It's a little more difficult to be your intrepid reporter (insipid?) to post stories this time due to logistics, aesthetics and feng shui. When they went to install the liver blasting tube, previously located on the right side of me, they found it was still sore from the last application (I'll say it was!), therefore, the Medical Team put it on the left side, snaking through a spaghetti-like course of veins, arteries and hoses to connect to the liver, where it is to be doused with several bags of poison for the remainder of the week. The Chemo drip is a tiny tube that runs inside the artery. They showed me the last one they had in me when they fished it out after the process, it was about seven or eight inches long. I think this one will be much longer. It feels like about 25 feet worth.
Now in my palatial celebrity hospital room, the furniture and equipment is the opposite. In other words, the drip apparatus is all on the right of the bed, while the insertion hole is on the left. That means the main tube has to drape across my lower abdomen. I mention this because if the hose kinks up anywhere and flow interrupted, an alarm goes off getting progressively louder until it is un-kinked or reset. If it goes too long, it won't reset at all without the help of my RN or Tech. Or, in extreme cases, the guy in the next room tired of the racket.
The reason I'm to remain horizontal through-out this ordeal is because the spot where they drill in to me is right there on the fault line of belly and legs and dang near impossible to keep straight. So every time I make the slightest of move, I have a potential 3-Alarmer ready to launch. Sometimes I can wiggle around and get it all back in order, sometimes I can only make it worse.
Then there's the matter of the bed. It moves all by itself. I don't mean I'll find myself out in the hallway after a long sleep, but it is constantly readjusting to ease pressure points to lessen the possibility of bedsores. Well, you know what happens: The bed moves, my body moves, the hose kinks, the alarm goes off. It's got me scared to move.
There is something good about this bed; it's got a scale built-in. So when they take all my vitals - which they do on an ample, regular basis - I can get the poundage without moving to the scale. My bed-scale shows me to be 24lbs less than the measurement I got in B/CS just two weeks ago. They did a re-weigh to insure the results (despite my protestations). Still the same. I can only conclude I am lighter in Dallas, or gravity is weaker. I need this scale at home. Although, unfortunately, my waistline has not been notified of the change and my "fat pants" are still a bit snug.
When I first arrived in the room Monday morning, I started assembling my command post. From previous experience, I knew I wouldn't get much opportunity to re-arrange, so I tried to get everything within arm's reach. As you can guess, the problem is whenever I reach over to pull something out of the strategically placed nightstand and drawers, I kink the line and sound the alarm.
My room is situated reverse of my last one, so my table-tray has one storage bin that faces away from me, toward the wall. In addition to being difficult to access, it makes the alarm go off. Of course.
I placed the laptop atop the tray (Thanks again, Tom Fussell) but the cord is too short (note to self: Bring extension cord), and when they bring my food tray in, we pull out the hidden surface and the meal ends up between me and the keyboard. Then, whether I eat or not, I gotta wait for the tray to be cleared before I can go back to my online activities. I could try to move it myself, but there's no where close to put it. Besides, it would just set off the alarm.
Well, gotta go. My Night Nurse Caitlin (a good Irish girl) needs to install a new bag of Cancer Elixir. It's number 2. I need a total of 3.5 to complete the set.
Now in my palatial celebrity hospital room, the furniture and equipment is the opposite. In other words, the drip apparatus is all on the right of the bed, while the insertion hole is on the left. That means the main tube has to drape across my lower abdomen. I mention this because if the hose kinks up anywhere and flow interrupted, an alarm goes off getting progressively louder until it is un-kinked or reset. If it goes too long, it won't reset at all without the help of my RN or Tech. Or, in extreme cases, the guy in the next room tired of the racket.
The reason I'm to remain horizontal through-out this ordeal is because the spot where they drill in to me is right there on the fault line of belly and legs and dang near impossible to keep straight. So every time I make the slightest of move, I have a potential 3-Alarmer ready to launch. Sometimes I can wiggle around and get it all back in order, sometimes I can only make it worse.
Then there's the matter of the bed. It moves all by itself. I don't mean I'll find myself out in the hallway after a long sleep, but it is constantly readjusting to ease pressure points to lessen the possibility of bedsores. Well, you know what happens: The bed moves, my body moves, the hose kinks, the alarm goes off. It's got me scared to move.
There is something good about this bed; it's got a scale built-in. So when they take all my vitals - which they do on an ample, regular basis - I can get the poundage without moving to the scale. My bed-scale shows me to be 24lbs less than the measurement I got in B/CS just two weeks ago. They did a re-weigh to insure the results (despite my protestations). Still the same. I can only conclude I am lighter in Dallas, or gravity is weaker. I need this scale at home. Although, unfortunately, my waistline has not been notified of the change and my "fat pants" are still a bit snug.
When I first arrived in the room Monday morning, I started assembling my command post. From previous experience, I knew I wouldn't get much opportunity to re-arrange, so I tried to get everything within arm's reach. As you can guess, the problem is whenever I reach over to pull something out of the strategically placed nightstand and drawers, I kink the line and sound the alarm.
My room is situated reverse of my last one, so my table-tray has one storage bin that faces away from me, toward the wall. In addition to being difficult to access, it makes the alarm go off. Of course.
I placed the laptop atop the tray (Thanks again, Tom Fussell) but the cord is too short (note to self: Bring extension cord), and when they bring my food tray in, we pull out the hidden surface and the meal ends up between me and the keyboard. Then, whether I eat or not, I gotta wait for the tray to be cleared before I can go back to my online activities. I could try to move it myself, but there's no where close to put it. Besides, it would just set off the alarm.
Well, gotta go. My Night Nurse Caitlin (a good Irish girl) needs to install a new bag of Cancer Elixir. It's number 2. I need a total of 3.5 to complete the set.
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