We found out late last week that the reason Sandy had fluid in her right lung is in part because she'd contracted bronchitis. This on top of everything else, she did not need. But she has some powerful meds to counteract the bronchitis and is coming along just fine, back into her usual routine.
Yesterday we drove to the University of Chicago, got there about 30 minutes early to find all offices closed. When they opened Sandy had her blood drawn and then we went to a procedures section of the Medical Center that looks pretty much like any emergency room, with curtains separating patients, TVs playing, staff running around trying to find everyone else. Sandy got an IV in her arm and was then prepped for the port catheter. After the blood draw results came back, she was whisked into a procedures room and put into that "twilight" mode where you're half asleep, half awake. Even so, the resident who inserted the catheter into her jugular pressed so hard on her chest (we don't know what for) during the procedure that she felt pain. Nevertheless, she was in and out of that room within about 45 minutes. The nurse kept an eye on her for a while to ensure that she wasn't leaking anywhere important and then released her.
She sported a couple 2" square bandages, one of which pulled the skin on her neck and caused some discomfort, but other than that she felt OK. After we got home I noticed that the little red spot under one bandage had grown larger and I'm thinking about where the other end of it is and what might happen. I drew a line around it and kept a close watch on it every 15 and then 30 minutes and then once an hour or so. She kept watching TV with a cat on her lap, occasionally following the cat's lead by falling asleep. She had gotten up early and been through a lot; it was time to rest and so she did.
She worked full time today and will do so again tomorrow. We took her bandages off tonight, unsure of what we might find. But it was a couple cuts and a bump (the port) under the skin and a little burn on her skin from the tape. She doesn't tolerate the tape well at all, so we now consider it as an allergy and tell the staff so when necessary. She was told to keep it dry, so with twice-washed hands I put some Bacitracin on the red skin and covered it with generic Telfa pads held on with paper tape. To keep anything like blankets from catching on the bandages, we went so far as to wrap her with an elastic bandage to hold things in place and to cover any loose edges or corners.
This is probably too much information, so I'll move on.
Thursday is Sandy's first day of chemotherapy at the University of Chicago Med Center. It will be a long day for us. They'll hook her up to her port and start feeding chemicals into her. She's been prescribed at least two meds for nausea, both generic to keep the insurance company happy and the cost down. She's also been given a corticosteroid, but I don't remember why. Probably as an anti-inflammatory. We're hopeful that the meds will do their thing, but there's the big unknown there so Sandy's understandably apprehensive about it when she happens to think about it.
She's been shopping for head covers, hats, and the like in preparation for losing her hair. It's hard for me to imagine how this must feel to her, but she's taking it in stride like a trouper.
One of our neighbors is a retired surgical nurse. We talked awhile with her and she reassured Sandy. Then she made dinner and brought it over! Very nice thought, excellent dinner, and we're more than grateful.
This is all we've written about in recent weeks, which might lead you to think it's all we do and think about. Not so. Life goes on, and she's just as lighthearted and optimistic as usual, most of the time.
Yesterday we drove to the University of Chicago, got there about 30 minutes early to find all offices closed. When they opened Sandy had her blood drawn and then we went to a procedures section of the Medical Center that looks pretty much like any emergency room, with curtains separating patients, TVs playing, staff running around trying to find everyone else. Sandy got an IV in her arm and was then prepped for the port catheter. After the blood draw results came back, she was whisked into a procedures room and put into that "twilight" mode where you're half asleep, half awake. Even so, the resident who inserted the catheter into her jugular pressed so hard on her chest (we don't know what for) during the procedure that she felt pain. Nevertheless, she was in and out of that room within about 45 minutes. The nurse kept an eye on her for a while to ensure that she wasn't leaking anywhere important and then released her.
She sported a couple 2" square bandages, one of which pulled the skin on her neck and caused some discomfort, but other than that she felt OK. After we got home I noticed that the little red spot under one bandage had grown larger and I'm thinking about where the other end of it is and what might happen. I drew a line around it and kept a close watch on it every 15 and then 30 minutes and then once an hour or so. She kept watching TV with a cat on her lap, occasionally following the cat's lead by falling asleep. She had gotten up early and been through a lot; it was time to rest and so she did.
She worked full time today and will do so again tomorrow. We took her bandages off tonight, unsure of what we might find. But it was a couple cuts and a bump (the port) under the skin and a little burn on her skin from the tape. She doesn't tolerate the tape well at all, so we now consider it as an allergy and tell the staff so when necessary. She was told to keep it dry, so with twice-washed hands I put some Bacitracin on the red skin and covered it with generic Telfa pads held on with paper tape. To keep anything like blankets from catching on the bandages, we went so far as to wrap her with an elastic bandage to hold things in place and to cover any loose edges or corners.
This is probably too much information, so I'll move on.
Thursday is Sandy's first day of chemotherapy at the University of Chicago Med Center. It will be a long day for us. They'll hook her up to her port and start feeding chemicals into her. She's been prescribed at least two meds for nausea, both generic to keep the insurance company happy and the cost down. She's also been given a corticosteroid, but I don't remember why. Probably as an anti-inflammatory. We're hopeful that the meds will do their thing, but there's the big unknown there so Sandy's understandably apprehensive about it when she happens to think about it.
She's been shopping for head covers, hats, and the like in preparation for losing her hair. It's hard for me to imagine how this must feel to her, but she's taking it in stride like a trouper.
One of our neighbors is a retired surgical nurse. We talked awhile with her and she reassured Sandy. Then she made dinner and brought it over! Very nice thought, excellent dinner, and we're more than grateful.
This is all we've written about in recent weeks, which might lead you to think it's all we do and think about. Not so. Life goes on, and she's just as lighthearted and optimistic as usual, most of the time.
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