“Would you like to go for a hike after breakfast? I asked Lisa and Nigel sipping coffee on the deck next to the restaurant.
“Maybe.” Nigel replied.
“I’m getting a massage at 9.” Lisa noted looking at her schedule for the day.
“How was yoga class this morning?” I asked the dynamic duo.
“Great.” They both replied in unison. Lisa and Nigel were often joined at the hip.
The waiter named Sky brought our breakfast. We visit this old hippie resort on an annual basis. Massage and soaking in hot tubs and nude sunbathing are the norm. There are workshops on Tantra Sex and some new therapy unknown to me.
“After breakfast I am going to take my chemo pills and then go for a hike.” I announced.
“Really. Doug do you normally hike after your morning chemo treatments?” Nigel asked. He is a college professor with an inquiring mind.
“Never.” I reported. “Nigel, I want you with me so I don’t get lost.”
“Yes, I will be there by your side.” Nigel promised.
The buddy system has worked for me over the years. I had a buddy at summer camp when I was 11. I have a buddy when I scuba dive and when I hike. I have a buddy with me on any adventure. Why not a buddy for a chemo treatment? I took Nigel on a rafting trip on my 49th birthday and he took me cross country skiing in the mountains.
Nigel and I put on sunscreen, hiking shorts, hiking shoes and a sun hat. I took my dose and started walking up the trail. This was a Timothy Leary hike. A steady slow climb through the trees.
I watched my feet to be sure I did not trip on an exposed root but I was tripping. The forest looked electric. Light sparkled through the canopy of leaves. Maybe we walked one mile.
“How ya doing Doug? Everything OK?” Nigel inquired. He was watching me closely.
“Great. This is as far as I can go. Let’s head back.” I requested.
"Nigel." I asked.
"What" he replied looking at me.
"Are there wild turkeys in this forest or am I just seeing things?" I asked.
"Yes Doug a gaggle of turkeys have been following us on this hike." Nigel observed.
"Good because I thought the chemo was just creating that vision." I shared.
The return trip was casual. Doing my chemo treatments in that kind of environment was wonderful since I was pampering myself. Massage, sun bathing, hot pools, visiting with friends, falling asleep to the sound of a babbling stream and frogs singing in the night.
This was really a good trip.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Live Man Walking
“Are you awake Mr. Beckstein? The nurse asked me as she wrote down my vital signs in my chart. She saw I was not too keen on exercise.
“Yes, what time is it?” I asked. I could not see the clock on the wall. I took out my contacts before surgery. Two days after my abdominal resection procedure. Still no contacts.
“It is TIME for you to WALK, Mr. Beckstein. “She replied with the authority of a Supreme Court justice.
“The best thing for you to do Mr. Beckstein is to walk after surgery but your body is ANGRY!” The nurse continued with a scrunched up face trying to look angry.
My nurse unplugged the electronic gizmos but left my morphine IV. I was to walk for the first time. My blanket was moved as I made an attempt to scoot my heavy butt by using every single muscle EXCEPT my abdomenal muscles. I stared at the ceiling and tried to use my legs to move my butt.
“OOH I moaned as I tried to move with no pain. It is going to hurt but do it anyway I thought to myself. The nurse waited patiently as I inched slowly to the edge of my hospital bed. My nurse continued her “why you need to walk” pep talk.
“Mr. Beckstein after surgery your body goes into shock and is slow to start functioning again.” The nurse continued.
“Tell me more” I replied. I liked the pep talk and was glad to get more info about what is “normal” for patients after this surgery.
The nurse had that face again. “Your body is waiting for another attack like that surgery. I call it angry. When you walk you are telling your body It’s OK to start to move again. I want you to set a goal to walk FIVE times today.” the nurse commanded.
I made a mental note... walk five times today.
The nurse grabbed both of my hands and helped pull me to an upright sitting position on my bed. I am light headed. We pause a moment.
Next I wrapped one arm over my nurses neck as she lifted me onto my feet as I used my wobbly legs to lift my body. I think I weighted 8000 pounds that day. OK. I am standing. Now I must shuffle for 30 feet with blue hospital slippers pushing my IV cart. Hey this is fun.
Do you remember the Jackie Chan Kung Foo movies with the fight scenes in slow motion? That’s me but I have a nurse holding me steady with one arm and morphine IV in the other arm. This is a different fight than Jackie Chan. I had to walk with a 9-inch incision in my belly and staples to hold me together.
“Mr. Beckstein, the more you walk the quicker you leave the hospital.” The nurse stated.
“I hear your encouragement and I want to walk I really do, but morphine messages floated into my brain.
You know I've smoked a lot of grass
O' Lord, I've popped a lot of pills
But I never touched nothin'
That my spirit could kill
You know, I've seen a lot of people walkin' 'round
With tombstones in their eyes
But the pusher don't care
Ah, if you live or if you die
God damn, The Pusher
God damn, I say The Pusher
I said God damn, God damn The Pusher man
Don’t get me wrong. I am glad to be pain free. Morphine just took away my motivation to exercise or do anything. I shuffled five more feet then looked at my nurse. I know she is proud of me just to get out of that hospital bed. I was proud just to walk by myself and push my IV cart.
“OK lets turn around and return to your bed.” The nurse advised.
“I have to turn around now? Great I was doing so well in this direction." I replied.
A few nurses arrived to help by circling around me as I tried to turn 180 degrees. The nurses closed in to avoid me from falling. This maneuver is like a team of tugboats moving an aircraft carrier into port. OK my body is pointed home to my bed. I did make my return trip.
Thanks to the nurses I did complete my five walks that day and was able to stop morphine the next day. I left the hospital after six days.
The real turning point for me to start recovering from abdominal resection surgery was walking.
I am very grateful that nurse gave me that "lets go for a walk" pep talk.
“Yes, what time is it?” I asked. I could not see the clock on the wall. I took out my contacts before surgery. Two days after my abdominal resection procedure. Still no contacts.
“It is TIME for you to WALK, Mr. Beckstein. “She replied with the authority of a Supreme Court justice.
“The best thing for you to do Mr. Beckstein is to walk after surgery but your body is ANGRY!” The nurse continued with a scrunched up face trying to look angry.
My nurse unplugged the electronic gizmos but left my morphine IV. I was to walk for the first time. My blanket was moved as I made an attempt to scoot my heavy butt by using every single muscle EXCEPT my abdomenal muscles. I stared at the ceiling and tried to use my legs to move my butt.
“OOH I moaned as I tried to move with no pain. It is going to hurt but do it anyway I thought to myself. The nurse waited patiently as I inched slowly to the edge of my hospital bed. My nurse continued her “why you need to walk” pep talk.
“Mr. Beckstein after surgery your body goes into shock and is slow to start functioning again.” The nurse continued.
“Tell me more” I replied. I liked the pep talk and was glad to get more info about what is “normal” for patients after this surgery.
The nurse had that face again. “Your body is waiting for another attack like that surgery. I call it angry. When you walk you are telling your body It’s OK to start to move again. I want you to set a goal to walk FIVE times today.” the nurse commanded.
