This may seem absurd, but this week I learned how to pee. Now, as a general rule and in most situations I already know how to pee. I take myself into the bathroom and well… pee. But hooked up to an IV machine brings a whole extra set of challenges and issues to overcome.
My chemo treatment lasts for 4 hours. Before treatment, I have to drink about a liter of water to avoid kidney damage due to the strength of one of the drugs. And I have to drink at least double that amount each day during the days leading up to it. Throw in the bags and bags of saline thrown in with the rest of the drugs I am given and by about hour 1 and 1/2, my eyeballs are floating. During my first treatment, the whole idea of getting up to pee was so daunting that I crossed my legs and held it for the full 4 hours until I was disconnected.
There were several issues that I seriously needed to address here:
- The whole idea of holding it for almost 3 hours is absurd and something no one should ever experience… especially by her own doing. When I said my eyeballs were floating, I wasn’t kidding. I really think my ears had started to tear due to the fact I had to go so badly.
- For my first treatment I was, of course, dressed as preppy little me. Shorts that required a button, those slidey insert things (if you don’t know what these are, use your imagination; I don’t know what else to call them) and zipper. And of course I had the matching ribbon belt fastened around the 2 rings. With all these needles sticking into my hand, tubes sticking out of the needles, and pieces of tape and wraps and stickers all over my hand and wrist, the idea of having to undo my belt and shorts was rather daunting.
- The needles that led to the tubes led to – you guessed it – an IV machine. An IV machine connected to a wall. Connected to a wall with only about 6 feet of cord. The bathroom was on the far side of an adjoining room. Definitely farther than 6 feet away. There is no way it was going to reach.
- When I finally disconnected from the IV machine, I made a mad dash for the bathroom. Bad idea for 2 reasons. First, I had an allergic reaction to the last chemo drug that left me very light headed. Standing up quickly after lying down, dashing for the bathroom, and trying to make it to a sitting position on the toilet seat was a definite challenge after being so light headed. Almost fell over on the way there and then almost sat on the floor. The second problem was that there is a mirror in the bathroom. This was the first time I had a chance to look at myself since that poison ran through my body. All blood had drained out of my face and the dark circles under my eyes were reminiscent of a raccoon. This vision that presented itself to me damn near made me pass out right then and there. I looked as though I had died about 2 days beforehand.
Well, that was not an experience I wanted to go through again. So I sucked it up and about 2 hours into my second treatment – after only crossing my legs for about 1/2 hour and making sure I had peed at least twice between when I arrived and when I was actually was hooked into all the machines and needles – asked how to go pee. The answer I received was surprisingly simple, but still left its own challenges.
The answer: The IV machine unplugs from the wall.
But this answer really didn’t solve all of my problems.
This time I wore a dress, so I didn’t need to worry about belts, buttons, zippers or any other hindrances. I just had to hitch up my skirt, albeit one handed.
But I still really only had use of one hand. This also meant that I could only wash one hand. Creepy, yucky, dirty feeling. Don’t worry. Once liberated, I moseyed – no more mad-dashing while light headed – back to the bathroom and gave both hands a thorough washing.
But these weren’t my largest obstacles. No, my biggest entailed the IV machine once it was disconnected from the wall. See, the IV machine is on this pole that has wheels on the bottom. Items with wheels? Not my strong suit. Objects that are motorized with wheels are the worst – Ilina can testify to this best after an experience she enjoyed with me in the John Hancock Building parking garage. But really any type of wheels are bad.
I had to wheel my IV machine through the treatment room – filled with other patients receiving their treatments and the people who came with them, through one doorway, through the treatment room reception area, over to the bathroom and through another doorway that had a footer hump (is there really a name for that stupid raised speed bump that is found on the floor in between the 2 sides of the door?). And I had to do this all, while still hooked up to the thing, without running into anything. Was I successful? Do I really need to answer that question?
But, even though I may be challenged, I now know how to PEE!!!
This week’s lesson: First and foremost, this is a new experience for you. Just as it is for everyone going through it for the first time. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Trust me. There is nothing these wonderful infusion nurses haven’t heard. They are there to help you. They want to help you.
Second, celebrate your victories. Every single one. No matter how small or inconsequential they may seem. You are going through a lot – physically and emotionally. And every victory, everything you overcome, is just one more sign that you are stronger than you could ever imagine.