It’s amazing how many of my experiences were tied to some form of entertainment, because during most peoples’ treatments, they are far from entertained; they’re usually in pain.
So it made sense that I too would get to experience such discomfort during my stay at Eastern Maine Medical Center. I suppose it was as inevitable as a cancer patient losing his or her hair.Read More »
It was a standard Monday night. The chemo was kicking my ass but the Marinol made me actually want to eat. My parents had to go back home and all that was just the TV and me. Vanna White kept me awake long enough to remember that my friend Brad’s parents, Don and Sue (lovely people), had purchased me a snack “goodie bag.” In it, a party-sized bag of the original Nacho Cheese Doritos. Well, this particular night I decided to revel and dive into the childhood favorite (with an assist from the previously mentioned miracle drug).
I nearly ate the entire bag in one three-hour-long sitting. The “fat boy” mentality doesn’t work if you’re taking chemotherapy. As I held my stomach in agony on my fully adjustable hospital bed, I said simply: “Bad fat boy.”Read More »
Video games and movies/television were always my life. When I wasn’t outside swimming or riding bike and being creative with ways in which to keep busy, I was slothful. In fact, I was so lazy as a child, I never had any aspirations for occupations like most children do. There were no fantasies of floating through space or rescuing cats from a tree, or shooting a three-pointer from the center of the court; no, I had nothing.
Around the end of my junior year, many of my classmates were well into the pre-planning of their careers. Whether or not they actually stayed on those proposed paths was irrelevant. No, at any rate, they had plans, any plans.
Eventually everyone had to get back to his or her job (or in my brother’s case: high school), and the fervor died down. It was back to my Mom and Stepdad for the most part, as it was the majority of the weekdays. At any rate, it was amazing to consistently have family there when able, for their company made the harder days just that much easier.
A few days into my chemo, I had expected my hair to hop off of my head like rats off of a sinking ship, but surprisingly these follicles were holding strong. Every morning I’d take a shower, and every morning there was maybe a few, but nothing more than a normal Monday. Will I even lose my hair? Maybe I have some rare resistance to the popular side effect– a key within my DNA! Perhaps not.
Saturday approached faster than I had expected. The future always seems so far away until it sticks you right in your android chest receptacle, er– Port-a-cath.
They had to hydrate my blood first, so I had been on a steady drip of saline for the past few days. It is true what they say: when they first push the saline through it goes right to your taste buds. It’s disgusting, like gargling seawater laced with a medical “after smell.” At least it was for me.
At that moment I was reminded that I had never been hospitalized before; no pneumonia, bad fever, or any broken legs for that matter–
Well, I did break my wrist once in third grade, but I wasn’t hospitalized. It was a stupid mistake…
It was dark. There I was, with my Mom by my side as the back of the vehicle rocked ever so gently over Route 11. I sat there silent for most of the trip; thousand-yard stare with a hint of pain. We stopped at a gas station. The guys in front asked me if I’d wanted anything.
With little mental acuity to process the inquiry, I requested an apple. The two men hopped out and the vehicle fell dead silent.
My Mom and I really didn’t know what to say. I mean, how much time has to pass before you can make light of the situation? Were we beyond that point; did we even possess a sense of humor at a time like this? It had appeared that we had them revoked indefinitely. Could you even muster as so much as a chuckle when you were sitting in the back of an ambulance at midnight?