There we
were, in the cafeteria at MD Anderson. Day One. Waiting for the meeting with
the medical team - the team who have who have determined our future. We’re
nervous, lost, vulnerable, scared & early for the appointment. We cruised
in evening before in order to wander around a bit & locate the clinic at
which our morning appointment was scheduled. We left the hotel early that
morning & had breakfast in the hospital to make sure that we were in place
& ready for whatever may come. The food at MD Anderson is wonderful, with
just about anything you could desire. It allows for a stress-free environment
by already being in the right place & offering a place to relax before the
medical proceedings begin. Expanding on this stress- free design, the entire building
is layed out with pockets of chairs & couches for reading, meditation,
visiting, or just contemplation. It’s an amazing use of space because it’s such
an obvious, intentional design which welcomes relaxation for the patients,
family, & even staff. Even the cafeteria has separate areas, some are open,
some are more private areas for having a
meal, a snack; for escaping the illness, or updating your Facebook notes in
order to inform the loving friends waiting at home to hear what’s happening.
Throughout the entire hospital, there
are staff members interspersed with patients. There’s no “employee cafeteria”.
We’re all in this fight together - that message is apparent throughout the
facility! I can’t overstate the impostance of that point. It’s significant!
Thankfully,
even the Motel6 has it’s own Medical Center shuttle van service! What a
blessing! To be able to ride the shuttle into the hospital, as opposed to
paying $20 a day for parking (which is an absolute travesty!), is truly an
asset! It’s free, but we DO tip the driver! This service is so greatly
appreciated! Apart from the cost of parking at the hospital (grrr…), not having
to worry with traffic is another advantage! There are easily a dozen medical
buildings within these few blocks. The bustle of street traffic & foot
traffic makes for quite a lot of congestion! To be dropped off & picked off
at your respective front doors is invaluable!
I know some
friends are encouraging us to go see some local sites. Obviously, we’re too
consumed with the medical process right now to even venture out. We’ll get
further from “home base” a bit later in the process of incorporating Houston
into our lives. Once we have a handle on how chemo management will impact my
body, we’ll be able to make more plans for sight-seeing & can incorporate
those items into our travels! For the time being, our circle is very
small.
The only
thing they’ll need to re-test is the PET Scan. It appears that there’s enough
tissue from the previous collection to continue testing for a more “targeted”
type of chemo. So far, they haven’t mentioned putting in a “port” to facilitate
dyes or infusions. For some reason, having a “port” bothers me. That, more than
anything else about this transition, will make me feel like a sick person… a very
sick person. As I’ve always maintained, I feel fine… I look fine… I AM fine;
except for this one little problem. Having a “port” will be the outward sign of
being a really sick person. That’s crossing a line. It’ll be an emotional
shock. Realistically, I DO remember my arms after weekly testing! I was a black
& blue nightmare! The medical folks had to jockey for vein positions! They
were taking bets on who bruised me the most & the least! There was also
swelling at the various IV injection sites; bruising & swelling. So, of
course, I understand the necessity, I just need to adapt to reach acceptance of
the fact that a “port” may be necessary.
Maybe, since I’ll only be doing this every 3 weeks, we can use my arms
for the infusions. Yeah, that MAY just be wishful thinking; but this is Summer
in Texas. Perspiration WILL happen! Oh, please, let’s skip it!
MD Anderson
has a different concept in introducing a patient to their “team”. We were
seated in a treatment-type room, but each of the team members came in &
introduced themselves to us! Each member offered us their contact card &
gave us an overview which defined their individual part in our advancement
& treatment plan. This included the lab dude who came in with the
information concerning clinical trials for which they would later draw my
blood. He explained in great detail the percentages, advantages, &
possibilities of each trial for which I may qualify. It was amazing! Although
we can’t now explain it back, we definitely appreciated being informed of the
processes & all of the potentials. The info packet is complete, but the
hands-on, face-to-face, meetings with each team member who’s assigned to my
recovery - including the lab dude - was truly an inspirational tool in our
introductory process! We stayed put in the same room - they all came to us, in
order, & they spent as much time as was necessary visiting with us &
addressing any questions or concerns we had.
Let’s talk
about the other people... the other people here at MD Anderson. There are actually
very few people who have that look of abject panic that we possess! THAT’S
encouraging! Most folks have very a matter-of-fact visage & demeanor. Ha...
I wonder how they reached that point! They look like this is all just a routine
part of life! They’re all very friendly - with the private nod of
acknowledgement that we all share this secret world. Personally, I’m ready to
go to Google & just look up whatthefuckhashappenedtome.com for guidance.
But they all seem to have a peaceful energy about them. Maybe we’ll eventually
reach that point. I identify them as patients, family, caregivers; many of whom
are in obvious states of physical trauma or treatment - it’s the same look
regardless of one’s placement within the circle. I love that the patients are free
to wander around the building, & into the food court, many of them dragging
IV stands with a plethora of infusions plugged into their bodies. I hope this
doesn’t sound cruel, but it truly normalizes the shock, for everyone! At first,
it might look like a war zone sometimes, but that shock is instantly replaced
by a sense of familiarity, even a sense of fellowship. It’s a very casual
reminder that this is a hospital & we’re all in various states of recognition
& recovery. It reinforces the kinship amongst us all. Yes, we ARE all in
this fight together.
Hangin’
tough (with very rare trips into mild depression).
-
Gayle
-