I made a mental note... walk five times today.
The nurse grabbed both of my hands and helped pull me to an upright sitting position on my bed. I am light headed. We pause a moment.
Next I wrapped one arm over my nurses neck as she lifted me onto my feet as I used my wobbly legs to lift my body. I think I weighted 8000 pounds that day. OK. I am standing. Now I must shuffle for 30 feet with blue hospital slippers pushing my IV cart. Hey this is fun.
Do you remember the Jackie Chan Kung Foo movies with the fight scenes in slow motion? That’s me but I have a nurse holding me steady with one arm and morphine IV in the other arm. This is a different fight than Jackie Chan. I had to walk with a 9-inch incision in my belly and staples to hold me together.
“Mr. Beckstein, the more you walk the quicker you leave the hospital.” The nurse stated.
“I hear your encouragement and I want to walk I really do, but morphine messages floated into my brain.
You know I've smoked a lot of grass
O' Lord, I've popped a lot of pills
But I never touched nothin'
That my spirit could kill
You know, I've seen a lot of people walkin' 'round
With tombstones in their eyes
But the pusher don't care
Ah, if you live or if you die
God damn, The Pusher
God damn, I say The Pusher
I said God damn, God damn The Pusher man
Don’t get me wrong. I am glad to be pain free. Morphine just took away my motivation to exercise or do anything. I shuffled five more feet then looked at my nurse. I know she is proud of me just to get out of that hospital bed. I was proud just to walk by myself and push my IV cart.
“OK lets turn around and return to your bed.” The nurse advised.
“I have to turn around now? Great I was doing so well in this direction." I replied.
A few nurses arrived to help by circling around me as I tried to turn 180 degrees. The nurses closed in to avoid me from falling. This maneuver is like a team of tugboats moving an aircraft carrier into port. OK my body is pointed home to my bed. I did make my return trip.
Thanks to the nurses I did complete my five walks that day and was able to stop morphine the next day. I left the hospital after six days.
The real turning point for me to start recovering from abdominal resection surgery was walking.
I am very grateful that nurse gave me that "lets go for a walk" pep talk.
Dreaming of My Friend Rona Wells
I tried one chemo treatment at the Chabot Space Center located in the Oakland Hills. I ate dinner with my roommates then drove to the Chabot Space Center, parked my car, bought a ticket and found a water fountain. I swallowed my one Xeloda pill then sat in the planetarium to wait for the effects.
My evening chemo dose was like a toke of pot or being mildly drunk. Same buzz to me. A star show at a planetarium was a great place to do a chemo treatment. My dose was mild and I could predict side effects.
I felt the gentle rush of the chemo. My body relaxed as the lights dimmed in the planetarium. Stars filled the dome. I slouched in the chair and stared at the ceiling. I listened to a smooth voice telling me a story about the night sky.
The smooth voice asked the audience to please exit the theatre. We were invited to the roof to look at the stars through telescopes. I floated for four hours as my chemo went to work. I killed cancer cells and was entertained at the same time. Cool.
Some chemo experiences were transformational for me. Sometimes my spirit left my body and then came back. As I looked at the night sky through a telescope I felt my spirit merging with other spirits. I had a sense of deep peace. Many chemo treatments were like dying then coming back to life.
My good friend's mom, Rona Wells had just died from cancer. She was given six months to live by her doctors. She lived four years. I had a few chances to talk with her before she died. I remember eating lamb chops in her home when I was not sure what I could eat because of chemo and nausia. Rona's kitchen was filled with her family and one guest, me. That was the last time I saw Rona.
As I looked at the stars Chabot Space Center I felt her spiritual presence. Rona was at peace and I felt her peace. This experience prepared me for her memorial service the following day. Her family and friends told a stories how she inspired them as she fought cancer. I said nothing at the service just held my friends as they wept in my arms. I will never forget her...
Stars shining bright above you
night breezes seem to whisper
I love you
Birds singin' in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me.
Say "nighty night" and kiss me
just hold me tight and tell me
you'll miss me.
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me.
My evening chemo dose was like a toke of pot or being mildly drunk. Same buzz to me. A star show at a planetarium was a great place to do a chemo treatment. My dose was mild and I could predict side effects.
I felt the gentle rush of the chemo. My body relaxed as the lights dimmed in the planetarium. Stars filled the dome. I slouched in the chair and stared at the ceiling. I listened to a smooth voice telling me a story about the night sky.
The smooth voice asked the audience to please exit the theatre. We were invited to the roof to look at the stars through telescopes. I floated for four hours as my chemo went to work. I killed cancer cells and was entertained at the same time. Cool.
Some chemo experiences were transformational for me. Sometimes my spirit left my body and then came back. As I looked at the night sky through a telescope I felt my spirit merging with other spirits. I had a sense of deep peace. Many chemo treatments were like dying then coming back to life.
My good friend's mom, Rona Wells had just died from cancer. She was given six months to live by her doctors. She lived four years. I had a few chances to talk with her before she died. I remember eating lamb chops in her home when I was not sure what I could eat because of chemo and nausia. Rona's kitchen was filled with her family and one guest, me. That was the last time I saw Rona.
As I looked at the stars Chabot Space Center I felt her spiritual presence. Rona was at peace and I felt her peace. This experience prepared me for her memorial service the following day. Her family and friends told a stories how she inspired them as she fought cancer. I said nothing at the service just held my friends as they wept in my arms. I will never forget her...
Stars shining bright above you
night breezes seem to whisper
I love you
Birds singin' in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me.
Say "nighty night" and kiss me
just hold me tight and tell me
you'll miss me.
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Where is Sharon?
Where is Sharon? I thought to myself. I was sitting in a teak chair on the patio of the Boulder Country Club watching golfers finish their last putt at the 18th hole. The sun warmed the brown grass of the foothills. A gentle breeze kissed my skin.
I sipped a cold beer and watched the catering staff present the latest California cuisine. I remember portion control from this week’s weight watcher’s meeting. I sat in chair to wait for Sharon to arrive.
“Would you like one of these, Sir?” the young woman asked politely?
“Thank you very much. Please tell the cook the food is wonderful.” I replied looking through sunglasses and putting one piece of shrimp on my small black plastic plate. I took a black napkin with the country club logo.
No sense launching into the “Don’t call me Sir” lecture. Being called “Sir” just pushes another button about getting old. I skipped the lecture for the server.
Where is Sharon? I thought to myself.
I offered my teak chair to an elderly woman and slithered through the crowd trying to look cool. I was wearing a white shirt open collar, black pants and black shoes. I remembered to wear black for a memorial service for Mike. He was only 22 when he died from a brain tumor. Mike’s family had two memorial services. One in Texas one in California.
Mike had two passions in his life: baseball and his wife. He wanted his family and friends to remember him when he was vibrant and healthy. Before he died he said. “There’s no crying in baseball so don’t cry for me.”
