she looks great

i went to see my friend in the hospital the other night to bring her gifts of love and distraction. my House Mate went with me [read: not my partner, kimmyk. :?J ] and proved once again that i am the luckiest girl in the whole world.

my friend, BK, was transferred to another hospital where a surgeon who "knows his shit" was willing and able to perform a really fantastic bowel reconstruction. a lot of small intestine was removed and then reconnected to her colon above the tumor on the right hand side. unfortunately the little fucker was also having it's way with her rectum, so she has a lower left side colostomy [did not get into the finer points of whether it was a sigmoid or not.... but soon, my pets, soon]. still on "cookies and milk," as her nurse appropriately named BK's TPN, my friend looks the best i have seen her in a long time. i have never seen her smile with an NG tube in before. her skin looks incredible. only dry from the air, not the dehydration of constant shitting of water and the sometimes vomiting. [which i have never seen someone do with such ease, either. the girl would be mid sentence, pause, ask for the emesis bag *which far exceeds the kidney or wash basin,* vomit, wipe her mouth, take a breath to assess if she was done, hand you the bag and complete her sentence. holy shit, batman.]

and here is my one highlight: .... i love stomas. i do. i'll explain it another day. they just simply fascinate me. and this makes BK feel a tiny bit better than there is one friend [one damn good friend] who is remotely excited about the fact that her best friend will be shitting in a bag!! how wicked!!

she was feeling a little down. and normally i am the one to give her permission to feel like poo, but she specifically asked to be cheered up. when i ran out of humorous tales about the random dumb asses i interacted with that week, House Mate jumped right in with stories about her retreat working with youth from her church back in suburbia, apparently on a tour of a burbanite prison, she and the other two leaders locked themselves in an interrogation chamber dilly dallying behind the guided tour. yeah, that one looks good over dinner with Pastor... ah. lucky me. i have excellent friends. friends who don't at an eyelash when i take them to see my loved ones sick in beds with more tubes than you can fathom being comfortable. and HM made BK laugh while i went to get the nurse for more pain meds. sigh me.

somberly, BK told me more news. her primary onc doc may be bowing out. he is affiliated with a little clinic. an excellent clinic, but too small to be participating in drug trials. the hospital where she is now, on the south side of the city, is bigger and has some of those trials readily available for her to enter. that was a hard blow. we like her primary onc doc. he's a Good Guy and a Kind Doctor.

more somberly, the docs aren't sure how much they can do for a tumor that won't give up the ghost. the gut doc said he wasn't going to mess with the tumor once he got in there and saw what was going on [which really makes me want to see what was going on...] and did his kick ass job of making her gut functional. we've gone from months to years.

but she said maybe a handful.

she doesn't want the rest of her life to be chemo.

she mentioned that she wants to be cremated and have her urn buried with loved ones and a small stone.

i told her she could have whatever she wanted.

there was a peace about the conversation i can't explain.

i was grateful that she brought it up. it's something i want to be a part of. knowing what she wants. and what she doesn't want. and making sure that her wishes are carried out.

she's an amazing friend.

sitting there in her hospital bed with an NG tube and a flight deck worth of dials, pumps and fluids asking me about my family [my mom's dad passed on the 1st. it was mostly expected, and quick to pass in dignity and free of pain. i flew to cleveland for the funeral.] and becoming emotionally moved to the point of tears when telling a story about a gay male friend from high school who's family disowned him when he came out [she asked how my date went that afternoon with a new girl, it went very well], and also her anger and frustration at the county hospital's cuts of 17% from the neediest of the needy while she lay in a private room with incredible nursing response and a DVD player. ....

and i bit my tongue at the injustice of someone so giving and loving of others at a time like this might be taken from me before the children we have not yet imagined nor born can laugh at her faces.

not yet, i told my Granpa when we left him at the cemetary. she can't leave me. not yet. she looks too good to leave us now.

eye of the tiger

a therapeutic blogging moment, if you please... if not, scroll on, mamita, scroll on.

i walked home from the hospital tonight. a ten block walk. it was peaceful. it has been dusting snow for the past couple of days. i needed it. the peacefulness.

a couple of weeks ago one of my dearest friends from college, a fiery red head with natural artistic talents that put me and my long list of paid-for visual art classes to shame if i let them, was back in the hospital. she also plays the piano. beautifully. because she practices. relentlessly. well, my friend has just completed her third, yes, third, bout of colon cancer and is apparently rounding up for her fourth. the primary tumor will not give up the ghost. it sits on her sciatic nerve and blocks her colon from the right back corner of her pelvic cavity. it has already claimed her kidney, her ability to move her right foot and quite a bit of nerve sensation along that leg, as well. she is 27.

we thought she was on the home stretch of a really intense round of chemo. the side effects were catching up to her, or so we thought. a year and almost a half ago, she helped me move into a tiny but beautiful apartment near the college that dismissed me. she hadn't been feeling well and had some pain in her leg and foot. i begged her to take care of my art work for me "i'll get the boys to move everything. please, please come move my art. no one understands how precious it is to me except you."

