Round 4—Catch Up

Hi all, I'm here getting number 4 chemo. I think today while I have computer time would be a good time for a catch up. Lots of things have been happening in the last few weeks.

First of all, oh man, I have to tell you about the demise of my cleaning helper. Remember I hired her a few weeks back? Yes, she is already no longer in my employ. Wow, was she something. Of course it makes me question why I often hire people with such exocentric behavior... there must be something, because her problems really are not that much of a surprise if you know many of my employees past.

I had such high hopes for her. But, from the first day she showed up, I started to get worried. I really wanted to give her an honest chance though. She had a lot about her that was really likeable. She showed up about 15 minutes late the first day... well I figure something may have happened; traffic, she got lost... something. But being late on your first day isn't so good.

Once she arrived, I showed her the schedule of what I wanted her to do each day and got her going. No excuse for the lateness, I let it slide. Shortly after she had started cleaning, when no one else was around, she asked about the cool little beanie hat I was wearing. They are cool check out www.cjhats.com. They are handmade by a woman who survived inflammatory breast cancer and went a year with no hair. She now makes a living selling hand made head coverings on eBay and on her website. How's that for a big F-U to cancer? And they are wonderful.

Then the new girl—on her first day—whips off her wig. Yes you read that right… wig. She is nearly bald on top in an unusually uneven way. She then tells me she has that disease where people pull out their own hair. Huh? Okay, I've heard of that, but don't know much about it. She tells me how she wears hats sometimes too; but that when she first started wearing wigs some girls at school were hassling her and told her they would try to rip it off... so she took the wig off and said "now what are you going to do? I ruined your fun didn't I?" Whoa... gotta respect that don't you? That made me really want her to stick around. That sounded strong, and tough, and cool to me. But I didn't miss the irony of her mom having had chemo and no hair and then she gets this disease where she pulls out her hair??? Hmmmm...

After that shock she kept cleaning... sort of... well... um... she loaded the dishwasher. I kept saying, “Oh you need to do this or that,” while I was trying to work on some paperwork. But, it took my full attention just to tell her what to do. I guess my list of duties was too vague. To me, do the dishes also means clean out the sink after you scrape the food off and put them in the dish washer. But as Linda pointed out to me, "hey she did what you asked." So I was careful to give her more direction. The next time she was supposed to clean my bathroom and bedroom. I was very careful to give her detailed, albeit verbal instruction. I would have to say that after she had she pronounced herself done and gone home, that she had cleaned about 10% of my bathroom. I couldn't even see anything she had done in my bedroom, except maybe vacuum a 2-foot path down the front of the room... maybe… kinda… sorta… if the vacuum wasn't working very well.

The next day she called and asked if she could bring her 12-year-old sister because they didn't want to leave her alone at their house. This seemed like a red flag to me so I said "no." She didn't come that day.

The next day she came at her usual time—20 minutes late. This time she wore a tank top and she had horrible, scary looking cut marks on her arm and in her cleavage. So she does both, cuts and pulls. Oh man, oh man. This I have also heard of, but didn't know much about. But I gotta tell you that stuff is hard to look at. I never asked her about it. I was too afraid too.

This time I was determined to give her explicit directions. I walked around the room with her and gave her a verbal list. After she loaded the dishwasher and said she was "done" in the kitchen she went to start on my downstairs bathroom. I walked down with her and gave another verbal list. I pretended I was talking to someone that had never cleaned a bathroom before. I went so far as to explain that when you clean the sink; move all this to one side and clean under it with that wonder cleaner, then move it back and move all the stuff on the other side and clean under it, put the stuff back so it looks nice and clean the sink and the mirror. Then do the toilet. Clean the bowl with the brush and then clean off the seat and under the seat and so on. So far she seemed to understand it all.

So about 10 minutes later she says she is "done" again. So I go back to look at it while she is still there and about fall over. She moved the stuff on the sink to one side and cleaned under it; okay… but she didn't move the stuff back, didn't do the other side, didn't clean the mirror, hadn't cleaned the floor; but the tub and the toilet looked okay... sorta… kinda.

I pointed that all out to her and she made a few excuses about that's how she does it at her house or whatever... then she went back to finish. About ten minutes later she appears again and says "done." I go look again; no clean mirror, no clean floor and she left all her cleaning supplies out and scattered all over the room. And I mean she thought she was done enough to leave. Now I'm really worried. Finally I get her back for round 3 in the room and she still misses the mirror and leaves her cleaning supplies out.

