Back in the Saddle

Moving to a new state meant a new oncology practice. And a new oncology practice mean that yesterday's round of maintenance chemo might be just a tad different from my previous 25 rounds. Good thing I'm not set in my ways. Right, honey? RIGHT, honey?

As the saying and my marriage goes: "Sure, you can do it any way you want, but let me show you the right way to do it."

There were a few pleasant surprises as I made my way back to the over priced recliner. I like to associate positive words when describing chemo, as I juxtaposing is a pastime of mine. Or maybe I just like to turn the negative into the positive. Or just maybe I see the tiniest bit of sun peaking through the clouds and declare it a beach day!

While going over how my infusions were going to roll, my nurse, in a complete abundance of Minnesota Nice, confirmed with me what my doctor told us last week. It just so happens that they like kids here, and that means my kids are welcome. Listen to those sweet words, people. Let them roll off your tongue.

My kids are welcome. I can bring my kids.

Not to infusions, obviously. It's hard to chase them down and beat them keep order for hours at a time when I'm strapped to an IV pole. Plus, I hate being interrupted during Netflix by needy children. Can't they tell I'm knee deep in some British period piece and don't care that they want more water, food or are bleeding?

It was just yesterday morning, while taking my final shower for the next 2 days (thanks to the pump) that Merrick interrupted me in a complete panic. For him to violate the "You're not allowed in our room" rule AND walk into the bathroom, there must be blood dripping or water over flowing somewhere in the house! Surely!?!?

Nope. He just wanted me to know that he couldn't remember the name of one of the kids in his class. A child he would be seeing in less than half-an-hour. And this, amongst many other important reasons, is why you don't bring your kids with you to get infused if you want to enjoy the already miserable experience.
Let's all remember that fateful day this summer, when all things smelly hit the fan and I was made the scapegoat for all those ill-behaved children of the world. If I can even put into words what a pain in the ass it was having to drag and drop my kids off for every petty little oncology appointment I would. Instead I'll resort to grown up phrases like pain in the ass to try and illustrate the additional 90 minutes it added to my day and the 2 gallons of gas each trip took in my Prius-eating monster truck. I will admit that all the love and help and graciousness I felt from every single person that took the time to watch them did help to overcome the ass part, but it was still a pain.

My mostly obedient, mostly well behaved, mostly trustworthy, sometimes quiet,  sometimes calm and occasionally impressive as long as we're not on the toy aisle at Target children may accompany me for those quick little visits for labs and getting disconnected from my pump. What normally takes less 15 minutes will actually take less than 15 minutes because I can duct tape Lachlan roll my confined toddler in with me. Huge. Relief.

So that's one little perk to this new process. The next is my new pump. Like I said, some things are a little different, and so far all that change is for the good; including my new little friend hanging from my hip as I type. Once my photographer gets off the school bus this afternoon, I might have to model it for you.
And that's how I roll for my 2 days with the pump. Plugged into my port. Keeping me out of the shower. Drawing awkward stares from the oldest child.

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