As I searched for Sharon in the crowd I ate a tiny chicken sandwich, grilled veggies with Thai peanut sauce, pieces of cheese all with the “portion control” weight watchers mantra playing in my head. I squeezed through the crowd trying not to spill Thai peanut sauce on my white shirt. This is all about me looking good at the country club.
Where is Sharon? I thought to myself.
“Excuse me do you seen Sharon here anywhere?” I asked one of the guests.
“No but there is Sharon’s mom at that table right there.” A young woman replied nodding her head toward a nearby table.
I walked over to meet Sharon’s mom. She wanted to know how I met Sharon and I gave her a brief outline of our friendship. I met everyone at the table and we talked about the weather and how bad the traffic is in the bay area. I said farewell and headed for the bar to get a cold bottled water for the commute home. I had given up my hope of seeing Sharon.
“There you are Doug. Thank you so much for coming today. How are you? “ Sharon asked.
“Hello!” I exclaimed as I gave her a hug. “I like your hair cut short”
“Thanks, this is my Texas cut. It has to be short. It’s very hot in Texas” She replied. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends.”
I shook hands and met two women who worked with Sharon. Now they are young moms each with a new baby. We all agreed that babies are wonderful. I slipped away from the two moms and found Sharon alone for a nanosecond.
“Sharon, how are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m am really glad you are here Doug. I am doing OK. Over the past few months Mike moved into hospice after the doctors gave up their medical treatments. The brain tumor kept growing and Mike slowly lost body functions. I asked Mike, Are you ready to go yet? He said No. A part of me wanted to hold on to Mike and never let my son go and another part of me wanted to let him pass away and be released from this world. It was a horrible way to die.”
There was a pause in her story as we watched the sunset. The two mothers had joined our conversation as we listened to Sharon’s experience.
“I was there when Mike was born and he entered this world and I held his hand when he died and left this world. After Mike died and I returned to his home I realized he was never coming back home. His house seemed so empty. I never realized how big Mike's spirit was until he died.”
I sipped a cold beer and watched the catering staff present the latest California cuisine. I remember portion control from this week’s weight watcher’s meeting. I sat in chair to wait for Sharon to arrive.
“Would you like one of these, Sir?” the young woman asked politely?
“Thank you very much. Please tell the cook the food is wonderful.” I replied looking through sunglasses and putting one piece of shrimp on my small black plastic plate. I took a black napkin with the country club logo.
No sense launching into the “Don’t call me Sir” lecture. Being called “Sir” just pushes another button about getting old. I skipped the lecture for the server.
Where is Sharon? I thought to myself.
I offered my teak chair to an elderly woman and slithered through the crowd trying to look cool. I was wearing a white shirt open collar, black pants and black shoes. I remembered to wear black for a memorial service for Mike. He was only 22 when he died from a brain tumor. Mike’s family had two memorial services. One in Texas one in California.
Mike had two passions in his life: baseball and his wife. He wanted his family and friends to remember him when he was vibrant and healthy. Before he died he said. “There’s no crying in baseball so don’t cry for me.”
As I searched for Sharon in the crowd I ate a tiny chicken sandwich, grilled veggies with Thai peanut sauce, pieces of cheese all with the “portion control” weight watchers mantra playing in my head. I squeezed through the crowd trying not to spill Thai peanut sauce on my white shirt. This is all about me looking good at the country club.
Where is Sharon? I thought to myself.
“Excuse me do you seen Sharon here anywhere?” I asked one of the guests.
“No but there is Sharon’s mom at that table right there.” A young woman replied nodding her head toward a nearby table.
I walked over to meet Sharon’s mom. She wanted to know how I met Sharon and I gave her a brief outline of our friendship. I met everyone at the table and we talked about the weather and how bad the traffic is in the bay area. I said farewell and headed for the bar to get a cold bottled water for the commute home. I had given up my hope of seeing Sharon.
“There you are Doug. Thank you so much for coming today. How are you? “ Sharon asked.
“Hello!” I exclaimed as I gave her a hug. “I like your hair cut short”
“Thanks, this is my Texas cut. It has to be short. It’s very hot in Texas” She replied. “Let me introduce you to some of my friends.”
I shook hands and met two women who worked with Sharon. Now they are young moms each with a new baby. We all agreed that babies are wonderful. I slipped away from the two moms and found Sharon alone for a nanosecond.
“Sharon, how are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m am really glad you are here Doug. I am doing OK. Over the past few months Mike moved into hospice after the doctors gave up their medical treatments. The brain tumor kept growing and Mike slowly lost body functions. I asked Mike, Are you ready to go yet? He said No. A part of me wanted to hold on to Mike and never let my son go and another part of me wanted to let him pass away and be released from this world. It was a horrible way to die.”
There was a pause in her story as we watched the sunset. The two mothers had joined our conversation as we listened to Sharon’s experience.
“I was there when Mike was born and he entered this world and I held his hand when he died and left this world. After Mike died and I returned to his home I realized he was never coming back home. His house seemed so empty. I never realized how big Mike's spirit was until he died.”
Friday, June 15, 2007
I am done?
Staging my radiation treatments was easy. I laid facedown on a table as the x-ray technician’s tattooed a plus sign on the side of each hip and one above the crack of my butt. A laser light pointed to my tattoos to verify my body was in the exact position for my treatment.
“How many radiation treatments will I get?” I asked Fernando my technician.
“Twenty-five” he replied promptly looking at my chart.
“Will it hurt?” I asked.
“You will have to talk to the doctor about that.” Fernando replied.
“How long will each treatment take?” I asked questions face down on the table so my body moved a bit and the laser could not lock in to my tatoo marks on my hips.
“Mr. Beckstein PLEASE remain as still as possible when we do your treatments.” Fernando advised. “I will be directing the radiation around your colon so we can kill any stray cancer cells. If you move during the treatment other parts of your body get treated. Will you please not squirm around on the table?”
"Got it Fernando" I replied my face buried facing the treatment table.
I never moved during my 25 treatments. Fry my colon I don’t care but please nothing else. I closed my eyes as the radiation device hovered over my back. Fernando played latin music on his boom box. Fernando peeked thru the window behind the thick wall so he was protected from the radiation. I prayed to God to let me keep living.
After 25 treatments my body got zapped with the equilivant of 10,000 chest x-rays all focused on my colon. Today I am free and clear of colon cancer for three years. The treatment worked. No evidence of reoccurring disease. I am still alive thank God.
Did it hurt you ask? At first my back felt warm like sunburn after the first treatments. Later treatments gave me a dull pain in my back like someone punched me in the kidneys. A heating pad was a great way to heal my lower back and mild pain meds took away any pain.
After my last treatment I asked Fernando, “How do you know I am done with all these radiation treatments? Do you have one of those probes like you see in turkeys that pop out when they are done.”
Fernando smiled and looked at me over his reading glasses and shook his head.
"No Doug you must be confused again. You are not a turkey. This is your last radiation treatment. You can get back into your street clothes now."
This was his last day working for my doctor and the last day to hear my dumb questions. I think Fernando is selling real estate now.
“How many radiation treatments will I get?” I asked Fernando my technician.
“Twenty-five” he replied promptly looking at my chart.
