16.6% Complete

Sometimes the left side of my brain takes over.  


The left side, of course, is the analytical side.  The numbers, logic, rational, linear side of my brain. Given the emotional roller coaster we've been on, I think it needs a little exercise.


I told Julie today that she is almost 17% done with chemotherapy. 1 down, 5 to go. 1/6th of the way there. After next time, she will be 33% done. 2/6th; 1/3. Math is your friend.


Julie's first chemotherapy session was this past Thursday. It was an "interesting" experience. We went into the oncologist office as scheduled, spent 30 minutes in the waiting room, then went to see Dr. Kim. She did a quick exam, sent in three more prescriptions for managing side effects and "released" Julie for chemotherapy. There is no nurse to guide us, just a verbal instruction - "keep taking lefts and go through the double doors at the end of the hall".


We shuffle down the confusing corridor (am I the only one who finds doctors' offices confusing to navigate?). We get lost and ask directions. (Maybe we subconsciously got lost - the instructions were really not all that difficult.) There they were - the double doors to the chemo lab. We walk up to them, take a deep breath and I push the doors open.


We enter a large room with a long nurses' desk in front of us and a large square section to our immediate right, filled with Lazy Boy-like chairs. If they didn't have IV stands next to the chairs, it could have been a recreation room at a senior care center. The first thing I notice is how many chairs there are; that and and how close they are together. This is clearly not going to be a private activity.


We stand there for a minute, not exactly sure what to do or where to go. We shuffle our way over to the nurses' station and check in.  "Julie Maegdlin" we manage to eek out in a weak voice. "Oh yes, Julie. Take a seat and a nurse will be with you soon," the lady at the desk says and then goes back to work. Take a seat? Where? Which nurse will be over? When?


The room has a smattering of patients, some old, some not so old, sitting or reclining in chairs. I happen to notice that only two people have lost their hair. Not sure what to think about that. We awkwardly make our way through the sea of patients in chairs, some family members sitting with patients, IV stands, medical carts and nurses attending to various patients in search of a place to sit. "Should we sit here? No. How about here? Hmmm. Maybe over here?" It was very uncomfortable.


We settled in the far corner of the room where there were two comfortable looking chairs that look back into the room and at the nurses station, but has us staring directly at an older gentleman hooked up to an IV and huddled under a blanket, reclining in his Lazy Boy. Its the best option there is, so we sit down. And we wait. 10 minutes goes by. Nurses go to and fro. Nobody stops. Nobody says anything. Every patient, including the man in front of us has the same look. Our eyes meet, we kind share a knowing half smile, but don't exchange words. The obvious "so, what brings you in here?" question need not be asked. 


Finally a nurse wheels a cart over. "You must be Julie." "Yes," Julie replies. "How are you today?" (insert your own snarky response here. Julie was very polite.) How was your blood work?" "Well," we say, "they told us you were supposed to do her blood work". "Hmmm, I don't see the order. Let me go check."  Nurse goes away. Nurse returns.  "OK, we can do your blood work".  She struggles drawing blood - apparently there is kink in the tubing attached to port. Under her skin. "Move your head this way...maybe its stuck under your clavicle?...Oh, it happens all the time." Long story short, the blood starts flowing. The nurse draws the blood and starts to sort through IV bags. 


"We're going to start you on Herceptin today..." she starts to say. "Wait! She's not supposed to get Herceptin..." I almost yell.  "Oh, let me look. Hmmm. Yes, you are correct.  Let me go get her chart".  Heart pumping, wanting to jump out of my chair, I try to calm myself down. The nurse returns.  In my nicest voice I say, "This is her first time...can you explain exactly what you are going to be doing to her today?"  We get it all sorted out and she gets the IVs going.


Once we got settled in, it became a bit more comfortable.  Julie was drinking tons of water. I got her 3 cups of tea. She went to the bathroom 6 times. We actually say 5 words to the guy sitting across from us and his adult daughter. He's got 5 chemo drugs to go through. Yikes. Despite the awkwardness, she managed to get through 2 pre-chemo drugs (both for nausea) and then 2 hours of chemical insertion. And, in the end, she did AWESOME.


Next time will be much easier. It will be familiar and we will feel less awkward. Her next scheduled "treatment" is the 29th of September. Julie is managing through the side effects well. She is tired, has zero appetite and is a bit nauseous, but overall doing well. 


We are excited about the Race For The Cure on Sunday. Check out the post from last Saturday for details. Race For Cure Info Blog Post Today she took her Neulasta shot - to boost white blood cell and bone marrow- and it is her last day for the steroids, which help counter act the side effects. Please continue to pray for no side effects! She really wants to be at  Race For The Cure, and the Dr. said it would probably be one of her worst days.


I will update the blog again on Sunday, hopefully with some fun pictures of the Race.


God's richest blessings to all!