The next day she is a no-show again. I don't remember why... does it matter? I decide to give her one more chance. I wrote down a very, very detailed check list. I'm thinking she is ADD so if she has a paper to look at it will help. And it did! She did a fantastic job that day. Everything was perfect! I even saw her down on the floor to clean behind my toilet! Yay! I was so happy. Yes this will work, right? So what if she had to leave part way through to run something mysterious to her uncle who has an office just up the street, the end result was just what I needed.

The next day... no show. Next day... no show. The reasons don't really matter... goofy stuff. Sister things, doctor appointments, weirdness. It was hard to keep up with all of them. She also consistently kept up having to leave once she got here— odd.

So she finally comes on another day while I have some friends visiting so I didn't really get to chase her around nor did I want to chase her. But she was doing rooms she did before so I thought it was okay. I was wrong; back to 10% of the job being done. She spent a long time in my room so I figured she was working hard like that one good time... well... no... that didn't happen. I can't think what she did up there all that time. Adrianne said "well you do have a lot of interesting things up there; she's probably looking around..." Hmmmm. Perplexing.

More no show days go by. She shows up again and I had to leave while she was there to go and pick up a prescription before the pharmacy closed. I grabbed my son and told her I would be back in about 20 minutes. When we got back I met her coming up the stairs from the downstairs bathroom. When she saw me she went into full Nichole Kidman mode... back of hand to forehead, "ohhhhhh... I think I have heat stroke." That did it. I told her to leave for the day.

I still gave her excuses in my mind. She told me she had been up early, little sleep, etc. So one more day—I would stay, make sure she read the list... I kept remembering that one day when it was soooo good. In retrospect, I think I kept a lot of old boyfriends around for the same reason. That one good day...

The next day she sends me a message saying, "What do you want me to do today? They think I have heat stroke." I messaged her back and told her just to come and pick up her check and that she obviously needed a job with more flexibility. A check for her has been sitting on my counter now for days. So far… no show… no show… no show.

While I'm here getting my chemo I just overheard a tiny little lady, who from the conversation I get, is in her 90's and has some sort of cancer. She went back to ask the doc about a mole on her arm that she forgot to ask about before and catches him in the hallway right outside the door of the chemo room. The doc tells her nothing to worry about and comments how well she is doing for being in her 90's. She says it's her cat. For some reason this makes me teary eyed. I love my cats. They do help. It's the love, the companionship at 2 am when you can't sleep and the fact that you know they are only around because they like you. She goes on to say she let her cat come in her room and it stays with her all the time and she thinks the constant company is making her stronger. I wipe away a tear. Geez... wow. Damn. I want to go hug her but I can't.

Yesterday I had another thorocentisis. And I have now decided that TV is bad for some doctors. These guys have obviously seen to many fun-loving docs on TV and now they think it is okay to be really unprofessional. Remember last time they caused a problem. So this time I thought they would be extra careful. And to their credit they were—really careful. But it was the circus they had going on during it that was scary.

I got the same technicians that did the last one. They knew who I was before I walked in; their demeanor was rather nervous—understandably so. The same girl that did the other one sat down with me and tried to explain it all. She said she had talked to the doctor in charge of the department and they all consulted about it. She wanted me to know that since it happened that one time there could be a little bit greater chance that it could happen again. She went on to try and explain but a lot of what she said was not making sense and she was so nervous she was kind of running on and babbling.

Finally I told her that I trusted her and please just do it. I wanted to breathe. I told her to be careful and if I felt discomfort I would tell her so she could stop, etc. So she started getting it set up, looking on the ultrasound and planning which ribs she was going to go between.

Then the doctor in charge barges in the room. No knock and peek… just opens the door and hands the girl getting ready to poke the giant needle in my back her cell phone. He says, "I just sent your husband a mean text message from you; I told you not to leave your phone on my desk again." She gasps. "What did you say, what did you say?" Has a mini freak out but needs to finish what she was doing before she could look. She introduces the doctor and he talks to me for a minute to help.

Only problem is they discussed another patient that also had a poked lung and he confuses us. The other patient is much worse than I am... or was. So he starts telling me a bunch of stuff that has nothing to do with me, but is alarming. Like lung damage I don't have, may not be able to get the fluid if it is trapped and this goes on and on... meanwhile he is anxious to see the technician’s response to his text so he is glancing back at her, talking to me... he asks her if she looked yet...

I say, "Look I don't care what your thing is with her, I don't want to hear it, I don't care if you are having an affair or whatever. I don't want to hear it, just get me done first." He takes me so non-seriously. Which I can understand, I joke a lot. But I was serious. So she stops and looks at the message. It says "I am so sick of you." She shrieks. OMG, OMG. That is the message he sent her husband as if it was coming from her. The doc laughs and laughs. Then he leaves.