“Will it hurt?” I asked.
“You will have to talk to the doctor about that.” Fernando replied.
“How long will each treatment take?” I asked questions face down on the table so my body moved a bit and the laser could not lock in to my tatoo marks on my hips.
“Mr. Beckstein PLEASE remain as still as possible when we do your treatments.” Fernando advised. “I will be directing the radiation around your colon so we can kill any stray cancer cells. If you move during the treatment other parts of your body get treated. Will you please not squirm around on the table?”
"Got it Fernando" I replied my face buried facing the treatment table.
I never moved during my 25 treatments. Fry my colon I don’t care but please nothing else. I closed my eyes as the radiation device hovered over my back. Fernando played latin music on his boom box. Fernando peeked thru the window behind the thick wall so he was protected from the radiation. I prayed to God to let me keep living.
After 25 treatments my body got zapped with the equilivant of 10,000 chest x-rays all focused on my colon. Today I am free and clear of colon cancer for three years. The treatment worked. No evidence of reoccurring disease. I am still alive thank God.
Did it hurt you ask? At first my back felt warm like sunburn after the first treatments. Later treatments gave me a dull pain in my back like someone punched me in the kidneys. A heating pad was a great way to heal my lower back and mild pain meds took away any pain.
After my last treatment I asked Fernando, “How do you know I am done with all these radiation treatments? Do you have one of those probes like you see in turkeys that pop out when they are done.”
Fernando smiled and looked at me over his reading glasses and shook his head.
"No Doug you must be confused again. You are not a turkey. This is your last radiation treatment. You can get back into your street clothes now."
This was his last day working for my doctor and the last day to hear my dumb questions. I think Fernando is selling real estate now.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
I've nothin' to do
I opened my eyes and saw my brother napping in the chair in the corner of my hospital room. This was day two after my abdominal resection.
My hair was soaked with sweat. Pain meds worked great but I had wild dreams last night. I had no idea what kind of day it was outside the hospital. Food did not appeal to me. A young doctor making his rounds entered my room.
“Good Morning Mr. Beckstein, what are you reading?” he inquired.
“Gods and Demons.” I replied with a very dry mouth then I took a sip of water through a straw. Had to look at my bed to see what book was there.
The doctor passed my brother sprawled in the chair and walked over to the window and asked, “Is the book any good?"
"I don't know. I can't read much at all on this pain killer. How is the view outside my window?" I asked.
"I can see the highway and the roof of this hospital." He commented.
"Is that an iPOD?" The doctor asked.
"Sixty Gigs" I said proudly.
"Cool. I want one." He said inspecting the device closely.
The doctor sat on my bed, lifted the sheet covering my incision and inspected the tubes connected to my body. I was very relaxed due to his engaging conversation. I had a nine inch incision in my belly with staples to hold me together.
“You don’t need this thing anymore” he reported staring at my drainage tube.
He put one hand on my belly and the other hand grabbed a tube that was draining my wound. Suddenly with one giant jank he pulled the tube out of my body, stood up, wrapped the tubing and collection pouch in a ball, tossed the mess into the hazardous medical waste garbage can and returned to my bedside.
“You are doing very well. Healing right on schedule." The doctor reassured me as he put a band aid on my belly.” He left the room quickly.
My brother woke up and asked, “Who was that guy?"
“I think it was a doctor.” I said. Song lyrics entered my brain.
"David, do you remember who is the artist who sang this song?"
Countin' flowers on the wall, that don't bother me at all
Playin' solitaire 'til dawn, with a deck of fifty-one
Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo
Now don't tell me
I've nothin' to do
"Statler Brothers" he replied as he read yesterdays newspaper.
My hair was soaked with sweat. Pain meds worked great but I had wild dreams last night. I had no idea what kind of day it was outside the hospital. Food did not appeal to me. A young doctor making his rounds entered my room.
“Good Morning Mr. Beckstein, what are you reading?” he inquired.
“Gods and Demons.” I replied with a very dry mouth then I took a sip of water through a straw. Had to look at my bed to see what book was there.
The doctor passed my brother sprawled in the chair and walked over to the window and asked, “Is the book any good?"
"I don't know. I can't read much at all on this pain killer. How is the view outside my window?" I asked.
"I can see the highway and the roof of this hospital." He commented.
"Is that an iPOD?" The doctor asked.
"Sixty Gigs" I said proudly.
"Cool. I want one." He said inspecting the device closely.
The doctor sat on my bed, lifted the sheet covering my incision and inspected the tubes connected to my body. I was very relaxed due to his engaging conversation. I had a nine inch incision in my belly with staples to hold me together.
“You don’t need this thing anymore” he reported staring at my drainage tube.
He put one hand on my belly and the other hand grabbed a tube that was draining my wound. Suddenly with one giant jank he pulled the tube out of my body, stood up, wrapped the tubing and collection pouch in a ball, tossed the mess into the hazardous medical waste garbage can and returned to my bedside.
“You are doing very well. Healing right on schedule." The doctor reassured me as he put a band aid on my belly.” He left the room quickly.
My brother woke up and asked, “Who was that guy?"
“I think it was a doctor.” I said. Song lyrics entered my brain.
"David, do you remember who is the artist who sang this song?"
Countin' flowers on the wall, that don't bother me at all
Playin' solitaire 'til dawn, with a deck of fifty-one
Smokin' cigarettes and watchin' Captain Kangaroo
Now don't tell me
I've nothin' to do
"Statler Brothers" he replied as he read yesterdays newspaper.
Monday, June 11, 2007
The Day I met Kay
“Is there a Doug Beckstein in this camp?” the man with the clipboard asked.
He was driving a golf cart at Strawberry Music Festival. If someone has a golf cart they are a volunteer with a mission. I think he was from the command post. I think this was good news. Hope so.
“Here I am” I replied.
I was drinking a rum drink with Patrice and Rusty before noon waiting to see if I could get a cabin. I was on the disabled camper waiting list for a warm cabin. I needed a cabin. The tent did not work out to keep me warm. Getting a cabin at strawberry is like finding a parking spot at Costco. Strawberry Music festival has five thousand campers who come to Camp Mather outside Yosemite for four days of music.
“Do you want to ride with me in the cart or throw in some gear? The golf cart driver inquired.
“I’ll ride behind you on my bike. Here is my duffle bag.” I said heaving the bag into the small square platform he called the cargo area.
Patrice gave me a motherly hug, took my blender drink and waved goodbye. She had curly hair like Shirley Temple. I was leaving her nest campground we called CAMP CHEMO. She and Rusty invited me to my first Strawberry Music Festival years ago. Now due to cancer treatment I needed different accommodations. I left my soggy tent still steaming in the midday sun and I climbed on my bike to follow the golf cart.
The golf cart proceeded quickly but carefully through the camp traffic. There were people walking, parents pulling children in overstuffed wagons, kids on bikes out of control, people just standing the in middle of the road talking, RVs inching into an impossible parking spaces, musicians playing instruments and walking in the road.
Park rangers on horses.
