So now I think I can put the Spinal Tap references to bed. Partially because, as gnarly as this looks, it wasn't painful, and partially because even I know when I have beaten a joke to death. But again, when N told the two techs that I loved the band, the reaction was about the same as if I had said that you always have to respect the coaxiality of cable...crickets. Sheesh.
More important, this tap had two jobs and seems to have done both so far. The first part was to take and check fluid again to see if I have any baddies in the nervous system, and so far I do not, which seems to make everyone happy.
The second job--the syringe photo Neela calmly took above--was the insertion of chemo directly into the column so that it can get to the parts of me they want it to with the least obstruction. And that seems to have gone well also.
At some point between getting the needle in and draining some of my, I don't know, memories of third grade or whatever you lose when they take spinal fluid, the tech said to her partner 'can you take this?' Then there was some mumbling, then he took over, then she left, then he said "I think she's going to pass out."
I didn't know if he meant N or the other tech, as I was kinda paying attention to not moving one friggin whit. Turns out it was the tech--N was rock solid--and she hadn't eaten or something, and she is dedicated enough to her job to not want to risk any sort of wobble with my spine in her hands. So in the end I'm OK with that. Go get some air. Have a bagel, learn to macrame. Fine by me.
This means I have now had two chemos. Now they watch me for a day or two and I get some more--still not through all they intend to hit me with. I think that may be by the weekend, so each chemo now is something new and, clearly, sometimes with different delivery systems.
Also taking the steroid prednisone, so I am looking forward to 'Roid Rage any moment now--scream and yell, strangle a hooker, and hit 500 home runs. You know, another day as an American hero.
My step-father Jim had an issue with his chemo that the 'roids kept him jumpy and made the first night's sleep after that chemo tough, but so far so good on my end. I have other reasons to not sleep well, but that is a post or two away: Stefan.
For now just I'm pleased to have gotten past another hurdle.
There are cheesy-but-well-intentioned "Walk your way to recovery!" sign along the ward. 175 feet per hallway, two hallways with a short turnaround at each end. So I did the math and 15 laps of the ward is a mile.
Now I have a workout again. Day one took 22 minutes or so. Today took 18 and a half. Gotta keep the longer goal (for those not following along: not being dead) in mind and not push myself, but good to have some accomplishments and chores while I am in here.
Mom and Jim come back up this weekend, which will be another wonderful diversion and help, as it was last time. I feel like I will bore them to tears as I have such limited movement, but I think my Performing Bear DNA needs to maybe just cool it for a while and not worry so much that everyone enjoys their time with me.
They are surviving their own cancer scare with flying colors and their experience and 'over here from the other side' outlook helps N and me line up priorities and mindsets.
They are not out of the woods any more than I may ever be, but the first battle was won, and the methods used were similar, so it is nice, for any number of reasons, to have them nearby and so generous with their willingness to sit in a hospital room and watch me watch them staring at me, while N watches all of us.
