Today, I went to MD Anderson cancer center for a 6 month check-up. It was pretty normal, but something nice did happen. While I was waiting for the blood work to be done, I noticed a woman sitting by herself. Nothing unusual about that, the hospital is always crowded, and you never know who is alone or not, but this time, she stood out to me. The volunteers were announcing that coffee and cookies were available to the patients at no cost. They also have tea and hot chocolate and sometimes soda, and it is very nice that they do that. She was looking at the cart, kind of in confusion, and I told her that it was no cost to partake. Instead of getting up to get something, she looked directly at me and asked me if I had been at the hospital before. I told her yes, I had been going for 14 years, and she told me I looked pretty good for someone who had been having to go for all that time. I explained that I was in remission, and only there for a check-up, and then I asked her if this was her first time. With a grave look, she told me it was, and I patted the seat next to me and told her to come and let's talk. She came over and sat down, and right away, we began a conversation. She admitted that she had breast cancer and she was frightened. I took her hand, and told her that I knew just how she felt. I said, "the first time I came to this cancer hospital, so many years ago, I was so scared that I sat down on the curb of the sidewalk and started crying my eyes out. I just couldn't go through the doors, I felt that if I did, it would be the beginning of the end for me. My poor husband sat down next to me and tried to calm me and we sat there, right on the curb for about a half hour. Finally, all cried out, I stood up and marched, and I mean marched, through those doors. As you can see, it worked out, but I know what this kind of fear feels like". She smiled, and told me that she appreciated me telling her that. We then talked about chemo, and what to expect. I told her about Bobbie Jo and how fast the cancer killed her. I explained that we knew from the start that it was very bad for Bobbie Jo, and that the doctors are very honest here. If they told her that things were not bad for her then she should believe them, and get down to the job of "fighting like a girl, and winning!" I then gave her my phone number and told her to call me anytime day or night, and we would talk. She was not alone, so many of us have walked her path.
I am so grateful that I have survived to be able to help others with their fears and uncertanties. Many times I have been asked about my tracheostomy, and how it has affected my life. It is frightening to think that you will spend the rest of your life with a pipe in your throat, depending on it for life-giving oxygen, but to tell the truth, sometimes I forget it is there. It is an inconvienience, but if that is the price of life, it is a small price to pay. I have seen hope spring in the eyes of those who have talked to me about it, when they are facing a tracheostomy of their own. I have felt the comfort going from me to them, and I knew that maybe I had made a difference in a life-changing decision. It is amazing to be able to be a part of that.
Being at the hospital all day really poops me out. Each time, I come home with a headache and an upset stomach, especially if I have had to drink barium for a ct scan. The other thing I always do, and I mean always, is forget to eat because I am so busy going from appointment to appointment. Today was no different, and sure enough, right around noon, I felt my blood sugar began to drop. I was far away from the cafeteria, and had changed bags, so my rescue sugar was not with me. I began to perspire and felt sort of dizzy, but the test was almost over, so I determined to just wait it out and then head for some food. I could have just gone to the little cafe in the building I was in, but in the main building, they have a huge cafeteria with a little bit of everything. Fruit, salads, sandwiches, hot meals, Chick-fil-e, pizza, asian food, and so much more, but the best thing they have is: BANANA BREAD! Big, whole loaves of moist, sweet banana bread, homemade and fabulous. I always get a loaf and bring it home each time I go to the hospital, and today I was determined that I would get one too. Sometimes I can be so stupid. I had to take a long cart ride between buildings, walk down 3 floors, and walk a good distance when I got to the main building. I felt like a zombie, but I plodded along, heading for the main cafeteria and that banana bread. Somehow, I found the bread, got in line and fumbled for my wallet. My hands were shaking so badly, that I could barely get the money out to pay for it. After paying and ignoring a concerned look from the cashier, I took the precious bread and went to sit down. The cafe was so crowded, there was no place open where I could sit by myself. I spied an empty chair, which was a feat as the sweat was running into my eyes, and sat down at a table where another person was already seated. I asked if he minded and he said no, and, uh, was I okay? I said yes, and explained that I was just hungry. Without further ado, I opened the bag of banana bread and tore off a huge chunk. Stuffing it into my mouth, I averted my gaze from my table partner, who stared at me. I then took my napkin and wiped my sweaty face, and in general, looked pretty much like a pig.
See, all I had to do was responsibly stop at the first little cafe and get some fruit or something healthy and then I would have been able to ward off the low-sugar attack. But they had no banana bread, and I stupidly took the chance of continuing on for another half hour until I could find some.
I have paid royally for my stupidity. By the time Martin came to pick me up, I had a roaring headache and my whole body hurt. When ever I let my sugar drop like that , I feel sick for some time after. He saw that I was feeling bad, and told me we were going to lunch. I didn't want any lunch, I had just had banana bread. I would have gotten a huge speech from him about my eating it, so I smiled wanly and told him that was so sweet of him. Well, of course, he wanted Mexican. I wanted to go home to bed. I went into the restaurant, which was like a buffet of sorts, and had to listen to him fuss because I didn't have much on my tray. I put more on the tray, and weakly went to sit down. My stomach hurt and the food was making me feel queasy. The noise was killing my head, and the "friendly" waitress kept asking if I wanted anything else, was my food okay, and what could she do to help me? I was polite. Pushing the food around to make it look like I was tucking in to it, I finally, finally found relief when Martin said, "lets go". Thank goodness! I thanked the waitress, left her a tip, and headed for the door, with the thought that in only about 20 minutes, I would be luxuriating in my bed. Skip that, as soon as we went outside, and by the way it was raining, I saw we had a flat tire. I wanted to cry, silly baby that I am, and I could have gotten away with it too, because the raindrops would have hidden my baby tears, but I couldn't let Martin handle the tire by himself, so I manned up. Thankfully, my very thoughtful husband and one who is always prepared for anything, opened the trunk and brought out a portable generator, a little bitty one, and aired up the tire. Soon we were on our way home, and thankfully, I was able to ignore the dogs, walk past the dirty dishes from breakfast, try not to look at the pile of toys and food in the dining room, and to my bed. I threw my bag on Martin's side of the bed, and flopped down on mine. My eyes hurt with the light, I still had a miserable headache, and the Mexican food was churning around in my already upset stomach. Suddenly, I remembered that my bag had the remaining 3/4 loaf of banana bread in it! If Martin picked it up, I would really catch you-know-what, and so I sat up, grabbed the bag, and tucked it next to me on my side of the bed. I fell asleep. For hours. I was awakened by Little Joe slobbering on me and wanted to be held. His mama was all for encouraging that , but I could't wake up and rolled over. I fell back asleep with a lumpy bag under my stomach. I was too tired to care, and just lay on it. Finally, when the house was full of grandkids, my daughter, Martin and my nephew, I crawled up from the depths of slumber. The headache was better, but I still felt terrible, and now, my ribs hurt. I realized I had a lump under me. I kind of hunched up and pulled out my bag, that was full of paperbacks, a crossword puzzle book, a huge ball of crochet and you guessed it, banana bread. Well, it is still bread, but it doesn't look like it. It looks like a square banana pancake. I don't care, I am still going to finish it, not right now, but I will.
Because I made myself ill, I could not get up to go with the family for pizza. I could not hold Little Joe, or do anything else, because I could not get out of bed. By now, I can stand the light again, my stomach is better and my head only hurts a bit. I hope I can remember next time to be sure and take something with me to ward off a sugar-drop, I hope I can get something healthy to eat instead of trekking for banana bread, and I hope that if I do sneak home a loaf, I can remember to put it in the fridge instead of sleeping on it. Oh well, lessons learned!