The golf cart created a path through the traffic flow with me trailing behind. I am trying to balance riding on a bike going r e a l l y s l o w. Sheer will on my part. One week after my last chemo treatment in the city and I am trying to balance on a bike on a muddy road following the wake of the golf cart.
“How is it going back there?” The man with the clipboard and golf cart asked looking back at a whobbly bike rider.
“No problem.” I yelled. That blender drink in the meadow a few minutes ago was not helping me balance. I love a challenge. Why not make it really hard?
“We are heading to the other side of camp near the dining hall,” the man with the clipboard and golf cart yelled.
“Great, I’m right behind you.” I echoed.
Wow I got a cabin I thought. I am so lucky!
Our mini parade of golf cart and bike proceeding in the opposite direction of the flow of traffic was successful. No collisions just a few near misses. The golf cart stopped. The man yanked the duffle bag out of the cargo area. I dropped my bike and ran after him like a kid coming home for dinner.
The man with the clipboard unlocked the padlock to my cabin. There ya go. Enjoy. I'll bring back a little heater for you. " As he left me he told me,
“You can tell THOSE campers to move their stuff off of YOUR porch.” The man said.
“OK, who do I thank for this cabin?” I asked.
“_________ made the decision.” He replied walking up the hill toward his golf cart.
“How long do I get to stay in this cabin?” I asked.
“The entire festival all four nights.” he replied.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“It’s on the house. No cost to you. You need a cabin to get your rest.” he drove away.
I turned around on “my” porch and leaned over the redwood railing to address the campers below "my" cabin.
“Hi I’m Doug. I am your new neighbor. Please do not move anything on this porch.” I felt like I was on the back of a train on a whistle stop tour addressing a crowd of one.
“Hi I’m Kay. Are you hungry?
“Yes I am.” I said.
“Please come down and have some lunch. We have plenty of food. I'll fix you a plate. Do you drink beer?" Kay asked me.
"Kay, I will drink and eat anything. Thank you very much!" I replied.
Kay invited me to sit down and eat in her campsite. She had comfy chairs with an easy-up canopy overhead. A propane stove glowed to keep us warm. Kay told me later that I looked pale when she first met me. The chemo treatments burned the color out of my body. Thanks to Kay's cookin I was on the mend.
He was driving a golf cart at Strawberry Music Festival. If someone has a golf cart they are a volunteer with a mission. I think he was from the command post. I think this was good news. Hope so.
“Here I am” I replied.
I was drinking a rum drink with Patrice and Rusty before noon waiting to see if I could get a cabin. I was on the disabled camper waiting list for a warm cabin. I needed a cabin. The tent did not work out to keep me warm. Getting a cabin at strawberry is like finding a parking spot at Costco. Strawberry Music festival has five thousand campers who come to Camp Mather outside Yosemite for four days of music.
“Do you want to ride with me in the cart or throw in some gear? The golf cart driver inquired.
“I’ll ride behind you on my bike. Here is my duffle bag.” I said heaving the bag into the small square platform he called the cargo area.
Patrice gave me a motherly hug, took my blender drink and waved goodbye. She had curly hair like Shirley Temple. I was leaving her nest campground we called CAMP CHEMO. She and Rusty invited me to my first Strawberry Music Festival years ago. Now due to cancer treatment I needed different accommodations. I left my soggy tent still steaming in the midday sun and I climbed on my bike to follow the golf cart.
The golf cart proceeded quickly but carefully through the camp traffic. There were people walking, parents pulling children in overstuffed wagons, kids on bikes out of control, people just standing the in middle of the road talking, RVs inching into an impossible parking spaces, musicians playing instruments and walking in the road.
Park rangers on horses.
The golf cart created a path through the traffic flow with me trailing behind. I am trying to balance riding on a bike going r e a l l y s l o w. Sheer will on my part. One week after my last chemo treatment in the city and I am trying to balance on a bike on a muddy road following the wake of the golf cart.
“How is it going back there?” The man with the clipboard and golf cart asked looking back at a whobbly bike rider.
“No problem.” I yelled. That blender drink in the meadow a few minutes ago was not helping me balance. I love a challenge. Why not make it really hard?
“We are heading to the other side of camp near the dining hall,” the man with the clipboard and golf cart yelled.
“Great, I’m right behind you.” I echoed.
Wow I got a cabin I thought. I am so lucky!
Our mini parade of golf cart and bike proceeding in the opposite direction of the flow of traffic was successful. No collisions just a few near misses. The golf cart stopped. The man yanked the duffle bag out of the cargo area. I dropped my bike and ran after him like a kid coming home for dinner.
The man with the clipboard unlocked the padlock to my cabin. There ya go. Enjoy. I'll bring back a little heater for you. " As he left me he told me,
“You can tell THOSE campers to move their stuff off of YOUR porch.” The man said.
“OK, who do I thank for this cabin?” I asked.
“_________ made the decision.” He replied walking up the hill toward his golf cart.
“How long do I get to stay in this cabin?” I asked.
“The entire festival all four nights.” he replied.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“It’s on the house. No cost to you. You need a cabin to get your rest.” he drove away.
I turned around on “my” porch and leaned over the redwood railing to address the campers below "my" cabin.
“Hi I’m Doug. I am your new neighbor. Please do not move anything on this porch.” I felt like I was on the back of a train on a whistle stop tour addressing a crowd of one.
“Hi I’m Kay. Are you hungry?
“Yes I am.” I said.
“Please come down and have some lunch. We have plenty of food. I'll fix you a plate. Do you drink beer?" Kay asked me.
"Kay, I will drink and eat anything. Thank you very much!" I replied.
Kay invited me to sit down and eat in her campsite. She had comfy chairs with an easy-up canopy overhead. A propane stove glowed to keep us warm. Kay told me later that I looked pale when she first met me. The chemo treatments burned the color out of my body. Thanks to Kay's cookin I was on the mend.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Singing in the Rain
I waited only one week after my last chemo treatment to try camping in the Sierras. I went to Strawberry Music Festival. Five thousand people camp for four days to hear great music.
But I forgot my pain meds. My body had cooled quickly in the cold night air and the rain made it difficult for me to stay warm that night. I wore every piece of winter down clothing as I climbed into my sleeping bag. I didn’t get much sleep, too much back pain.
“Hey Doug are you awake yet? I saw the tent move and thought you might be awake.” Lauren whispered next yo my tent.
“Yeahaaaaaaaaaaa. I am ready to get up, can you drag the tarp away from my tent?” I asked Lauren.
The night before I had left a tarp over my tent to protect me from the rain. Now the tarp was a small lake that needed to be drained before I could leave. My guardian Angel was Lauren. Thank you God.
“Did you pack an umbrella Doug it’s raining out here.” Lauren asked as he moved Lake Erie away frommy tent portal.
“I need an umbrella Lauren, thanks.” I replied. I unzipped the door of my tent. Slowly like a banana slug I crawled out of the tent door on my hands and knees thru mud then stood up and gladly grabbed the open umbrella.
