When the nurses saw that I was still a bit antsy, they kept asking me if I took the Lorazapan, I continually had to tell them that I did. Each time they asked I wanted to respond by asking them if they had taken it. I felt fine, and they seemed to be more anxious than me! I guess not though. I guess that distortion might have come from the Lorazapan.
Nurse 1/2/3/4/Doctor Wallentine: Rachel did you remember to take your Adovan/Lorazapan?
Rachel: Hmm... *Gasp! Um... Yes, yes I did. But did you?
But I held my tongue. After all, they are only concerned about me.
I have a certain numbing cream that helps deaden the skin for a time while the nurses access my port. It really helps with the initial poke. I always have to remind them "One inch, don't forget, it is one inch needle." I have to do this because my port is placed lower and deeper than others. I feel bad, because they always grumble about it, but at the same time I'm glad it is lower so that I can hide my scar better.
The downfall of having a deeper port is that they have to push and push all around it and on it to try and find the access point. This hurts really bad. Like someone pushing on a bruise on purpose and then pushing harder and harder. The numbing cream doesn't help too much with that, but Tylenol does a great job of helping with the pain. Thank you modern medicine! One of the nurses who always has trouble with my port told me that each time she sees my name on the paper, she passes it off to someone else. I guess I am a bit of a problem for them.
This time they had more trouble than usual finding the access point. They had to get an inch and a quarter long needle, and three different nurses to finally get it in. But they finally did it. This combined with my high nerves caused me to cry, and after they finally got it, I threw up a bit. (Before this, I was not such a graceful barfer, but now I am proud to say that I can control my spew pretty good. There is a little blessing in disguise.)
They have really kind nurses there. I can tell that they feel bad each time they poke me, but I am glad they are helping me. I try my best to show my appreciation to them by talking to them while they give me the medicine and before I leave. I try to be as happy as I can, and I thank them each time. I think that sometimes by seeing so much hurt in the people that they serve might wear on them, so I try to lighten their day a bit. Service is a wonderful thing. As they serve me, I try my best to serve them. So instead of thinking negatively towards them, I think positively towards them. This really helps my attitude afterwards, and I can see a small burden be lifted off their shoulders.
After my treatment until now, all I have had to eat is some Cous-Cous, a couple swallows of Gatorade, a nibble of Hot Dog, and a bite of Trifle (My dad had to shove this into my mouth, and up my nose until I took the spoon and did it myself. Ever since I was little he has told me, "What you don't eat, we rub in your hair, but lucky for me, I don't have hair! That probably wouldn't have stopped him though...)
So today has not been so well eating wise, but I got fluids yesterday along with my treatment so it will help me strength wise. I just need to get more nutrition than that. It is just really hard to having to force myself to eat when everything makes me feel sick and everything tastes icky. So my goal for this week is to force myself, to force myself to eat. That way I can get my body to be strong. Wish me luck!
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