July 3, 2006
It is the last day of the sixth round of chemotherapy, and now there will be respite! We found little spaces on the upper arms for the final injections, and the Neulasta shot also had its place; the latter has come charging forth with fatigue and nausea, so the afternoon was spent lounging about contemplating the good tomorrows. I will have the weekly blood draw to monitor the Coumadin needs for the blood clotting potential, as well as to keep track of the blood counts. The visit today to the oncologist’s office was one in which little vignettes of lives played out within earshot. The nurse came to the woman sitting next to me and told her that regrettably her blood counts had gone down again, and blood transfusions would need to begin. The receptionist could be heard asking about how long the bleeding had been going on, and after a pause, saying, “Oh please, don’t be sorry, you mustn’t be sorry. . . you are not a bother. . . you just need to come in as soon as you can.” The elderly man sitting near me in the chemotherapy room sounded sad and defeated and afraid in his conversation with the nurse who was trying very hard to distract him from the present needle and drip. Meanwhile, a little song was running through my head repeating over and over again, “It’s the last day, it’s the last shots, it’s the last day, etc.,” and I was sitting there with a grin that I couldn’t quite erase.
Alphie decided to remove the large Bird of Paradise plant from its pot yesterday. Charles had it standing on the driveway as one of the lovely growing things he puts out to soften our entryway, and this is the second time that Alphie has done this to the poor plant, not doing it any favors. It is bedraggled and not blooming so this time, after repotting it, Charles put it out of reach. We cannot think why Alphie decides to yank and shake, but we suspect that he does it because it’s there, and for his little doggie brain, that’s reason enough.