I make the mistake last night of looking at LDS Hospital's Web site. I know they have an entire section dedicated to the bone marrow transplant (BMT) process. I guess it's time to get out of denial and get more informed.
Probably shouldn't have done that. It doesn't speak in details and is still intense and terrifying. One phrase won't leave me alone. "This period can be very difficult and test even your most effective coping skills." What?! I think I'm strong. I think I've learned lots. I think I cope well with medical things that scare most people. This is going to test even my most effective skills? I DON'T WANT TO! I call my sister, Tress, in tears. What if I can't do this? I'm scared. She's my best friend and one of my greatest supporters, next to Dale; but it's still hard to find any comfort in the world. I don't sleep well that night.
Head to work. Dale is greatly amused as I load everything into the passenger side of the car--including the chemo bag--and then proceed to head to the driver's side. "Trish. That's not going to work" just as I realize my own mistake. I pick up the chemo bag and carry it to the other side of the car. That's twice I've tried to leave it behind. Soon I can.
Leave work at 1, so I have enough time for the last dose of drugs for this round. Pick up Dale on my way through. We arrive about 2 at the clinic.
Join the Circle of Trust again! It's quieter today. The nurse is explaining some things to a new patient. You can't help but hear everything. Weird. Sounds very familiar. I interrupt as I'm getting unhooked from the pump and hooked up for more healing poisons. What do you have? May I ask? "Hodgkins lympoma." is the reponse. Are you kidding me? Suddenly, for being such a rare cancer (less than 1% of all cancers), it's everywhere!
Today goes a lot faster. Still not sure what drugs and in what order they're given. Details to come. After about an hour, we pull out the Cribbage board again. Get a Neulasta shot to stimulate my bone marrow to produce more cells and overcome the chemo more quickly.
Around 4:30, we leave and head home. No more friends to take with us. And no more IVs to start again, as long as I keep the port. I'm so exhausted and so scared. Where's my hope and faith and courage and strength?
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