April 1, 2011
The Good: The skin on my arm (PICC Line area) has broken down; it’s been smothered and just wants out, kind of like me.
I decided to have the Line pulled and take my chances with a regular IV... sure, I could blow a vein, but I can’t continue to watch my skin disintegrate. One nurse said to yank it; the other suggested I have them switch it to a “cotton dressing” rather than a “plastic dressing”.
Ummm, what was that??? There are different dressings??? Jean screams a silent scream inside her head as she thinks that for almost 5 months she's suffered the itching, sweating, skin breakdown, etc...
My arm is doing much better, one week of a cotton bandage and the skin has already started to heal. Wahoooooooooooo to Cotton, and I didn’t have to sacrifice a Vein for the Victory!!!
Seriously, given a choice, who would choose plastic???
The Bad: “Don’t Drink and Dial” If you know what this means, you’ve probably fallen prey at one time or another whereas one too many alcoholic beverages caused you to dial the phone connecting you with someone you shouldn’t be calling.
Here’s another one, “The Chemo Dial”...
Unlike the Drunk Dial, the Chemo Dial can hit at any time and does not require alcohol, it hits for no reason, day or night, and it hits hard... maybe while listening to music, perhaps it was a word, phrase, tune, whatever, it hits... and all of a sudden a BIG FAT TEAR comes out with more BIG FAT ONES that follow.
They aren’t regular tears, for some reason their HUGE... and in no time there’s a pool of water that’s collected in my collarbone, and I need to escape at that exact moment... so I Chemo Dial.
The difference between a “Drunk Dial” and a “Chemo Dial”, is the person on the end of the Chemo Call is exactly the person you’re supposed to be calling.
The What the ???: So I’m back in the basement... I’ve decided to try massage once more in combination with physio; they said they’d incorporate a chair to avoid the discomfort of lying on my stomach, Giddy Up!
When they said “chair”, I assumed that meant “massage chair” not “office chair”... yes, that’s what I said, office chair. I’m sitting on an office chair with my head slumped over onto the massage table. My face is pressed into 2 pillows stacked on top of each other, with a donut pillow on top of those to allow for SOME breathing room; my nostrils are pretty damn close to the pillow though. It’s one of those moments where you think someone is going to pop out from behind a curtain and say “gotcha” but they don’t, it’s not a joke.
Am I acting like a spoiled little Princess?
Side Bar: place sucks, staff are excellent
Lessons Learned: I need to buy the biggest fucking TIARA I can find... I’ll be wearing it to my next appointment.
Natalie's got a beautiful tiara you can borrow. I know - she forced it on me for my birthday. ;-)
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