July 7th

This is an important day for me. It's the seventh, and last, day of the chemotherapy treatment. Because my Little Buddy is no longer doing the job of pumping the chemo juice into my vein, there's been a delay in the last hour that I will receive the treatment. At four o'clock, the IV will be taken out. See, I've been keying on that last hour in my mind. It's like the starting line of a race or journey - it's the beginning of recovery. Up until now it's been all diagnosis and treatment. Today I start the road back to good health. I've set some long-range goals for myself in that regard for motivation and measurement. I've decided to run a 10K (ten kilometer or 6.2 mile) road race on my 52nd birthday or there abouts. Second, I'm going to train at cycling until I can ride 50 miles again like I used to do with some frequency.

When finally the IV is withdrawn from my arm, I feel like cheering, something probably not appropriate for the cancer ward. There's been a strange ambivalence about this chemical. On the one hand, it is a poison. Its odor is oozing through my pores. My body has a smell that I've never had before. It stinks. Is it the smell of death? Probably. But, on the other hand, that chemo fluid is the cure. It's the medicine that will destroy those hairy little bastards that are squatting in my blood stream like so many evil street people in a crowded city. There's little room for the good blood cells. It's time to sweep the streets!

So anyway, I feel good that the treatment has finally ended. Of course, I'm still being medicated because I have no natural immunity. The chemotherapy kills the white cells that normally would fight infection. A powerful antibiotic called Primaxin is fed intravenously. It is killing the infection, and the fever has come down. My appetite is still weak, but the act of chewing is no longer repulsive. I am able to perceive a path to health.

In my quest for a good night's sleep, I've formulated a new plan. I ask Dr. Thai if I can't skip the 4 a.m. "vitals". He is agreeable. This will let me sleep through the night.

So at 10:30 the nurse comes in to hook up the evening antibiotics. This will take about an hour. I know this because the IV has a metered flow and I've learned its habits. It has a beeping alarm that comes on when it is done and I have been calling the nurse on my "nurse button" by my bed when the time expires, mainly so she can come in and turn off the annoying beeping. So I've got it figured that at 11:30, the administering of the antibiotic will be complete, I'll get my "vitals" taken and then, at long last, I'll get as much sleep, hopefully unbroken, as I need.

At 11:30 the beeping starts, so I buzz the nurse. She comes in, fiddles with the IV pole and starts to leave. "Hey, aren't you going to take the tube out of my arm?" She says the IV is not done yet. I say, "What d'ya mean, the time is up." She says, "Well, the nurse that set this up forgot to turn on the valve for the antibiotic flow." "Well (expletive)!", I said. "That is incompetent." For the first time in the hospital I've lost my patience. Now I'll have to stay awake another hour waiting for the proper sequence to transpire. My sleep plan has run into a glich. Forgot to turn on the flow!

I'm very tired but I endure it. I stay awake because I know that if I nap and then they wake me after the IV is done, I'll be alert and will have trouble falling back asleep. Finally, all the nursing and doctoring is done about 12:45. I do get about 5 unbroken hours of sleep. That may be a record on this floor.

July 8th