IP No. 1

It is a little eerie or maybe just surreal checking into the hospital under these conditions. You go to admitting, sign a couple of pieces of paperwork and then under her own power Jamie takes the regular elevator to 7SE. When we get to the room she plops on the bed and idly chats with the nurse and med student as they get things rolling.

Being back here brings clarity to my memories of our first day here, Jamie in agony as they try to gingerly transport her on her bed from recovery. Residents and nurses were hustling around our room, trying to control her pain and keep her vitals under close watch. Jamie was unable to even adjust her position in bed.

As we sat and waited for the first chemo orders to go through yesterday, Jamie, stretched out on the bed asked me to look for something in the closet. Somehow the circumstances had temporarily debilitated her until I pointed out that she was not hooked to any machine and she was more than physically capable or reaching her goal. We both burst out laughing.

Like all intense experiences, the people and places become very attached to you and so coming back gives you that sort of reunion feeling. Our nurse for this first day was Christie, who gave us our pre surgery tour and was of course here during Jamie’s recovery. Christie represents what I like most about the nursing staff here; they are young, energetic and see very much like one of “us”. Christie is also a world traveler and outdoorswoman, so there is always subject for chat when she has time.

We are here for just one night and two days. Jamie is starting her second treatment phase which is “IP” chemo. This starts with a very slow 20 hour infusion of standard IV chemo via here chest port, followed by the literal flooding of her abdomen the next day through her stomach port. There are lots of little IV bags tossed in as well, hydration, anti nausea and other support drugs, so Jamie has become very adept at visiting the loo with her IV pole in tow.

This morning our nurse is Karla, a new face to us, but obviously a veteran here on 7SE. Dr. Goff has already been here as well both days, making sure things are going per plan.

I am back into my old habits already, bike riding the Burke-Gilman trail, visiting the cafeteria and hanging out in the family lounge on then 8th floor. Today I spoke in depth to a friend I made last May who is here from Alaska with her adult son. Unfortunately their 8 year battle is coming to a close as death, and finally relief from suffering, is certain for Tom any day now. I really enjoy this woman’s company as she is both wiling to talk about her cancer experience but somehow can intermingle details about life and family that shed a positive light. Her son’s struggle brings our current situation in perspective, and shows that you can cope with what looks from the outside to be the most dark and bleak circumstances.

During this morning’s visit we both discussed our new discovery of the midnight snack cart which roves from the ER and then through the various floors feeding staff and guests alike. I had seen a schedule posted in the cafeteria at lunch time, so around 10 pm last night I returned to the bulletin board to refresh my memory before tracking it down. I found my way to the 6th floor in the Pacific Tower, where another visitor and a nurse were patiently waiting. I watched them begin to salivate like hungry dogs as we heard the cart rattle against the elevator car on it’s way up.

The doors parted and we were in awe (you only understand this if you have spent a few restless nights here) of this massive conglomeration of semi fresh foods, drinks and desserts that rolled out. I waited patiently for the first two to make there selections when a frantic looking man appeared from one of the closed off wards. I knew we were in some sort of birthing or maternity ward from all the screaming and crying I heard. This man reached into the cooler and pulled out what I instantly recognized as a Vietnamese sandwich, but he was perplexed. As both the cart tender and I tried to explain what it was, and of course I was giving a hearty endorsement, he blurted out “I just had a baby and need a sandwich”. He then swapped it for a more conventional model and swiftly was on his way. I was eager to pick up his first option, and at a substantial discount from my earlier one at lunch, enjoyed my favorite late night snack. Dung would be so pleased as every night in Vietnam he would send me to bed with a sack of no less than four sandwiches, which apparently his own personal standard of consumption.

This morning is another beautiful fall day in September our room looks out towards the Mountlake cut and 520. Both the Cascades and Olympics are in clear view of here and it is readily apparent why so many people relocate to this area. Jamie is a bit grumpy this morning, as the nightly routine of continuous nurse traffic and IV alarms, which never coincide, leaves you with but a few winks at a time. Just when you finally become exhausted and the quiet of the end of the nurses shift seems to be allowing you a couple interrupted hours, the over eager residents pop in. I am sure they are just ambitious, trying to stay ahead of their mentor, but I was less than pleased by their appearance today.

July is when the rotation starts, so unlike our last group which were by May seasoned professionals, this shy group of school girls looked like they might scamper out like bunnies if you made too sudden of a movement. Yesterday I thought the med student (lowest in rank) who was interviewing Jamie was going to shatter into pieces like glass when the nurse asked her if she was the nutritionist. But they are all polite, appear intelligent and I am sure will flourish professionally, especially under the tutelage of such great persons as Dr. Goff.

So there is no rush today, just leisurely chemo and then a night at the Silver Cloud in the U district. Unsure about how long it would take, how Jamie would feel and what her level of hydration would be, we did not want to be committed to traveling home. Being released early would be of greater risk than being late, as I could imagine my own mental state as we negotiated rush hour traffic through Seattle and then Tacoma with Jamie bloated with an extra 4 liters of fluid in her.