“Please walk me to the dining hall and I will buy you breakfast” I told him. Bribes work. Can't leave my muddy home with chemo brain unless I have a buddy.
Lauren was a teenager. It was customary for me to buy a big breakfast with sausage and eggs for one of the boys in the Rogers family. If Lauren stayed back at camp waiting for mom and dad to wake it would mean cold cereal for breakfast. Yuk I thought. I needed coffee and protein to get my body moving this grey rainy morning.
“I am hungry for breakfast!” Lauren replied.
He looked like Roger Daltry, the lead singer from The Who with dreadlocks under his rain hat.
“Lauren I have chemo brain." I stated.
"What's Keemoo brain? He asked.
" I can’t remember things like what just happened a minute ago. I may get lost because I can’t remember how to find my way back to this camp. I need you to take me to the dining hall and get me back to this camp, OK?” I asked Lauren.
“Oh ready to go now? He asked. We both were hungry. We hit the road.
"I need a portapotty first." I added.
We began our hike to the dining hall about 7AM with drizzeling rain each holding umbrellas. The smell of wet pine trees ozzing sap filled my nostrils.
Tina Turner’s song lyrics fired off in my chemo brain and I started singing:
"I can’t stand the rain
Against my window
Bringing back sweet memories…"
Lauren could help stimulate my chemo brain! He told me last night he had just appeared in “Music Man.” I memorized that musical forty years ago. Now we could sing a song we both knew. Maybe. Lets give it a shot I thought. I asked Lauren, “Can you sing a song from Music Man” and I will try to keep up with you?”
“Which song?” he inquired.
I began singing missing a word of two as Lauren filled in the blanks,
“Ya got trouble my friend
with a capitol T and that rhythms with P
and that stands for Pool
….Think my friend how could any pool table.....”
We were off to breakfast singing in the rain. We both stomped our feet in the puddles getting really muddy. Lauren guided me to the dining hall. We got in line.
A young mother with childen dressed in trendy rain gear stared at muddy Doug and dreadlock Lauren. We were singing, "Lina Rose" each of us filling in the lyrics for the other. The people in line let us move to the front of the line so we would be gone sooner and they could enjoy the morning again. Maybe
But I forgot my pain meds. My body had cooled quickly in the cold night air and the rain made it difficult for me to stay warm that night. I wore every piece of winter down clothing as I climbed into my sleeping bag. I didn’t get much sleep, too much back pain.
“Hey Doug are you awake yet? I saw the tent move and thought you might be awake.” Lauren whispered next yo my tent.
“Yeahaaaaaaaaaaa. I am ready to get up, can you drag the tarp away from my tent?” I asked Lauren.
The night before I had left a tarp over my tent to protect me from the rain. Now the tarp was a small lake that needed to be drained before I could leave. My guardian Angel was Lauren. Thank you God.
“Did you pack an umbrella Doug it’s raining out here.” Lauren asked as he moved Lake Erie away frommy tent portal.
“I need an umbrella Lauren, thanks.” I replied. I unzipped the door of my tent. Slowly like a banana slug I crawled out of the tent door on my hands and knees thru mud then stood up and gladly grabbed the open umbrella.
“Please walk me to the dining hall and I will buy you breakfast” I told him. Bribes work. Can't leave my muddy home with chemo brain unless I have a buddy.
Lauren was a teenager. It was customary for me to buy a big breakfast with sausage and eggs for one of the boys in the Rogers family. If Lauren stayed back at camp waiting for mom and dad to wake it would mean cold cereal for breakfast. Yuk I thought. I needed coffee and protein to get my body moving this grey rainy morning.
“I am hungry for breakfast!” Lauren replied.
He looked like Roger Daltry, the lead singer from The Who with dreadlocks under his rain hat.
“Lauren I have chemo brain." I stated.
"What's Keemoo brain? He asked.
" I can’t remember things like what just happened a minute ago. I may get lost because I can’t remember how to find my way back to this camp. I need you to take me to the dining hall and get me back to this camp, OK?” I asked Lauren.
“Oh ready to go now? He asked. We both were hungry. We hit the road.
"I need a portapotty first." I added.
We began our hike to the dining hall about 7AM with drizzeling rain each holding umbrellas. The smell of wet pine trees ozzing sap filled my nostrils.
Tina Turner’s song lyrics fired off in my chemo brain and I started singing:
"I can’t stand the rain
Against my window
Bringing back sweet memories…"
Lauren could help stimulate my chemo brain! He told me last night he had just appeared in “Music Man.” I memorized that musical forty years ago. Now we could sing a song we both knew. Maybe. Lets give it a shot I thought. I asked Lauren, “Can you sing a song from Music Man” and I will try to keep up with you?”
“Which song?” he inquired.
I began singing missing a word of two as Lauren filled in the blanks,
“Ya got trouble my friend
with a capitol T and that rhythms with P
and that stands for Pool
….Think my friend how could any pool table.....”
We were off to breakfast singing in the rain. We both stomped our feet in the puddles getting really muddy. Lauren guided me to the dining hall. We got in line.
A young mother with childen dressed in trendy rain gear stared at muddy Doug and dreadlock Lauren. We were singing, "Lina Rose" each of us filling in the lyrics for the other. The people in line let us move to the front of the line so we would be gone sooner and they could enjoy the morning again. Maybe
Saturday, June 9, 2007
A Gift for My Hostess
I remember waking up early before the rest of the household and making coffee. Where is the sugar? I thought to myself as I fumbled around in a foreign kitchen. Hope they have half and half. I poured a cup of coffee, took a sip and then spat in the kitchen sink. SALT! Damn I thought that was sugar! I searched all the cabinets. No sugar. Pat woke up and entered the kitchen with toasty slippers in a warm terry cloth bathrobe.
“What are you looking for?” Pat whispered. We tried not to wake the other sleepers. We failed.
“Sugar” I replied embarrased.
Pat opened a cabinet. She found a pretty canister with white sugar in four seconds flat. I configured my second cup of coffee.
Five minutes later the world was a better place at least for me it was. I had coffee.
Pat and I drank coffee and stared out the window at the garden for a few minutes in silent reflection.
We came to the sierras for Melissa’s memorial service. Mo was killed in a traffic accident suddenly. Truck tire blowout, head-on collision, and Mo was gone. Maybe coffee will help with our mental clarity as we prepare for Mo's memorial service.
“Coffee ready yet?” Tom whispered as he shuffled into the kitchen.
“I really like your bathrobe, Tom” I commented as Pat poured a cup of java for her sweetie.
“Where did you get this one Pat?” I whispered.
“Thrift store in Merced” she responded. I thought Tom and Pat's bathrobe collection was cool. Tom won't say much in the morning until has has coffee and the morning paper.
Three people drank coffee and stared out the window as we greeted a new day.
Our hostess entered the kitchen. She had a small pot pipe and baggie of homegrown. She had been on the computer doing more research on her disease. Stacks of books about cancer surrounded her bed. She needed a break.
“Mornin” we mumble in unison. She was fighting cancer. Pot was her pain reliever. She took a toke. We drank coffee. Four people stared out the window at the Sierra foothills.
