“Better living through chemistry"

BETTER LIVING........

The Keed.

.....through chemistry.

And so begins Linda’s great journey into the dreaded anti-cancer CHOP chemo regimen; CHOP standing for Cyclophosphamide, Doxorubicin (I don’t know where they get an “H” for this), Oncovin (trade-name for Vincristine), and Prednisone, a steroid.
Her journey began yesterday (Tuesday, October 2, 2007) at Wilmot Cancer Center in Rochester with a visit to her doctor, a Dr. Friedberg.
This Friedberg guy is okay, much better than some of the doctors I had when I had my stroke, e.g. old halitosis-breath, alias towel-head, who declared I’d be a vegetable. (“Well, I’m gonna prove you wrong, Doc.”)
Friedberg also doesn’t pull rank on you, or declare his superiority and badmouth you as an ignorant airhead.
He’s parrying my wife, who unlike most has done an immense amount of research.
He loves jawing with someone who knows what he’s talking about, instead of saying “I’m in your hands, Doc.”
I only had one doctor I could talk with; the guy who long ago (after my stroke) did my open-heart surgery.
He knew he wielded immense power, but appreciated my complimenting him on a good job (better than the TestaRossa he owned).
My other doctors maintained their distance. An intern got Linda upset because he was using me as evidence of stroke detriments.
“You’re a trooper, Mrs. Hughes;” they all say.
Well sure. And so was I, apparently.
And I think my brothers will be too, should they suffer a health catastrophe like I did.
We all possess an immense desire to be normal — e.g. pick tomatoes, clear the garden, walk the dog, despite cancer, chemo, WHATEVER.
“This lady’s supposed to be at death’s door,” I think. “And here she is pulling things out of the garden.”
After Friedberg, a nurse came in to inform us of the many medications Linda would be taking.
“Better living through chemistry,” Linda said.
Linda has always abhored taking pills of any kind, and now there are 89 bazilyun pills.
“Chemo can constipate you,” the nurse said. “You have to take laxatives and stool-softeners — diet won’t work.”
The laxatives and stool-softeners are over-the-counter, but Friedberg gave us prescriptions for three other drugs. One cost $458.99, and was only six pills — an anti-nausea drug. It only cost us 30 buckaroos; Blue Cross picks up the rest. Thank ya Local 282 of the Amalgamated Transit Union; a negotiated Union-benefit. Linda’s insurance doesn’t pay for drugs — gotta save money so the company CEO can pig out.
I was an observer during all this — going home ain’t worth it if each trip takes 45 minutes, and Linda is there only 2-3 hours.
We ambled into a clinic for Linda’s chemo, and Linda was put in a hospital Barca-Lounger.
“Need anything to drink?” a volunteer asked. “Anything for you, Mr. Hughes?”
Finally a nurse arrived and inserted an intravenous in Linda’s left hand.
Specific chemo-drugs were prepared on-site in the hospital pharmacy, and the nurse came back with four loaded syringes.
Two were rather large with clear red chemicals.
“You’ll pee red because of this,” the nurse said. “Call if you don’t.”
Slowly the chemicals were pumped into Linda’s veins — about 10 minutes per syringe.
Then there was the Vincristine, a tiny vial that “will do a job on ya,” the nurse said. “This is the one that will make your hair fall out.”
The night has passed and “I’m still here.”
“The tumor has shrunk,” Linda said. “It’s about what it was before I found it last June. Now I can bend over.”
Five more chemos to go.
Apparently four more Rituxans too — we’ve done the Rituxans twice already.

“Linda” is my wife of nearly 40 years. She has lymphatic cancer. (It’s treatable.)

I had a stroke October 26, 1993.

RE: “declare his superiority and badmouth you as an ignorant airhead.....” are things my macho, blowhard brother-in-Boston does. He noisily badmouths everything I do or say.

I had “open-heart surgery” to close a Patent Foramen Ovale, the cause of my stroke. A PFO is a hole between the upper chambers of your heart that never closed. It had passed a clot.

A “TestaRossa” is a Ferrari.

All my brothers are way younger than me. (I’m the oldest — I’m 63, and one is 50 [Jack in Boston], and one will soon turn 49 [Bill in northern Delaware].)

RE: “Thank ya Local 282 of the Amalgamated Transit Union......” My siblings are all flagrantly anti-union. (This also goes on our family web-site.)

It’s called R-CHOP because of the Rituxan treatments.