I would like to express that chemotherapy is not bad but the Infusion Room at EIRMC is not big enough. I went over this morning, same as always, to find all six bays full. That’s not all. There was a nice couple, whom I met yesterday at my blood draw, finishing up their antibiotic infusion in the entry of the door. Just a bit further in, next to all the supplies, there was a nice lady getting treated for kidney infection. After talking with the stressed nurses that were clearly trying to manage everyone, Josue and I decided to leave for an hour and return when they projected an open bay.
Marina, Maximo, and I returned 70 minutes later to find the same couple from yesterday, the kidney infection lady, a good-looking vet with an infection in his knee, and an older lady with hot pink pants on. We jumped in line. The available chairs were next to the kidney infection lady. Turns out that my kids got a good chance to practice their people skills and learned some new vocabulary. Kidney shared her stroke story and my kids were so nice listening and asking polite questions. The only weird part was when she complimented Marina’s “thongs.” Marina had no idea what thongs were. I had to rephrase her statement using “flip flops.” My kids are still laughing at that word. I can’t wait until they figure out what the word thong means now a days. That will be a real education.
Anyway, chemotherapy is kept in the hospital in the form of a brick. So, when I arrive and the nurses from infusion order it from the pharmacy (located in some hidden place in the hospital because I have never seen it and I have been all over this place). Pharmacy, once the order is placed, begins breaking the chemo brick down into a liquid form so that it can be shot into my veins. Apparently, this brick was made by some fairy with a vengeance to still time from the average person because it takes forever. From the time they made the call to the time it was delivered in the biohazard double bagging, it took 2.5 hours.
While I love talking to all the people in infusion, and I adore the nurses (truly they are the best in the world), I would rather be doing something else. Good things come from being in the hospital that long. Marina has started to talk about wanting to grow up and be a nurse and Maximo talks about being a doctor. These are both promising professions. Plus, I have met some pretty cool people. In just one day, I got the Hot Vet, Kidney, and Hot Pink Pants…all good stories. Each one of them has their reason for being there and their life outside of the Infusion Room.
None the less, the days best humor came from my sister, Ann. She sent me a text “happy tree sap.” I laughed when I realized you can put a comma anywhere in that text and it just gets funnier. For example: “happy, tree sap” or “happy tree, sap.” Teresa stopped by with her kids to keep me company a while. That was awesome but, again, there is a space problem. Teresa’s two kids are sitting on each other while Maximo stands and Marina sits on Teresa. We were crammed in the smallest of all bays. It makes for a cozy visit until the nurse has to wedge in to shut off the IV pump and remove my port access.
So what does infusion really do. It pumps a highly toxic chemical into my body that requires the nurses to remind me that I shouldn’t be around people for the next few days, when I just sat squeezed into a room with people that are only there because they are sick. Oh, the irony of it all. They still time from my day so that I can have more years. Chemo kills my cells so that I can live. I guess the Infusion Room is a miniature model of live. We pay our costs to have out benefits and hope we got a good deal. I’m pretty with my deal. No major complaints (wink, wink.)