the next day she couldn't move her leg. the tumor was huge. this was her second bout of cancer. the first came at 16. yes. 16. imagine prom and chemo.

she had surgery, radiation, chemo. we were celebrating her recovery. she still looked great. her right foot dropped a little when she was tired, but otherwise you wouldn't know it. i attended her speech at a cancer survivor day ceremony. her husband had to leave and her doctors were confused, as i'm sure i looked like the proudest wife of the speaker. [i have a habit of exuding that role with people...] i was doting, and loving, and verbally praised her strength and courage. i had rescheduled my first patho exam that winter to attend the first chemo treatment. i had stepped out of lectures to listen to her cry. i gave her permission to feel like shit on chemo weeks.

two months later it had come back. [round three] with a vengeance. more surgery, out-of-state with "specialists." found mets in the small intestine. the out-of-town-doctors were not very optimistic and very reserved in their efforts. she had hit her limit for radiation. she came back home and the onc doc started a different chemo.

i had more time. i came back up to the north side for visits more often. we laughed. we cried. i yelled at the cancer in her belly to get the f#@* out. the PET scan showed progress. from a 7.something to a 2.something with no active mets in the small intestine. the chemo was working.

she was getting tired. it was harder to play. the chemo was tough on her nerves in her hands. her hair was getting thinner. so was she. her students are loving, kind, and patient and understood when she needed to cancel piano practice.

chemo weeks got rougher and rougher. what used to be a two day down time turned into a week of shitting water and not keeping anything down.

A&D ointment and Poise diapers became her best friends. pain meds were a God send. so were friends and strangers who prayed for her, sent cards, sent gifts, stopped by, called. she started meditating. began light therapy to compliment the depression meds. her cats sat on her lap now. she wore prayer shalws. she slept on the couch to be near the toilet.

and this found her back at the hospital. her mom had come in from the next state over to help her through the weekend. she didn't want to go back to the hospital. she didn't want another f@#*ing NG tube down her nose [she has suffered many bowel obstructions]. she didn't want to take down the Christmas tree [it was the middle of January, and she had spent most of Turkey day and Christmas in the bed or the bathroom]. she just wanted her body back. she just wanted to keep down water. she just wanted to sleep in her own bed with her husband and not on the couch to be closer to the bathroom.

i came to see her in the hospital that night. i only stayed for about an hour before she fell asleep. i came to see her after work. it was late. she said she always liked it when i came best because i understood hospitals better than our other friends. that and i gave her permission to feel like shit, because i knew she wouldn't wallow in it for long. it was sunday.

i stayed overnight with her thursday. she finally slept through the night, allowing her bed to get soiled because she just needed the sleep and was tired of getting up and down with her watery stool all night. she said she felt better because i was there. i passed out hard corps in that little chair. i had just come from work and would return in the morning. i wasn't afraid to go get my own linens or towels or ask the nurses to shut off the damn IV pump if they couldn't fix the IV right now so that we didn't have to listen to it beep for the next hour until they could get in and fix it.

i might sleep better if someone did that for me, too.

they released her in the morning. it was a bit of a gamble. i think they knew it, too. but she was just so happy to go home. she had a PET scan scheduled for Tuesday. it was out patient only. she couldn't get the scan done if she was in the hospital. some red tape bull mullarkey.

whatever.

she needed the scan. her heart needed it. her soul needed it. her ass needed it. so did the doctor. he could see the chemo was taking its toll on her. she'd lost more weight. weight she didn't have to lose. her skin was as dry as can be, and beginning to show more of the ligaments in her arms and neck. i'm grateful for the port-a-cath. finding a vein would have been a bitch.

she picked me up on the way to the scan. we cried a little bit about her being so tired. we got in and out. she was being so brave. i don't know how she does it.

we took a "quick detour" up to see the Onc Doc. she needed some reassurance that the scan would be good news. she needed a little pep talk. she needed a hand squeeze.

the doc, the chemo nurse and the nurse practitioner all took one glance and said "get your ass in a chair, you need fluids. now." she dropped her pants to show us a strange new rash that had lined the edge of her diaper.

shingles.

lovely.

she was cracking about the edges. "i just need to know that this scan shows improvement. my depression is getting the best of me and ..." tears. fatigue. "i can't handle any more chemo." can you blame her?

the doc promised to read the scan before we left. he was diplomatic and didn't say whether or not he thought it would be good news. he couldn't afford to give any one false hope. we weren't supposed to get word until thursday. he's a good guy.

we sat. she got fluids. the pain started. suddenly and without warning she was writhing in pain. the chemo nurse brought in some morphine. she was already wearing a hefty fentanyl patch. it wasn't touching it. the nurse was giving her a lecture about forgetting her pain meds at home. i was ready to tell the nurse where to stick her 22 gauge needle. still no relief. i took the car to get the pain meds and a prayer shawl from her house. when i came back, they decided to admit her for pain control. it got worse after i left. the doc would read the scans and come see us before he left for the night. i heard the surgical doc and the gen med doc pages overhead.

a friend and an aunt joined us in the room. we were making jokes, telling stories, catching up. she dozed in and out and we let her.

