Farts & Privacy – Inside Chemo Part One

He came in to introduce himself and left.

via GIPHY

I was kinda happy to have someone from my area of Africa, because we’d have something easy to chat about should small talk be required.

I worry about things like that. I hate small talk and have to plan in advance what to prattle on about. Sometimes I get brave and just ask a piercing question that makes someone talk for 5 minutes.

Not today. First day of chemo. I’m pretty nervous.

So was my ass I guess because I started farting up a storm.

And to make it worse, every time, Every Single Time Guy Nurse came back?

I farted. Again.

Right before he came in the room.

No matter how long I tried to hold it, it was seconds before he came in the room.

We’re going to come back to this in a moment. First, indulge me and I’ll set the scene for you.

My first day of two consecutive days of chemo. Ever.

This was my first day of chemotherapy.

The next would be my first day of targeted therapy, because they like to give certain drugs slowly and under heavy monitoring to watch for allergic reactions.

If the comedy, support and revelations that came today are any indication, the receiving of the chemo isn’t going to be the problematic part.

My treatments are onsite at my oncologists office instead of a hospital.

In a way I think this is cool because I’m being tended to by people I’ve been seeing in the hallways the past few months, and she has a highly empathic staff.

On the other hand the facility isn’t dirty? But it’s not as clean as you would expect a medical facility to be.

I have a lot of medical professionals in my family. So I expect spotless, antiseptic bleach-clean. So again, not to say it’s dirty. Just not MY clean.

More like, mid-range restaurant clean.

So I had a level of discomfort here, on which I wish I could blame the volume and stinkiness of the farts I was pumping into the atmosphere.

My mother had a procedure that morning so she could not be there right away- in fact, her dropping by later was a surprise, as I thought she’d be headed home after, herself.

But that morning, my sister was driving her, and my father escorted me in. When they called me in, he walked me into the facility, and left shortly thereafter.

So for the first few hours while they were taking blood and I was signing paperwork, I was in there by myself.

Not terrible, but not highly recommended.

Getting back to the nurse and some fun(?) details of chemo day

So far the morning was going as I’d read,

• lots of paperwork,
• then blood work
• then consults,
• then an all-clear from blood coming back
• finally drugs.

An administrator would come in, give me something to sign and leave.

The head nurse, a woman, consulted with me.

I waved to my doctor, also a woman, then a different female nurse came in to start my mediport line.

They spray something cold on you to numb the area. But it kinda stings until a point then REALLY starts to hurt, then finally numbs. But it makes the needle prick less of a problem.

After they took my blood and the results came back that I was okay to start (another great thing about onsite facilities, it came back fast.) I met my main nurse for the rest of the day, our aforementioned fart recipient.

So far so good.

This was the nurse giving the medicines – who was not bad looking and from Cameroun, a neighboring African country to Nigeria, as I mentioned before. This is the one who would come in periodically.

His name isn’t Ivan, but it’s close enough and we need a name cuz I’ll be talking about him again in future days.

Starting with this fart-pology

Sorry about my butt Nurse Ivan

via GIPHY

Or referencing him in stories, like maybe about how the first time I tooted, I took my cardigan off and turned it backwards to, I guess, create a physical barrier so the smell couldn’t come out.

Seconds later, he came in to review all the medicines I’d be getting.

He didn’t give any indication that he smelt what I dealt. Which just shows a lot of class on his part because.

Yeah. Wow.

And I swear, every time he left the room I let one rip again, thinking he’d be gone for long enough for it to dissipate. No windows so I would try to wave it away.

No dice. Or at least no time for there to be any dice because he kept coming right back in.

And with the recliner being right in front of the door it was like he was walking right into them.

But he just kept on smiling and talking to me like I was some kind of normal person. Bless his heart.

He took his time too, telling me every drug he was hanging before he gave it to me and what it was for, answering my one million questions, greeting my guests (yay guests!) when they came.

Not my type but nice enough guy and a taste of my other homeland. It’s like God was winking at me.

Oh yeah the private room

I didn’t mention it before, but for the first day as a new patient, (or two days if you had two separate treatments your first cycle as I did) my doctor’s facility had a private room.

It’s a nice perk.

There’s a chair for your guest to sit in, an examination bed that you can lay back on or let a guest nap on.

On your left, out of frame, is an outlet for you to plug your junk into.

And there’s a TV on the wall above that black chair.

I don’t know that I’d care after the first few times (with the fun drug fact I’ll be sharing in part two) but it’s nice to be a little separated from the rest of the people who look like they know what they’re doing,  while all of this is new to you.

Who knows why but that greatly reduced my anxiety.

Over what? Getting poked with a needle wrong? Snoring during the procedure? I don’t know. But I dug it.

The next entry will be all about the great things my friends and family did to make the day better for me and the fun side of Benadryl.

 

 

Click featured picture for photostream.