i worked my sources at the clinic yesterday. turns out Tuesday's fire alarm was set off by a burnt bag of microwave popcorn.
a fire alarm and a 'minor miracle'
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A few minutes after they gave me my first chemo injection mid-Tuesday morning, the fire alarm goes off. none of the patients believe it's for real, but all the nurses start freaking out, telling everyone it's serious and we've all got to get out of the building... and into the 100 degree heat outside. the nurse unplugs me from my machine, as she does everyone else in my infusion pod, and we make our way through the door. the alarm causes my ears to throb. too much live rock n' roll,i guess. I'm trying to figure how to find my dad and uncle,who are in the lobby somewhere and of course my mom is helping every confused patient she comes across, which is nearly every elderly citizen in the cancer ward.
we make our way outside and people don't know where to go -- some old dude wanders over to the closest shaded bus stop, others hang out in the patio outside the clinic. eventually we're all rounded up in the parking lot, in the sun.
needless to say, people are not happy. i keep hearing complaints about the clinic running out of wheel chairs for its incapacitated patients.that's messed up.
out in the parking lot, i spot my oncologist, Dr. Fred Ahmann. I wander over to him and ask him if this is part of my chemo. He giggles a bit and wonders what happened. Ahmann said in real fire situation, the trucks would already be outside. but there were none. he seemed to think some inspectors who were inside the building tripped the alarm on purpose. later my mom here's a rumor that a microwave caught fire or something. who knows? anyway, Dr. Ahmann asks how things went Monday. I said i was doing alright; just a little tired. "that's a minor miracle," he responds and proceeds to tell me that less than fifteen years ago, the drug prescribed for each treatment, cisPlatin, is so hard on patients they almost considered dropping it altogether. "We had to cheer lead for our patients to keep taking it," he said. Only recently, by his memory, did they begin prescribing appropriate drugs that kept patients from betting sick. so it's good to hear I'm taking it well, he said.
with the fire alarm shut off and it seemingly safe to re-enter the building, we parted ways and I returned to my pod to continue treatment.
we make our way outside and people don't know where to go -- some old dude wanders over to the closest shaded bus stop, others hang out in the patio outside the clinic. eventually we're all rounded up in the parking lot, in the sun.
needless to say, people are not happy. i keep hearing complaints about the clinic running out of wheel chairs for its incapacitated patients.that's messed up.
out in the parking lot, i spot my oncologist, Dr. Fred Ahmann. I wander over to him and ask him if this is part of my chemo. He giggles a bit and wonders what happened. Ahmann said in real fire situation, the trucks would already be outside. but there were none. he seemed to think some inspectors who were inside the building tripped the alarm on purpose. later my mom here's a rumor that a microwave caught fire or something. who knows? anyway, Dr. Ahmann asks how things went Monday. I said i was doing alright; just a little tired. "that's a minor miracle," he responds and proceeds to tell me that less than fifteen years ago, the drug prescribed for each treatment, cisPlatin, is so hard on patients they almost considered dropping it altogether. "We had to cheer lead for our patients to keep taking it," he said. Only recently, by his memory, did they begin prescribing appropriate drugs that kept patients from betting sick. so it's good to hear I'm taking it well, he said.
with the fire alarm shut off and it seemingly safe to re-enter the building, we parted ways and I returned to my pod to continue treatment.
/sigh
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
as my dear friend goes through...something unimaginable...makes me sad. Though our stories share some parallels, I cant imagine the shit you are going through. I hope this Video finds you in good sprites:
el pimero dia/the last 24 hours
it's about quarter to five a.m., Tuesday, Aug. 14. Writing is a little clumsy as my right hand is all wrapped up to protect the shunt plugged into the top of my hand.
the first day wasn't too bad. of course, since it was my first time, despite all that I'd been told, read and seen, i still had some whack assumptions of what i was walking into. like the fact that in the back of my mind i kept picturing that scene from Star Wars: the empire strikes back, where Han Solo is strapped to this gurney and forced up against some sort of collection of spark plugs, live wires and what not as a torture device to give up information on the rebel alliance. i don't know why i though that. the room where they administered the chemo was absolutely nothing like that: it was all hard wood floors, beige paint on the walls, two windows that allowed in plenty of sunshine, friendly nurses and three older Lady's all at different stages of treatment who were pleased to have a young man in the room.
so here's how the day went:
2 a.m. - due to technical problems sending out e-mails with photo attachments, I was up late and didn't get to sleep until 2.
8:45 a.m. - woke up and made what might be my last trip to the gym to swim for about 45 minutes.
10 a.m. - returned from pool and got ready for the day.
10:30 a.m. - Mom, Dad and my Uncle Johnny from Abq., New Mexico came over. We finished making that herbal tea, Flor Essence. the night before I burned my hands preparing it poorly by myself around 10 p.m. typical me. I'm the son of my father.
noon -- checked in to the cancer clinic on Allen and Campbell in the Tucson foothills. The clinic is where I see my oncologist. It's also only a few minutes away from the Star's river road bureau.
1 p.m. -- blood labs. they took three vials of the red stuff. after I came out and waited with family in the lobby, we meet Roxie, the cancer ward dog that wanders around the clinic with a trainer and acts cute and friendly with patients.
