Tonight about 7:00 after chemo, I fell asleep leaning back in the driver’s seat of my Mini in the car park adjacent to Stanford South Bay Cancer Center. A deep, unpredicted snooze just after my second to last Taxol infusion. * Apparently, I’m deathly allergic to yucca, the tree Taxol is extracted from, and I stopped breathing during my first full strength dos back in January. As a result of this not breathing nonsense, my oncologist’s orders now include 50 mg. of IV Benadryl through the three pronged port in my right chest wall.
Then comes a hard, dreamless nap. Sitting snoozing the clay gray recliner, tucked under a nice clean warmed blanket, a soft gentle breeze of the air conditioner woos me toward unconsciousness. 30 minutes later, the nurse wakes me to ask if I will, “recognize my name and date of birth by reading the print on the bag,” which I slur aloud for her to decipher and back to lala land I go.
Waking to the sharp beep beep beep of the monitor letting everyone in the four story building know I’m done, a nurse I’ve never seen before rushes over startling me. She asks if I’m okay to drive. Then she begins the process of unhooking my port and rushing me out of the center. I can hear the always annoyed charge nurse asking her, “is she still here?” “YES!,” I answer for her. Jeeze. Even five boxes of gourmet brownies and blondes weren’t enough to make my twin final infusions more pleasant. No brownies for you, lady!
In the car park, where my second nap took place, sometime between 7 and 8:15 as I slept, my neighbor texted to warn me, after I’d visited last night with her and her teenaged son, that there’s a very very bad flu infection that her son caught and that I should stay home and out of public for a while. A week she advised. Her son had a 101.8 degree fever and projectile vomiting, so as they waited at urgent care with other flu sufferers, she texted me. Her tone was somewhat panicked; likely he was contagious the night before seated a foot from the television with headsets on playing a first person shooter online video game. I sat with mom about five feet away yapping for about an hour begging her two dogs to stop jumping on me and scratching the shit out of my legs.**
I arrive home about 8:45 starving but sit down to write a poem, sandwich instead of a proper dinner in hand. I’m immediately happy with the result, inspired by a post on Robin McGee’s blog, the book eponymously named for it, The Cancer Olympics, she includes a song with each post to evoke a mood or her feelings or to create a more upbeat environment. The post is a goodie and so is her book. Recovery, Homecoming, and Gordon Lightfoot’s Your Love’s Return”
This life with cancer, with it’s forced retirement, compromised immune system from the treatments, fatigue, pain, and a life full of unknowns and mysteries, stress and anxieties, I still have hope. A wonderful writer and psychological counselor, Karin Sieger ‘s blog includes a post from a request to submit favorite inspirational poems and I submitted three. Read her inspiring quotes from cancer survivors and thrivers here .
This is for you Robin and for you Karin, for enriching my metastatic and making it a little more livable.
Invading my body with water
Washing my mind with a drink
Cancer infuses by rushing to slaughter
Every cell, every organ, everything.
My dreams rust and squeak as I walk
In a dream impossible and unknown
By erasing misbegotten memories
Ugly faces of the impossible and unknown
Whose lifeless bodies lie dead in an armory
Too heavy for the metal, I’m warned.
Sickness steals sleep under conditions
Of cancer, impossible and unknown,
Squatting inside cells without permission
Living on the land of the corpse I called Home.
A map I drew of places impossible and unknown
Lines and roads point directions to one light towns
Etched by the hand of a writer in stone
Furiously chiseled before the words “we found…”
Passing by shores waves slap and erase
My memories of flights touching down
Furiously scrawling recalling the places
Using hands, now impossible and unknown.
Using hands, now impossible and unknow.
*As I sat writing this post, I find a new spell checker auto correct update forgot to learn the name of my treatment, now changing “taxol” to “taco.” Who wouldn’t rather eat tacos then get chemo infusion of a derived therapy from the bark of the yucca tree.
**Why do people feel the need to defend a pet thats untrained and causing some damage to a houseguest? How about it takes me 2-4 weeks to be rid of the blood blisters caused by those nails.