the doc came in. the friend and i left the room. they were in there too long for it to be good news.

we came back in. she was in her auntie's arms. we talked about being angry. we felt helpless. she felt screwed. this is unfair. we left when her husband came in.

the crew of friends is really behaving, if that is the right word.

people come see her every day. they bring gifts. some requested. others merely thoughtful. i don't see her as much. work keeps me busy. and i know i can be a bit mother bear-like at times. sometimes its easier if i'm not there. she lets me know when she needs me.

the surgeon didn't feel that removing the tumor would be practical at this time, or that she could take it, or that it would make a difference with such an obviously aggressive blah, blah, blah. the request was to make room for the bowel to work properly so some weight could be gained and a new chemo could be run. no dice.

i don't know what the new game plan is outside of TPN having been started and the report that her "bod is really responding well" and that she is singing and dancing and making paper chains [i'm betting she decorated the room].

we do what we can.

i'll keep you posted.

"he's hurting."

my five year old.

well, not my five year old. i have not yet been blessed with the madness of my own children. but once they are mine, they are mine.

he was sitting at the door of his room. upset. i came up to say goodnight. i was heading home. he broke down at my approach. he confessed his crime and told me he wasn't allowed to leave his room for the rest of the night. [i had the three year old captivated in pirate stories while his dad did the dirty deed. i didn't know anything about it. i wish i had. we wouldn't have played games after dinner. i don't dick around with poor behavior. ...back to the kid.] he was broken. he had made a poor choice. he had to sit with the consequences [literally].

i came back down to say goodnight to the dad and the three year old. i conveyed the five year old sobbing wish: "tell my dad i love him, okay?"

"he's hurting." his dad said.

"yeah, he is." i replied.

"he needs to." his dad said.

"yeah. he does." i agreed. "i sympathize with him."

moments and a hug and kiss from the three year old later i was in hoodie and leather jacket and headed out the door. i just started orientation for student nurses at a local hospital. mom got a new and valued job, too. i was in wool pants and a sweater. i got to roll around on the floor with two of my favorite kids ever. we walked the dog after she wet the floor. i gave the mom the gift of a night without being a mom.

i was hurting.

the committee decided to dismiss me from my program.

the error i made was not that horrible. neither was the final i bombed from anxiety over the med error. they were convenient reasons to get rid of me. others have made bigger errors. others have done worse academically.

i'm a difficult student. i did things my way.

certain academic programs don't exactly appreciate that.

especially this one.

so: i hurt. and, i guess, maybe i need to. on some level.

post script ~ the wheels are in motion for the next option. it may take time. my friends are rallying about me, like they do, and i am not defeated by this blow. true to my flexibility: i ain't broke.

friday night lights

i swear i'm having a harry potter movie marathon with homemade pizza and a good friend. [she isn't that kind of friend, either. i'll tell ya when she's here.]

and we're amuzing ourselves with the internets and i look up alix olson because she makes me tingle a little bit and i think to myself, all nurses should be like this. open. loving. willing to make some noise. willing to tell it like it is. willing to pack themselves in a stinky van with a coupla tatted hotties and hit the road to tell america like it is. ("she's a nurse?" my dear friend asks me. chuckle. "well, no. she just kicks ass." -- "oh, well then.") [well, we can't all be bohemian, can we?] okay okay, so we need the MICU and the PICU and the good ol' american stay put nurses. but imagine the CV/bio of your next inservice instructor looked a little more like this. you might feel more comfortable when your patient turns out to be trans [put it on your netflix list. you'll love this movie. if you didn't have respect for felicity huffman before, you will now.] or intersexed [this organization has an amazing mission, i am very pro this kind of mission.].

well then, harry potter has been paused long enough. Kenneth Branugh has been standing at the top of the staircase through pizza making, cooking, eating, wathcing mentos+diet coke=bad idea and other internet enetertainment. i think i'll let the man speak. you get to your linking and tell me if it's useful.

i'll be there.

a tale to make dad's proud

House Mate [not that kind of housemate, i'd tell ya she was] and I dutifully did everything our dads taught us how to do. we tried pliers, wrenches, asked directions from the guys at the auto place where the new battery was purchased, pulled out both sets of dad-approved tools and even used coco-cola to break down the corrossion on the battery bolt. we couldn't get the damn thing to move. hours later, dinner made, eaten cold, we tried again.

and then we called it quits. we'd done everything we knew how [including putting the car in neutral and pushing it back and forth over the ice ruts into the safety of the garage, where the car died just before entering to park]. i made brownies for the lovely man who helped us pick up the back end to get it over the last ice hump.

HM's dad lives in the burbs. he came out after work and brought a connector to replace the corroded bolt end. "you think this will do it?" [you're asking me? i'm a nurse, not a mechanic.]

there is a mixed emotion of joy, pride and oh-shit at the end of this story.

the battery could not be removed by the dad. the girls did everything correctly, they tried everything the dad tried, they even tried coca-cola. there was no switch they overlooked or button they forgot to press. the car needed a car doctor. we felt good that we did what we were supposed to do.

odd to feel so redeemed when something is so broken.

at any rate. love to you.