Chemo Day; let the games begin

I have a quirky edge right now. One of the {bazillions of!!} challenges in wanting to share this journey is the fact that, by and large, hyperbole notwithstanding, someone (sometimes more than one) comes bashing into my room every 5-10 minutes ..... at least 13 hours a day. Like without warning (I've given up on the no knocking wish; I can't potty train the entire universe or even 2North here at Summit). But I can cave in to parenthetical excess while I do the 2.5 hour countdown to having a PICC line put in and the first round of chemo to begin. 

And in the 5 minutes from when I stopped writing and the actually really nice nurse came in, I am in another round of TMI overload. Sometimes I'm just a little kid who is really sick and is getting medicine in a hospital. The absolute jumble whirl of IVs, which chemo goes in first and when, what damn excuse is up for, like, whatever..... I can tell when my consciousness locks up and I have to ask for a time out. Sweet nurse Sharon has just stepped out to write a timeline of the 6th series of changes for today. One of the things I like about her is that she explains all of these things with effervescence and educational excellence. I go in and out of those moments however where I just can't take another bite. Thankfully I can raise my hand and say, "Please. Say it again slowly. You lost me 2 minutes ago, and that was a busy 2 minutes."

I'll probably interject medical details rather than step up to some imagined podium as a sickness/wellness expert, but here's what I'm getting: Idarubicin (Idamycin) for 3 days and Cytarabine (Ara-C) for 7 days. At some time that is not right this split second, I'll give a few hoots and groans about side effects, how it works, how it doesn't.... all that. Without getting too gruesome, of course. I'm the girl who had to pump herself up to take ibuprofen for muscle pain. While I pour all manner of vitamins, minerals, herbs and health potions down me gullet, I am not a great fan of medicine.

Well, it's time to bring on the medicine. Swallowing it would be bad enough, but I spent my 2nd night not with Prince Charming but hooked up to an IV pole. Which hums and burps every 2 minutes (I love what Jay L. wrote about "invasive beepy things.")... and then starts this whimper when a millidrop of air gets in the line. This pea princess is getting a run for her money, let me tell you. 

So aside from a doctor who at least has the balls to drop my visit because another patient had an emergency (although he's a butt for not phoning, harUMPH).... I go in and out of coping. I have much to say, more to write, and this morning I woke up crying. Courage and terror do some ghostly courtly dance with no caller. Sometimes I remember that for the most part, I believe that God is calling it and that our Dance is real and even good. 

It's still totally fucking surreal.