I slept well, though the alarm woke me at 5:30 AM, perhaps just a little early. It played Time to Blow from the movie That Thing You Do, found here, on YouTube. One of my fav's, which I hope to learn to play some day. I needed to be at the hospital for a 7:45 AM radiation treatment, done early because this is the day for my first dose of chemotherapy. I found Nancy asleep on the couch, the television still on. Sally was at her feet, of course, because where Nancy is, Sally is.
Sally is s a little black pug, now getting gray in her coat and on her muzzle as she approaches her twelfth birthday. She is feisty, as all black pugs are rumored to be. But she is also lovable, and the best furry friend anyone could have. When we first got her, she attached herself to me. That was not expected. While I love animals, I'm not the person (at least in our house) that our pets cling to - that's Nancy. But Sally was my friend . . . and then I took a two-week business trip to Denmark. When I got home, Sally was no longer my pal. She avoided me for a couple of days, letting me know that she was not happy that I had gone away. Naturally, I had no choice, but I still did feel bad about the change in our relationship.
As I write this section I'm sitting at the doctor's office, with about twelve other people and their companions - spouses, children or friends. I'm getting an hour's worth of hydration prior to four hour's worth of Cisplatin, the chemotherapy drug my oncologist has prescribed for my use. Another hour of hydration will follow. I'm in a type of recliner; Nancy is sitting next to me on a padded chair. It's nowhere near as nice as the chair I get to sit in when I go with Nancy to Northwest Community Hospital for her IVIG infusion, but it will do. This room is a busy place, with nurses coming and going, taking care of their patients. There's a nice hum of conversation I like. And route 53 is just behind me, so there's the occasional zip of a sports car or roar of a motorcycle.
The hydration is almost done; it will be on to the actual chemotherapy drug soon . . . I guess I'll find out what that's like, and if it has any side-effects.
They did blood work here today - all good. My BP was really good, too - 122/76. Weight went up two pounds to 266.6, too, which is "OK" as some weight will probably come off soon because of treatment. Not that I've ever been worried about my weight, of course. I remember being 175 pounds in high school - a skinny kid. Then, after college, getting down to 210 for our wedding. And being under 250 when I left Kemper. But I also remember weighing in at 296, so 266 isn't looking bad. It kinda bugs me that I never saw 300, since I was so close. But what would that really have meant? It wouldn't have been 300 pounds of muscle - not by a long shot!
Is it possible that I might be able to keep my weight down to a more healthy level once this unwelcome intrusion is over? Perhaps. I may lose my taste buds for a while - the support group told me that everything would taste like metal, a side-effect of the chemotherapy drug. (Some folks lost their taste buds and never got them back - that is so sad!) If that's the case, I might not want to eat. But, somehow, I have the feeling that it's not the taste of things that drove my eating. It's simply the act of eating and feeling satisfied, feeling full.
Think about it - why do I eat oatmeal at work every day? Is it for the taste? I put a tablespoon or so of brown sugar in with a large serving. It's still gloppy (unless I make it at home, when it's much better), but it's supposed to have benefits for the heart, cholesterol and digestion. Why do I eat french fries? (Truth be told I prefer the mashed potatoes at Culver's, or at any sit-down restaurant. Garlic mashed anyone?) French fries have a taste that, I think, is designed to be covered up by the sweet Coca Cola you'll get with your "burger, fries, drink".
In any case, my doctors want to see me keep as much weight on as I can. And because this is a blog post about my cancer treatment, I better get back to things related to that topic, and away from food.
But, really, aren't there two things that could unite the whole world? Good music and good food. I think we can all come together over ribs and blues. Or corned beef, cabbage, boiled potatoes and Irish folk music (and just a wee bit'o'd Guinness!) Or kielbasa and a polka? A big pretzel, sauerbraten and a little oom-pah? Corn-dogs and country music at the fair? Coffee or tea, biscuits and a string quartet? I'm being flip, but if there ever were two things that could bring us together, they are music and food.
As an aside, I'd add good beer, but some cultures don't imbibe. No booze for you! And doesn't "imbibe" sound like an old fashioned word? It is, originating in Latin, but used in English starting in the 1400's (see Merriam-Webster, here). And I like the synonyms: "Does he imbibe?" "Yep. He's been known to have a belt, sit at the bar and belt one down, gulp it down, guzzle it, hoist a few, knock one back, pound down a PBR, quaff an ale with a few with friends, take a sip right from the bottle (or a nip!), slug it down, slurp it up, take a swig, drink that swill or toss one down. (And sometimes tossing down a few too many leads to one tossing . . . well, you get the idea.)
Alright, back to medicine. Or the act of being a patient. As part of my chemotherapy infusion I was given Lasix (that's C12H11CIN2O5S for you chemistry majors). Have to keep the kidneys clear, and the chemo drug can be bad for them. Lotsa water (five 500 ml bottles so far - that's over 80 ounces) and a full 1000 ml of IV solution before (and another for after) the Cisplatin. So I've had numerous trips to the bathroon today, and I'm sure that I'll have a lot more before I get to sleep. So if you ever have to go through this - be warned. (I was going to say, "You're going to wee, wee, wee all the way home!", but that would just be a bad joke. Although I'm sure I'm going to have to . . . )
These days are long . . . it's 4:30 now, six hours after we arrived, and I'm not done with the chemo, though it's close. Still have 1000 ml of IV fluid after that. On bottle of water number six, bathroom trip number, um, I lost count. Nancy is bored stiff, and has to sit on a not-very-comfortable chair. Sorry!
And now the last IV bag is being infused. So, time to think about what "little extra" to add to this post. I'm thinking about music, again. Here are some lyrics to a song I put in an as-yet-unfinished vignette (on-act play) I was hoping to do in church. The tune I use (My Funny Valentine) is from the Broadway musical Babes In Arms, music by Richard Rodgers, lyrics by Lorenz Hart, book by Rodgers and Hart. It is reportedly Miles Davis' favorite tune to improvise over. I believe that's what I've read. And here (YouTube) is an instrumental version from a 1964 concert that is considered one of Miles best performances.
Personally, I love the Kristin Chenoweth version, from her album Let Yourself Go. It's here, again on YouTube (wonderful YouTube). It's what I used as the model for my lyrics, which are titled, You Are A Child Of God. Should I get time, I'll record it myself using only the piano. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think . . . about this or anything else I'm posting. God Bless!
Here's the original scene: a young girl, Chrissy, has passed away and is walking with an angel named Angelo. They come upon another angel, Tzofiya ("she who watches"). She and Chrissy have a short conversation, and Chrissy asks what her job is. Tzofiya describes how she watches the people of Earth . . .
You Are A Child Of God
IntroI often look out on the Earth
Observe the give-and-take
Humanity, humanity
The picture that you make!
Too often lost within the crowd,
Too often you have strayed
But each an individual,
And each uniquely made . . . yes
Verse
You are a child of God,
Each one a child of God
You old a place in His heart
He breathed life into you,
Yet in the womb you knew,
You are His perfect work of art
Chorus
Whether Gentile, Jew or Greek,
Whether strong in faith, or weak
If the Lord above, you seek for your part
Then this is what God would do
Perfect His love in you
Pray every single day, pray!
His spirit guides you each day
Break
Chorus
© 2010 Mark R. Dopita
P.S. I'm just about done . . . 5:45 PM!
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