Chemo, Round Three

I am sitting in my preferred chemo recliner at the oncology clinic. I have endured the port access and blood draws, have chatted with the physician assistant, and learned that my white cell counts are still low (neutrophils are at 1.21 and they need to be above 1.0 to allow me to be treated). I am getting chemo today, and will also get the five day treatment of neupogen again starting when they disconnect my pump. But I am not optimistic that I will be able to be treated in two weeks. Oh well. Maybe that extra week of recovery is more important than whatever schedule I have in my head?

I have also discovered a sensory reaction to the smell of the chemo clinic and the antiseptic swabs that they use to disinfect my skin prior to accessing my port, and also use to wipe the ends of the plastic connectors for the tubing. Me no likee that odor any more. And I am pretty sure that I will not miss it.

One final note about the chemotherapy process... and how it is somewhat depressing. The spaces that I inhabit during treatment are clinical and sterile, the sounds of the place include electronic bongs (signifying something must be done with someone's pump(s)) and a litany of medical terms explained to everyone around me, and the view from the windows is of treetops and sky - with a growing mass of spider webs that trap dust and cottonwood seeds. Most everyone around me has a dull look of resignation, and today I am the youngest patient in the place. The nurses are very competent and helpful, but they are so busy hurrying from patient to patient - summoned by the incessant bonging of the transfusion/treatment pumps.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but I am not liking this day's work.