Turns out sometimes you are expecting to participate in a multi-course meal and all you get is an amuse bouche.
My morning today was quite hectic. My breakfast had barely been put down when I was told the ENT specialist wanted to see me RIGHT NOW. I was able to gulp down one piece of bread with jam on it, and I’m ashamed to admit I felt almost proud of that (ask my friends, I usually eat at the speed of a geriatric tortoise so cut me some slack).
It turns out my hearing is freaking fantastic. So are my lungs (the pneumologist suggested I frame the results because they’re so excellent – If I ever do that please come over immediately as I am clearly in some sort of crisis) and my heart (comment from the charming German-speaking cardiologist: “Such a wonderful, youthful heart you have”).
I’m honestly glad that all the specialist appointments are now out of the way, as this means I can focus fully and solely on the chemo itself from now on. Well, that is, if I ever end up receiving it.
My first treatment started shortly after noon today, after a good hour-and-a-half of hydrating fluids and anti-nausea meds. I received the first of my cocktail of chemo drugs over the course of about an hour. I felt fine throughout and afterwards. So far, so good, right?
After that part was done, the nurse gave me some more hydrating fluids. This took another 30 minutes. She then came back and said she would do a rinse and that she would be “right back.”
You see, a normal (read: neurotypical) person would perhaps have rung her after 30 minutes turned into 40 turned into 1 hour turned into Oh dinner’s here! turned into almost 2 hours. The problem is if you tell my autistic brain I’ll be right back, I will assume that you will… come back.
However, even my rigid thinking knew that a “rinse” is probably not supposed to last for several hours. So, I asked the kind assistant who brought my dinner to enquire whether everything is proceeding as planned.
Shortly afterwarda, I got a visit from yet another nurse I had never seen before and who had clearly drawn the short straw on who was going to tell the patient about this. She sat down, asked how I was doing (answer: pretty great, I just had basically nothing by hydrating fluids and a full multi-course dinner this afternoon!), and then told me that someone had accidentally left my chemo drugs in the sun.
Yes, you read that right. My chemo drugs had been left out in the sun. Now they were unable to give me the second part of my treatment for safety reasons.
I was informed that my doctor had been contacted and that my treatment for tomorrow would be adjusted accordingly. She also assured me that this would change nothing about my timeline for the rest of the week.
Well, here I was thinking today I would be able to tell you about my first experience of chemo. Instead, I was able to share an anecdote with you that – in my opinion – makes for a lot more enjoyable reading. And as a writer, I can’t help but smile about that.
See you tomorrow, folks!
just thoughts 