My last infusion was this past Wednesday. Hallelujah! I don't feel done though, since I'm still recovering from the ill effects. But more on that later. My objective today is to report on last week. Apparently, it was Finals Week. I was sorely tested. And I'm not kidding about the "sorely".
Background: If you who know me well, you know that I'm a fainter. I don't deal well with injury, especially if it involves blood. The sight, or even thought, makes me light-headed and, before you know it, I've passed out. It's been a source of tremendous shame and humiliation since junior high. I've managed to faint when injured (I'm leary of contact sports), when hearing of someone else getting injured (I'm leary of many topics of conversation), when seeing a movie in which someone is injured (I'm leary of anything rated R for violence), when reading about someone getting injured (and that was a work of fiction!), when experimenting with animals or hearing about experiments involving animals in science class (aren't you glad you didn't sit next to me in high school or college labs?), and when hearing a lecture involving blood or injury (aren't you glad you didn't sit next to me in medical school??). You can imagine how much I feared the surgeries I've had this year. And you can imagine the trepidation with which I face my children's screams. As I run to identify the screamer and the reason for the scream (usually sibling frustrations), my first thought is always, "Oh no, what if someone's bleeding?" Fortunately, we've only had one bleeding incident, and a guest in our house at the time took control.
All that to explain why last week felt like Finals Week: I had two bloody injury incidents.
Episode #1. Camping with friends in Middle-of-Nowhere, Pennsylvania, over Memorial Day weekend. We're on a hike, and the kids stop to play in a slippery, rushing stream two miles from any roads. I wisely sit on a rock and watch. But then -- oh no! -- a kid starts bleeding! She's got a bloody knee and she needs to reach her parents. Do I wisely call her parents? No, there is blood, so I panic. I trek through the slippery, rushing stream to her aid and, in my rush to guide her footing, I stop paying attention to my own footing and fall and split my chin open on a slippery rock. Now I'm sitting in the stream in a daze, trying not to faint. Fortunately, the water is very cold, which helps. Double fortunately, my husband has his wits about him and tells me to hold my chin tight. This gives me something to do and stops the blood. (Whew!) We hike two miles over rough terrain, then drive 45 minutes to Middle-of-Nowhere, PA, hospital. The whole time I'm aware that I'll need stitches. I'm terrified -- even the thought of stitches is enough to make me pass out.
But I made it! Thank God, I did not pass out, even during the stitching.
Maybe this cancer stuff is making a Tough Cookie of me? But my final exam week isn't over...
Episode #2. Infusion day arrives, and the nurse can't seem to hit the vein right. This has always been a big fear of mine. But my fears have seemed ill-founded, since the nurses have always got it right the first time, after which I sigh with relief, cover the site of entry so I can't see it, and all is well.
Not this time. After the first one, which hurts like billy-o (whatever that means), she says, "Oh no. Don't look. It's blowing up." Seriously, NEVER say that to a fainter. The hurting was bad enough; the commentary was one hundred times worse. But, through grace, I don't faint. Even though I know she needs to try again.
The second time (now I'm very tense), she choses a strange place mid-arm. I don't like strange places. It makes me feel faint. But she's doing her best, so I try to relax. She's a professional. My job is just to sit still and be a good patient. The second try doesn't "blow up", but it hurts again (not quite billy-o this time; maybe billy-h?). She sighs and says she had better try again.
"Are you sure?" I ask. "I really don't mind if it hurts, as long as it's working and doesn't--" (I can't get myself to say "blow up"; might pass out).
No, she insists that this shouldn't hurt and so she had better try again. ("ARGH! Trying again hurts!" I want to yell. But I'm trying to be a good patient so that, if I faint, she'll bring me juice and call my husband.)
Third try is back up near first try. I make the mistake of looking at my arm. It's black and blue and really gross. I start praying like billy-o. Or maybe like billy-g: Billy Graham. Not sure I can make that claim, though I suppose one could argue that my prayers are as valid as his.
Whew! Third time's a charm. It works, and I didn't faint.
So there you have it: I passed my Finals. And that's a big deal to me. I've never had stitches before and have fainted from much less traumatic blood draws. I know this doesn't mean I'm cured of fainting, but it gives me a big boost of confidence.
:)
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