“It is so quiet up here in the mountains. So peaceful.” I commented as I left the group to walk outside through the garden coffee mug in hand.
The sun was filtering through the canopy of trees. Birds sang, Fall colors surrounded me but I didn't see color that day. My heart was filled with saddness for my loss of a friend named MO. Did not see color that day only black and white.
I openned my car trunk. I was not sure what would be a good gift for our hostess. This morning I had the answer. I returned to the kitchen with a small baggie in my hand.
“Here is some bud I think you will enjoy.” I offered it to my hostess. She smiled and looked at me with soft eyes.
“Thank you, Doug” she said. "Want a toke?" she asked.
"I'm good," I replied. "Just need coffee, scambled eggs, sausage and toast for breakfast this morning."
“What are you looking for?” Pat whispered. We tried not to wake the other sleepers. We failed.
“Sugar” I replied embarrased.
Pat opened a cabinet. She found a pretty canister with white sugar in four seconds flat. I configured my second cup of coffee.
Five minutes later the world was a better place at least for me it was. I had coffee.
Pat and I drank coffee and stared out the window at the garden for a few minutes in silent reflection.
We came to the sierras for Melissa’s memorial service. Mo was killed in a traffic accident suddenly. Truck tire blowout, head-on collision, and Mo was gone. Maybe coffee will help with our mental clarity as we prepare for Mo's memorial service.
“Coffee ready yet?” Tom whispered as he shuffled into the kitchen.
“I really like your bathrobe, Tom” I commented as Pat poured a cup of java for her sweetie.
“Where did you get this one Pat?” I whispered.
“Thrift store in Merced” she responded. I thought Tom and Pat's bathrobe collection was cool. Tom won't say much in the morning until has has coffee and the morning paper.
Three people drank coffee and stared out the window as we greeted a new day.
Our hostess entered the kitchen. She had a small pot pipe and baggie of homegrown. She had been on the computer doing more research on her disease. Stacks of books about cancer surrounded her bed. She needed a break.
“Mornin” we mumble in unison. She was fighting cancer. Pot was her pain reliever. She took a toke. We drank coffee. Four people stared out the window at the Sierra foothills.
“It is so quiet up here in the mountains. So peaceful.” I commented as I left the group to walk outside through the garden coffee mug in hand.
The sun was filtering through the canopy of trees. Birds sang, Fall colors surrounded me but I didn't see color that day. My heart was filled with saddness for my loss of a friend named MO. Did not see color that day only black and white.
I openned my car trunk. I was not sure what would be a good gift for our hostess. This morning I had the answer. I returned to the kitchen with a small baggie in my hand.
“Here is some bud I think you will enjoy.” I offered it to my hostess. She smiled and looked at me with soft eyes.
“Thank you, Doug” she said. "Want a toke?" she asked.
"I'm good," I replied. "Just need coffee, scambled eggs, sausage and toast for breakfast this morning."
Monday, June 4, 2007
Song for Sally
We were on the Big Island of Hawaii. This was Sally’s last visit. Sally had been fighting breast cancer for many years. Sally would die soon. We didn’t talk about it. We just packed our bags and took a trip with Sally to the Big Island for her last visit to Hawaii.
Our hotel was in Kona known for great beaches and terrific sunsets. Each night Sally would eat something healthy and sit and listen to the ocean surf from her hotel room. Sally seemed content. She had her family and friends with her on vacation.
One day Sally invited a group of us to join her on an adventure to see the Waipi’o Valley. I drove Sally and her daughter and other women friends of Sally in our rental car. We all had fun going to the lush valley and exploring new sights. That evening we started our return trip back to Kona.
“Doug would you create a song for me? Will you change the lyrics and make it funny?” Sally asked me.
"Yes I will." I promised Sally.
"Will you do it now?" she asked.
You need a little background here. I grew up in a musical family. I learned to change the lyrics of traditional songs for a desired effect... humor.
Sally had heard that my friend Victor and I had an evening of song lyric modification. We made fun of our own diseases and the diseases bothering our wives and all had a big laugh. Sally heard about this “talent” that I had and was requesting a song in the car as I drove us all back to Kona.
“Sally” I said. “I have never changed song lyrics for CANCER. All the other diseases were easy. Victor and I created songs for heart attacks, ringing in the ears, pollips and Hep C. Sally if I start a song here in the car we all have to just go for it 100 percent. If we don’t laugh at this song and this cancer disease we might still feel kinda bad” I warned her.
“Doug, I have confidence in your skill. I know you will do just fine. “ Sally tried to assure me.
I drove the rental car and thought for about ten minutes. Then I asked everyone in the car to be quiet for a moment and to join me in a song for Sally. I started out singing loudly to rally the troops,
I feel pretty with one titty
I feel pretty and witty and bright
And I pity any girl who isn’t me tonight.
I feel charming, oh so charming
Its alarming how charming I feel
And so pretty that I can hardly believe I’m real
(Then Sally’s daughter peeks her head from the back seat to the front of the car an inch from my rear view mirror and sings with all of her heart)
See the pretty titty in the mirror there.
(And the entire rental car fills with a chorus of singers to finish the song as loud as we could sing)
What titty where?
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile
Such a pretty me
I feel stunning and entrancing
I feel like running and dancing for joy
For I’m loved by a pretty wonderful boy!
Feel free to sing this song and share it with others!
Our hotel was in Kona known for great beaches and terrific sunsets. Each night Sally would eat something healthy and sit and listen to the ocean surf from her hotel room. Sally seemed content. She had her family and friends with her on vacation.
One day Sally invited a group of us to join her on an adventure to see the Waipi’o Valley. I drove Sally and her daughter and other women friends of Sally in our rental car. We all had fun going to the lush valley and exploring new sights. That evening we started our return trip back to Kona.
“Doug would you create a song for me? Will you change the lyrics and make it funny?” Sally asked me.
"Yes I will." I promised Sally.
"Will you do it now?" she asked.
You need a little background here. I grew up in a musical family. I learned to change the lyrics of traditional songs for a desired effect... humor.
Sally had heard that my friend Victor and I had an evening of song lyric modification. We made fun of our own diseases and the diseases bothering our wives and all had a big laugh. Sally heard about this “talent” that I had and was requesting a song in the car as I drove us all back to Kona.
“Sally” I said. “I have never changed song lyrics for CANCER. All the other diseases were easy. Victor and I created songs for heart attacks, ringing in the ears, pollips and Hep C. Sally if I start a song here in the car we all have to just go for it 100 percent. If we don’t laugh at this song and this cancer disease we might still feel kinda bad” I warned her.
“Doug, I have confidence in your skill. I know you will do just fine. “ Sally tried to assure me.
I drove the rental car and thought for about ten minutes. Then I asked everyone in the car to be quiet for a moment and to join me in a song for Sally. I started out singing loudly to rally the troops,
I feel pretty with one titty
I feel pretty and witty and bright
And I pity any girl who isn’t me tonight.
