Faslodex 8, no Zometa

Somehow it seemed so very long since my last treatment. The infusion center today was as busy as could be. Every chair and room were occupied, causing a filled waiting room. Cancer is very popular. My cancer buddy who, the last time I saw him, was doing poorly with news of aggressive progression. He was absent today but left the sweetest note posted on the wall, I’m surmising by the staff. He said he wanted to wish us all Merry Christmas and let us know he would not be there today because he was in the hospital. I can’t stop thinking about him and hope that his condition improves.

I was in particular awe today as I watched the nursing staff moving between the two auxiliary rooms giving shots, taking blood, flushing PICC lines and connecting lines to power ports. I know that some of them must be having a bad day. I study them as I sit in the giant recliner waiting for my blood test results. A temp is helping out the techs. She is very quiet but opens up after she takes my vitals and confirms the medicines and supplements I take. Patients in the next room are laughing so hard I can’t hear what she is saying to me. I keep studying the staff, looking for that cross look, grimace or frown. Laughter in our room. Our nurses are teasing each other; we are all laughing. I’m sure no one in the next room can hear anything. They want to know what’s so funny.

I’m still looking for signs of stress.
Meanwhile, my Faslodex® arrives, and Karen gives me the frozen syringes so I can thaw them with my body warmth. I let her know when they are ready for injection. My test results are still pending. Linda leads me to a private room and gives me the two shots, one in each hip, taking 30 to 45 seconds for each injection. This seems to help, along with relaxing the leg on the side receiving the shot.
More laughter. Still looking for stress.
Labs are back now. No Zometa® again. Creatinine is elevated at 1.6.
As I head down the hall toward the elevator to meet my friend, I hear another bout of laughter.
The receptionist smiles and says, Bye, Mrs. Peach. Happy New Year.

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© 2004–2010 Donna Peach. All rights reserved.
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