She now explains to me that he was confused with another patient and there is no damage and she can go in just fine. Then the expected phone rings while she is putting the needle in. And yes—you guessed it—it was answered. At least she had the good idea to have the other tech assisting her answer it. She is freaking out and tells the girl to tell her husband that she is busy in a procedure and will call him in 10 minutes. I know my procedure is just starting and will be at least 1/2 hour. The tech relays 15 minutes... but still... during this they do all this? Damn.

So she sort of apologizes. Explains that the doc did threaten if she left the phone again he would do this... like that makes it okay. She explains that the doc and her husband are good friends so it's not that big of deal. So I suggest sarcastically that maybe the doc is after her husband. This makes her giddy because I know she will repeat that later.

About this time the doc barges in again. A quick "how you doin'?" to me and he is just jumping with excitement to ask about the text message. By now the fluid is pouring out and I'm sitting there helpless, but nervous. They all take a break in the room with me to discuss the outcome of the message. I'm appalled. I'm starting to hurt. I think I'm going to cough... I'm pissed off.

They are giggly. "Oh I can't believe you did that... hahahah... Oh my... hahah." "Yes he called; oh look here comes a text from him... hahahah." So before the text war, that I knew would soon start, I say "hey, I'm the patient here dammit. Pay attention to me and not your stupid text message." Now they get it. I'm mad. The doc grabs my hand and says he is sorry. He didn't mean to make me feel like I wasn't being paid attention to; that he was "just trying to take my mind off it..." Not buying it. So I tell him "well it's not working." He gets a tiny bit flustered and we have a brief stare down while he determines how angry I am, then he jumps into action again.

The doc then grabbed the ultrasound and started looking. I explain my pain and he makes suggestions. By now I have filled up 1 and 1/2 liters and more is still coming. But I hurt. And I'm struggling to hold back the coughing fit. The doc suggests stopping the suction on the tube and letting me rest a bit to see if it helps. It does help some. But I still hurt.

The doc asks how much they got already, and the tech says “this much,” but doesn't explain 1 and 1/2 liters. He just sees the half. He gets determined that I need more and more out because he thinks there must still be a good liter or more in there. I want to smack him. I tell him I don't think so... he looks again at the ultrasound and says he sees a lot of fluid right there... we do a little more... I'm in real pain and coughing a fit out.

Then the tech says she doesn't think there is that much more... I can't believe that I could have functioned at all if there had been 3 liters on me so I tell them to stop, I can't take it any more. So they do, take it all out. I'm still in pain and coughing but at least I know they are done. Then the "reasons" start flying. He has personally done "hundreds and hundreds" and never had a pnemonathorax. The tech that did mine has only had one... yes, me... and she has done at least 200. They don't think they did it. "Could be Dr. Abdulla, could be spontaneous and was just there from before… blah, blah, blah." I don't really care who did it. I just want to breathe and don't want another problem.

I can tell they are just itching to get that damn cell phone. Their eyes keep going to it... they can't wait. Oh fine. The doc leaves while the techs are cleaning up and I'm waiting for x-ray to come and get me. While alone the tech tells me they are a joke loving group and on April first they sent all the docs in radiology a message to call hooters and ask for some name that means "I have a large penis," but she couldn't remember the name. I couldn't think of one, can you? If you do email it to me... maybe I will call in a joke to them, haha. Okay, funny yes... I approve of joking around... but not while you have a needle in your back. Geez... at least wait until I'm out of there.

I end up having to wait a long time for x-ray. So the tech leaves, and I'm certain, ran to listen to the phone messages and clear it up with her husband. Finally x-ray comes and takes me away. I get the xray and then have to wait for the radiology doc to look it over. I get back to radiology and after a minute or two I am surrounded again by the 3 of them. They are so happy they are literally jumping around. No pnemonathorax. I'm fine, free to go. Whew.

The doc apologizes for making me feel like I wasn't being paid attention to again, I say “okay.” Then I tell them "thanks and don't take it the wrong way but I hope I don't have to see them again." The doc gets red in the face, they all giggle nervously. All I can say is... too much TV. I think he believes he is one of those cute docs that can do that because he is like that guy on Scrubs or somewhere... goofy. Bet it won't happen again!

I was in a lot of pain from it last night. But today, I can breathe! That is so nice. Man, you just don't know how great that is until it is gone.