1: 45 p.m. -- we make our way up to the second floor to register at the infusion pod, where i'll receive my chemotherapy. We had been waiting for so long because there weren't any available chairs for me.
i have to note something. as we came through the corridors and into the waiting room for the central infusion pod, i saw a kid about my age with a shunt on his back. he was pale and his head was shaved,like mine, though there were some ratty patches on the back. the sight of him kind of took me off guard. i don't know why. we didn't get a chance to talk as he was called away fairly quickly, but maybe it was the shock of another young person there. i don't know, but it tripped me out.
2 p.m. -- after getting dozen or so pages into Dos Passos' "The big Money," they called me back to my infusion pod. like i said, there were four older ladies all excited by my presence. they were all at different stages of treatment. One was a real estate agent that had lived in Chile and Argentina and was receiving an infusion for her arthritis. Another woman was receiving treatment for stage four lung cancer. her daughter had flown in from south Carolina. they gave me a heads up about what to expect and how to react. apparently she'd had allergic reactions to nearly everything they gave her. lastly, there was a woman in there receiving her final chemo. treatment. when she left, the nurses gathered a couple doctors and nurses, blew bubbles at her as she got out of the chair and cheered for her. i congratulated her.
2:45 p.m. -- after going over all the pre-chemo. drugs, effects and side effects, and the same for the chemo., they plugged me up. and of course i did what all healthy, young macho men apparently do when they get poked with needles: i turned green and almost passed out. my nurse didn't let me live that one down.
the drugs made me really sleepy, so i don't remember much from here on out. i was seated on a recliner with two warm blankets. mom sat beside me for most of it. i pulled out my ipod and started listening to son de madera. at some point i fell asleep.
5:25 p.m. -- woke up to mono blanco's recording of la bamba. i was the last patient in the pod and i guess one of four left in the ward. i resumed reading as there was no one to talk to. one thing that was weird: my right arm was really cold. that was because the iv was cold. my left arm was warm but my right one felt like an ice cube. i was also a bit dopy. for example, this young nurse bounced into the room (and i do mean bounced -- she kinda' hopped in the door all excited and peeked her head past the frame to speak to me)and told me she was 2/21/80 and i was 2/21/79. i looked at her confused. she explained we were exactly one year apart, then she said it probably didn't make sense to me 'cause of the drugs. she was right.
6:30 -- concluded day one. i was the last patient in the ward. as we left the building, it felt nice getting out of the frigid air conditioning and into the desert warmth. to the south, dark storm clouds were moving in.
8 p.m. -- dinner of rice, chicken, steamed bok choy and pico de gallo salsa i made the night before. then i climbed into bed.
10:30 p.m. -- got out of bed to watch the south park chef aid episode. i only wanted to watch because joe strummer was in it for a whole five seconds. back to bed.
no dreams. but i'm looking forward to having my own bubble party when i leave the cancer clinic for the last time.
the first day wasn't too bad. of course, since it was my first time, despite all that I'd been told, read and seen, i still had some whack assumptions of what i was walking into. like the fact that in the back of my mind i kept picturing that scene from Star Wars: the empire strikes back, where Han Solo is strapped to this gurney and forced up against some sort of collection of spark plugs, live wires and what not as a torture device to give up information on the rebel alliance. i don't know why i though that. the room where they administered the chemo was absolutely nothing like that: it was all hard wood floors, beige paint on the walls, two windows that allowed in plenty of sunshine, friendly nurses and three older Lady's all at different stages of treatment who were pleased to have a young man in the room.
so here's how the day went:
2 a.m. - due to technical problems sending out e-mails with photo attachments, I was up late and didn't get to sleep until 2.
8:45 a.m. - woke up and made what might be my last trip to the gym to swim for about 45 minutes.
10 a.m. - returned from pool and got ready for the day.
10:30 a.m. - Mom, Dad and my Uncle Johnny from Abq., New Mexico came over. We finished making that herbal tea, Flor Essence. the night before I burned my hands preparing it poorly by myself around 10 p.m. typical me. I'm the son of my father.
noon -- checked in to the cancer clinic on Allen and Campbell in the Tucson foothills. The clinic is where I see my oncologist. It's also only a few minutes away from the Star's river road bureau.
1 p.m. -- blood labs. they took three vials of the red stuff. after I came out and waited with family in the lobby, we meet Roxie, the cancer ward dog that wanders around the clinic with a trainer and acts cute and friendly with patients.
1: 45 p.m. -- we make our way up to the second floor to register at the infusion pod, where i'll receive my chemotherapy. We had been waiting for so long because there weren't any available chairs for me.
i have to note something. as we came through the corridors and into the waiting room for the central infusion pod, i saw a kid about my age with a shunt on his back. he was pale and his head was shaved,like mine, though there were some ratty patches on the back. the sight of him kind of took me off guard. i don't know why. we didn't get a chance to talk as he was called away fairly quickly, but maybe it was the shock of another young person there. i don't know, but it tripped me out.
