June 27, 2006
Today I began the sixth and last of the series round of chemotherapy. Yesterday evening, when I walked in the woods and began to think about the upcoming injections, my arms began to ache in anticipation. It was Pavlovian, I think, with the brain leading all the way. When I arrived at the oncologist’s office at 10:30 AM, there was confusion and delay because two new people were being trained as receptionists, and one had apparently recorded my visit incorrectly, so nothing was in readiness. I ended up having to have two blood draws rather than one but after that, things became routine. When I waited for the Vidaza injections in the chemo room, one of the women suddenly said very loudly, “This chemotherapy is poison! I’m not getting another drop. . . I just read in the paper that some children in a Cleveland hospital were given chemotherapy and it killed them.” There we all were, some with IV’s in place, and some waiting to begin. . . a man across the room said, “Well, I think these medicines come from plants that are poisonous, and if we ate them directly, it probably would kill us, but this way they can help us.” A nurse hurried in and began to visit with the woman, and calmed her down. My blood readings were almost all normal, looking better than ever, so I wasn’t about to raise my voice in complaining. It does seem to be an unusual route to healing, but I am tremendously thankful that someone figured it out.
Charles has acquired a new telescope that he has been assembling over the last few days. According to the wonderful words that accompany it, we will be able to see fabulous heavenly things including the Rings of Saturn and other uncommon sights. We will do our viewing from the roof, and we will hope for dark nights and clear skies full of planets and stars.