I went and got poked again today. That would be the billionth time since we started this merry process a few months ago.
I actually tried to figure out how many times I have been poked or had blood drawn or had some fiendish goo poured into me in the last few months.
I was coming up with a fairly accurate estimate, and in the middle of my idle calculations, the nurse offered to put me in that drug trial to treat my anemia and said I would have to do bloodwork pretty much daily. I swear, at that moment, some internal support mechanism inside my brain collapsed and I just couldn’t maintain my light-hearted calculations any more.
But the bottom line is, I have been poked a lot.
I have a scar on a vein now. I find myself complaining about that a lot, which is sort of absurd since it doesn’t really hurt anymore and it isn’t that big.
I’m going to have to go thru all my notes from the training for my job and see if there is something I can do to pamper my veins for being so brave over the last few months.
If you are a medical type of person and know of something, do drop me a line.
Today’s chemo was okay. I have parachuted behind hospital lines and I am way too aware of how the cuts to healthcare have impacted patients and how most nurses work really hard and run their asses off.
And most of them are pretty sweet and interesting and really care about what they do and really want to make people like me better.
I don’t know how they do it, but they do, and I am happy for it.
Anyway, there are lots of swell nurses at the BCCA, but today I didn’t get them.
I confess, I have completely spaced out what the first nurse of the day looked like.
I know I saw her.
I know she poked a needle in my arm and accused my veins of being smart enough to know they should hide when the needle is out of the package.
We talked some… then she had to go home so they woke me up and moved me to another room.
That was kind of odd, but one of the things that happened is, in spite of remembering conversations with nurse 1, I can’t place her face at all.
Then I got the personality disorder nurse.
She got quite excited because all the other nurses on the early shift were leaving and dumping their patients on her. Maybe that isn’t fun, but it probably shouldn’t come as a big surprise.
But she sat there and complained about it, to the nurses and to the patients and the friends and loved ones of the patients.
Now, I am not trying to spend all my time feeling sorry for myself and all, but there are some things that I find a tad gawdy.
One of them would be being a service provider for people with cancer, who are in your care, and hanging off an IV needle pouring god knows what into their bodies, while you complain about your working conditions.
It was kind of surreal.
Luckily, she didn’t seem to care for me and E too much, which is odd because she looked pretty dykey. I guess it must have been internalized homophobia or something.
But she was a crabby one.
And a bossy one.
And she wore all her stress on the outside.
And speaking of the cancer folks, I want to say something else.
Aside from today’s encounter, I have been really really impressed with the folks at the cancer agency.
And I bet I am not the only person you know who is or has been in a wrestling match with cancer.
I can’t find the quote right this second, but I read recently that 1 in 3 people will be diagnosed with cancer in their lifetime.
That’s bloody shocking!
1 out 3.
Anyway, I am horrified by that number.
And, if you are horrified and feeling way richer than most anyone I know, you might be interested in the lottery that they run.
Their website is here:
The tickets are wildly expensive, but the prizes are sweet and tempting.
And, they say, you have a one in 10 chance of winning.
Anyway, I thought I would put it out there for folks, on the off chance someone was wondering how to satisfy their need for a little risk and a general lightening of the wallet while still feeling like you are doing something helpful for others.
Well, I have a big date with my fiends at the welfare office tomorrow.
Which means I am not going to be lessening your odds of winning the West Van dreamhome, cuz I am more likely gonna be squeegeeing your windshield was you drive over the Lion’s Gate Bridge.
Anyway, I have to go be treated like rat crap by some government fucktard, so it’s bedtime for me.
I’m sure *that* will be both a good time and a good story, so do check back, even if I am posting the entry from a quaint little joint we call “City Cells”.