2 p.m. -- after getting dozen or so pages into Dos Passos' "The big Money," they called me back to my infusion pod. like i said, there were four older ladies all excited by my presence. they were all at different stages of treatment. One was a real estate agent that had lived in Chile and Argentina and was receiving an infusion for her arthritis. Another woman was receiving treatment for stage four lung cancer. her daughter had flown in from south Carolina. they gave me a heads up about what to expect and how to react. apparently she'd had allergic reactions to nearly everything they gave her. lastly, there was a woman in there receiving her final chemo. treatment. when she left, the nurses gathered a couple doctors and nurses, blew bubbles at her as she got out of the chair and cheered for her. i congratulated her.
2:45 p.m. -- after going over all the pre-chemo. drugs, effects and side effects, and the same for the chemo., they plugged me up. and of course i did what all healthy, young macho men apparently do when they get poked with needles: i turned green and almost passed out. my nurse didn't let me live that one down.
the drugs made me really sleepy, so i don't remember much from here on out. i was seated on a recliner with two warm blankets. mom sat beside me for most of it. i pulled out my ipod and started listening to son de madera. at some point i fell asleep.
5:25 p.m. -- woke up to mono blanco's recording of la bamba. i was the last patient in the pod and i guess one of four left in the ward. i resumed reading as there was no one to talk to. one thing that was weird: my right arm was really cold. that was because the iv was cold. my left arm was warm but my right one felt like an ice cube. i was also a bit dopy. for example, this young nurse bounced into the room (and i do mean bounced -- she kinda' hopped in the door all excited and peeked her head past the frame to speak to me)and told me she was 2/21/80 and i was 2/21/79. i looked at her confused. she explained we were exactly one year apart, then she said it probably didn't make sense to me 'cause of the drugs. she was right.
6:30 -- concluded day one. i was the last patient in the ward. as we left the building, it felt nice getting out of the frigid air conditioning and into the desert warmth. to the south, dark storm clouds were moving in.
8 p.m. -- dinner of rice, chicken, steamed bok choy and pico de gallo salsa i made the night before. then i climbed into bed.
10:30 p.m. -- got out of bed to watch the south park chef aid episode. i only wanted to watch because joe strummer was in it for a whole five seconds. back to bed.
no dreams. but i'm looking forward to having my own bubble party when i leave the cancer clinic for the last time.
Tucson Hospitality Inn
Monday, August 13, 2007
When I announced I'd be having chemotherapy and my folks would be coming out for the duration of the treatment, my good friend and of the best damn reporters at the star, Carol Anne Alaimo, made reservations for my folks at the Tucson Hospitality Inn.
This place is great and I'm forever grateful to her for this.
Started in 2003, it's a full acre, walled in villa, off of Edison between country club and Tucson in midtown Tucson. The place was created for patients and families of patients getting treatment in Tucson. It's basically a fully furnished house with four guest rooms (my parents and uncle johnny each have their own). There's soundproof "media room" complete with TV, cable, and theater seats, a fully stocked pantry, a full stocked kitchen, small pool and a 3,000 square foot patio with two barbecues. They're paying $35 a night.
The guy that lives on site, his name is Lou and he's got a faded swallow tattoo on his right forearm. nice guy with an old east coast accent.
He was telling us the inn is barely getting by, but the work is important and necessary.
so...if anyone is feeling charitable, send 'em some $$$ when you can.
www.tucsonhospitalityinn.org
This place is great and I'm forever grateful to her for this.
Started in 2003, it's a full acre, walled in villa, off of Edison between country club and Tucson in midtown Tucson. The place was created for patients and families of patients getting treatment in Tucson. It's basically a fully furnished house with four guest rooms (my parents and uncle johnny each have their own). There's soundproof "media room" complete with TV, cable, and theater seats, a fully stocked pantry, a full stocked kitchen, small pool and a 3,000 square foot patio with two barbecues. They're paying $35 a night.
The guy that lives on site, his name is Lou and he's got a faded swallow tattoo on his right forearm. nice guy with an old east coast accent.
He was telling us the inn is barely getting by, but the work is important and necessary.
so...if anyone is feeling charitable, send 'em some $$$ when you can.
www.tucsonhospitalityinn.org
a monk or a penis?
Saturday, August 11, 2007
I went down to Curley's and got my head shaved by Thomas today.
I can't decide if I look more like a monk or a penis.
Of course walking by mirrors was strange. When I put my straw fedora on, it was loose. But it really hit me when I went for a swim down the street at the YMCA.
I didn't bring my swim cap out to the deck. I kept feeling like I was forgetting something. And once I started swimming, like Mr. Chris Fan said, i actually felt faster.
I'll post pictures as soon as Nate OG sends them (Yes, his real name is Nate OG -- it's not one of my nicknames).
I can't decide if I look more like a monk or a penis.
Of course walking by mirrors was strange. When I put my straw fedora on, it was loose. But it really hit me when I went for a swim down the street at the YMCA.
I didn't bring my swim cap out to the deck. I kept feeling like I was forgetting something. And once I started swimming, like Mr. Chris Fan said, i actually felt faster.
I'll post pictures as soon as Nate OG sends them (Yes, his real name is Nate OG -- it's not one of my nicknames).
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