I feel charming, oh so charming
Its alarming how charming I feel
And so pretty that I can hardly believe I’m real
(Then Sally’s daughter peeks her head from the back seat to the front of the car an inch from my rear view mirror and sings with all of her heart)
See the pretty titty in the mirror there.
(And the entire rental car fills with a chorus of singers to finish the song as loud as we could sing)
What titty where?
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a pretty face, such a pretty dress, such a pretty smile
Such a pretty me
I feel stunning and entrancing
I feel like running and dancing for joy
For I’m loved by a pretty wonderful boy!
Feel free to sing this song and share it with others!
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Doctor I LOVE My Chemo!
I sat next to a big fish tank in the waiting room to read magazines and look at my list of questions for the doctor.
I was a patient with (Stage III) Colorectal Cancer, My new chemo drug had just completed clinical trials. I was the first patient to start this new drug in my oncologist practice. It was easy to manage the side effects. I took my daily dose by mouth at home.
The older treatment would require me to have a PIC line in my arm and a portable pump to give me 5-FU for six weeks. I was SO GLAD to skip this old treatment.
On a weekly basis I had to come into the oncologist office for what I called my booster chemo drug. I entered the doctor’s waiting room and signed the clipboard next to the frosted sliding glass door hiding the receptionist.
I miss being greeted by a human being. Those days seem to be gone. I miss a human face behind the frosted glass.
Do you remember years ago having a service station attendant pump your gas, clean your windshield, check the engine oil and check your tires for proper air pressure? Gasoline was less than a dollar and you sat in your car and you got friendly service. Today you have to be handicapped to force the station to fill your gas tank. We have lost “service” at the “service station”. Maybe you pay for gasoline inside the station to an attendant who is protected by bullet- proof glass.
On this visit I needed to talk to my busy doctor. His practice was expanding. During my six months of chemo treatments his oncology practice had changed from a small office with one nurse to a bigger office with multiple treatment rooms. More patients, more treatment rooms, more nurses and less time for me to see my doctor.
In the waiting room I reviewed my list of questions for the doctor. Questions about my treatment schedule, side effects like memory loss and diarrhea. Questions about my chemo drugs. I wanted to get my questions answered but I needed to grab my doctor’s attention. He was very busy.
During this treatment everything was moving along smoothly for an efficient medical treatment. Clipboard signed. I sat in waiting room next to fish tank for five minutes. The nurse called my name and escorted me to my treatment room. I sat with my questions in my lap.
The nurse started an IV with saline solution. I had fifteen minutes of mental clarity before the chemo slammed my brain into a chemo fog. I looked at my watch. I had fifteen minutes before blastoff. I thought of a NASA space launch. I was in the lounge chair with an IV in one arm and water bottle in the other. 15, 14, and 13…the minutes ticked by as the saline entered my veins. 12, 11, 10…
Lucky for me the nurse had left the door open in the treatment room so she could easily sprint from room to room. 9, 8, 7 and counting. I watched to door like a hawk. My arm was cooling down as the chemo inched up my arm to my brain. I saw the flash of the oncologist’s white coat. Finally my opportunity!
“Doctor I love my CHEMO” I yelled as loud as possible across the room through the crack in the doorway.
I got my Doctor’s attention. He stopped. Bewildered. He peeked his head in the door of my treatment room. My doctor peered through the door at his patient ready for blastoff.
“What? No patient LOVES their chemo drug!” he said with a puzzled look on his face.
“I do, but I need five minutes with you to go over my treatment plan before the chemo fry’s my brain.” I begged for five minutes of his time. My weird comment grabbed his attention.
The doctor entered the treatment room and he closed the door. He sat down next to me. We went over my list of questions and concerns. We mapped out on a calendar the rest of my treatment plan. I felt much better. I took notes and wrote down his answers to my questions. I relaxed my shoulders and closed my file folder. I floated off into chemo space with answers in a folder on my lap.
An exceptional patient gets their questions answered.
I was a patient with (Stage III) Colorectal Cancer, My new chemo drug had just completed clinical trials. I was the first patient to start this new drug in my oncologist practice. It was easy to manage the side effects. I took my daily dose by mouth at home.
The older treatment would require me to have a PIC line in my arm and a portable pump to give me 5-FU for six weeks. I was SO GLAD to skip this old treatment.
On a weekly basis I had to come into the oncologist office for what I called my booster chemo drug. I entered the doctor’s waiting room and signed the clipboard next to the frosted sliding glass door hiding the receptionist.
I miss being greeted by a human being. Those days seem to be gone. I miss a human face behind the frosted glass.
Do you remember years ago having a service station attendant pump your gas, clean your windshield, check the engine oil and check your tires for proper air pressure? Gasoline was less than a dollar and you sat in your car and you got friendly service. Today you have to be handicapped to force the station to fill your gas tank. We have lost “service” at the “service station”. Maybe you pay for gasoline inside the station to an attendant who is protected by bullet- proof glass.
On this visit I needed to talk to my busy doctor. His practice was expanding. During my six months of chemo treatments his oncology practice had changed from a small office with one nurse to a bigger office with multiple treatment rooms. More patients, more treatment rooms, more nurses and less time for me to see my doctor.
In the waiting room I reviewed my list of questions for the doctor. Questions about my treatment schedule, side effects like memory loss and diarrhea. Questions about my chemo drugs. I wanted to get my questions answered but I needed to grab my doctor’s attention. He was very busy.
During this treatment everything was moving along smoothly for an efficient medical treatment. Clipboard signed. I sat in waiting room next to fish tank for five minutes. The nurse called my name and escorted me to my treatment room. I sat with my questions in my lap.
The nurse started an IV with saline solution. I had fifteen minutes of mental clarity before the chemo slammed my brain into a chemo fog. I looked at my watch. I had fifteen minutes before blastoff. I thought of a NASA space launch. I was in the lounge chair with an IV in one arm and water bottle in the other. 15, 14, and 13…the minutes ticked by as the saline entered my veins. 12, 11, 10…
Lucky for me the nurse had left the door open in the treatment room so she could easily sprint from room to room. 9, 8, 7 and counting. I watched to door like a hawk. My arm was cooling down as the chemo inched up my arm to my brain. I saw the flash of the oncologist’s white coat. Finally my opportunity!
“Doctor I love my CHEMO” I yelled as loud as possible across the room through the crack in the doorway.
I got my Doctor’s attention. He stopped. Bewildered. He peeked his head in the door of my treatment room. My doctor peered through the door at his patient ready for blastoff.
“What? No patient LOVES their chemo drug!” he said with a puzzled look on his face.
“I do, but I need five minutes with you to go over my treatment plan before the chemo fry’s my brain.” I begged for five minutes of his time. My weird comment grabbed his attention.
The doctor entered the treatment room and he closed the door. He sat down next to me. We went over my list of questions and concerns. We mapped out on a calendar the rest of my treatment plan. I felt much better. I took notes and wrote down his answers to my questions. I relaxed my shoulders and closed my file folder. I floated off into chemo space with answers in a folder on my lap.
An exceptional patient gets their questions answered.
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