Meanwhile, back in the lounge

Abby was my Chemo-lounge buddy for Friday's infusion.  We had great fun (right Abby?) playing cards and figuring out what we could share to eat from the coffee shop with the unhelpful, patronizing attendant.  But our greatest entertainment was the overheard, too loud conversations from our fellow "Infusion Center" patients and their guests.

One guy had traveled far to get there but it was apparently the wrong day so we got to hear about all about it through a long, overheard conversation with an extremely patient nurse who was trying to find him a solution of a better travel day or a closer travel destination. We heard his broken-record jump the groove about six or seven times.

Slightly more annoying and yet at the same time entertaining was the voice of the lady directly behind us.  We couldn't see her due to a half-wall that divides the spaces but we could hear every word that came out of her mouth and pretty much non-stop.  At some point, I made Abby get up and surreptitiously ascertain whether the voice came from a cancer patient or a "lounge buddy".  It was the latter.  By looks, Abby guessed it was the cancer patient's sister.  Why would she bring such a annoying talker as a guest?  Poor, sick lady probably has few options.

I attempted to make "lemonade" by listening to her manner of speech as a scriptwriting exercise but her voice was like a scrub-brush and I kept devolving from listening to miming along for Abby's amusement.  But to give you a small sample, it sounded a little like this:

"Oh, yeah, and then so I went to Dress Barn and I saw the same ones that they had at the second hand store.  But I needed a slip because you know my bra shows right through and they only had black.  Can you believe it? And with the size of my bra, you know, that's not just something I can take for granted.  What are you going to do?  Find a whole new dress?  I just don't know.  What are you going to do?  And then I walked over to the next aisle and they had dresses in red and green an white; and the shoes.  I don't know how anyone could wear them!  I just don't know!  Well, what are you going to do?  I like them second hand stores but you can't always find your size. Did you hear about the sale they have at Targets?  I don't know, I just tell ya." 

 This went on seemingly for hours.  I barely heard the other woman speak at all.

Duren likes to think he is taller than me.

Eventually, we brought in our own annoying, loud guest which really helped drown out the bedlam from behind.  Stephen's brand of annoying is great fun (for me) plus there is the added benefit that between us, he looks more like the cancer patient.  The awesome nurse Jana played along as "the straight man" and we had a pretty good time, I'm sure at the expense of all those around us.

There are some really nice "regulars" there too.  Mainly we share a smile and a wave and maybe a sentence or two. Maybe the trick is to find a corner of the room with minimum access to crazy.

We also had short pop-in visits from Amy, the very helpful nutritionist who keeps me on-weight and always has great suggestions for alternatives; from Alena, my Lack's Center counselor; and even a brief appearance from the elusive Dr. Scott, who made a "Michael Jackson" reference to my hair, which I believe I correctly interpreted as a "Michael Jordan" reference. 

Nurse Jana is really on top of my nausea issues and has been concerned about getting me on to a regimen that works.  They finally pulled the stops and ordered me the the big, expensive, last resort nausea handler, Marinol; the first three letters hint at the semi-legal substance from which it is derived.  Take an easy to grow weed, clone the effective substances that stimulate appetite and diminish nausea, and sell it as an expensive pill.  Fortunately my insurance co-pay is only 1/82 of the price of the pills.  Crazy!  I'm told it may take a couple of weeks (3 pills a day) before I will get the full therapeutic effect.  So far, it is not as fun as you might imagine.

At home I am on a cooking tear.  I miss food so much that I've been resorting to cooking for others in hopes that I can eat a little myself.  But Chemo-week always leaves me disappointed in the food department.  I can make it look good but not taste good to my palette.  I usually have to resort to cottage cheese and melon and ice water to make the pills go down.  The blueberry scones I'm making for breakfast this morning I'm sure will be a hit with family or anyone else who happens to drop by after 10:00a.m.