My rolling [BEEPING] chemo machine and me!
As always, our intention with our Consuellama’s Corner articles is to bring you some levity and laughter and for that, we turn to our favorite place to kick back, read and laugh. We hope, if you laugh with this story, that you too, feel a bit better! Because sometimes that’s all you can do...just laugh...maybe even out loud! Let’s laugh!
I drink a lot of water. My usual consumption is no less than 75 ounces per day. The week of chemo, and especially the day of chemo, I raise my goal to no less than 100 ounces of water.
This usually works just fine for me.
On treatment day, the trick is to properly time your fluid consumption. You want your pitstops to be well ahead of the completion of each infusion-cycle, because the chemo infusion machine then sets off an escalating (beeping) alarm that only the nurses can turn off.
This usually works just fine for me.
But, during a recent treatment, because of an overzealous hydration goal, a poorly timed pitstop.and an unknown broken bathroom doorhandle......I got accidentally trapped inside the bathroom...broken doorhandle in hand, my rolling chemo machine in tow and...
IT BEGAN BEEPING...
My fellow chemo besties, you know that “beep”......nails on a chalkboard!
Now, I should add that part of my premeds during my infusion includes Benadryl. It is very helpful for me because it calms me and helps me sleep during my treatment, which is great.
But truth be told, Benadryl never helped anyone get out of a bathroom with a broken door handle.
So when I went to open the main bathroom door, and the handle was suddenly in my hand. Almost as if on cue, my rolling chemo machine began to beep. It was as if it was as concerned and spooked as me and that set it off.
When the nurses heard the beeping and came to my rescue, they began to give me instructions through the door, on how to try to jiggle the doorhandle by reconnecting it. Again, in my “benadrylic” state, all of their instructions sounded deeply echoed and slow to register. And when I tried to explain to them what was going on with my side of the door, my words sounded like someone was pulling them like melted string cheese out of my mouth. I think I actually took a breath in the middle of saying the word “handle”. It sounded more like HAAAA(inhale)NNNDLE.
The nurses went to get the handyman.
I waited....and beeped....still holding on to the doorhandle, for reasons I will never know.
Moments later, there was a sudden thump and then nails/screws clattered onto the floor. A hole appeared where the doorhandle and its component parts should have been.
The handyman came through that door like Superman.
POW! It popped open, and I was freed. The nurse rushed in and immediately silenced my chemo alarm.
In an instant, all was clear and silent.
As I emerged, the patients that were seated nearby all said, in what to me sounded in unison, “Are you Ok?!”
“SUUUURE!” “AAAA(inhale)LL GOOOOD! “ I slurred as I rolled out like I had just zipped-lined through a cool forest.
And as my nurse helped guide me back to my treatment chair, she chuckled and said:
“Well, this one is one for your stories!
And so it is.
About Consuellama
Consuellama was inspired by llamas being hardy and well suited to harsh environments — they are quite sure-footed, easily navigating rocky terrain. It made me think that it is absolutely synonymous to navigating the “terrain” on the cancer journey. But beyond that, it is also the fact that you can’t look at the face of a llama and not smile!
