She's "shopping," she says. Shopping for veins. She rubs much of my right forearm with alcohol. She presses veins. She wraps the rubber band around my bicep. She presses some more. She moves the rubber band down and looks at my wrist. She thinks she found a good one. I close my eyes. I try to keep my right hand relaxed, but grip my left hand. 

"Deep breath," she says.

I take a deep breath in and slowly blow it out like I'm blowing out a candle. I let my mind go back to the boat on the water. Stay on the water. Look at the sky and feel the breeze. Deep breaths.

Nope. Stab five doesn't work. She tapes up the needle mark.

"I thought for sure we were going to get that one," I say. "It looked really good. Like a big one."

"Nope. Alright," she says. "Let's see who's available to help out."

A few minutes later, another nurse comes by.

"Okay. Let's take a look," he says. "Oh, yes. I think this one will be really good."

I look away, close my eyes, deep breath, sailing, horizon, don't want to look yet, blow out candles, sailing, water, boats....

"There we go!" he says. "You know, I was having so much trouble in my own station, but then I came over here. And voila! It's all good." 

He seems happy, and I don't feel a thing. No pinch. Nothing. All taped up and ready to go. The 6th stab was the charm!

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