A Routine

Went in for a blood draw today.  A routine thing.  They'll check it  for "tumor markers" and I'll meet with Dr. Science next Friday for the results.  I'm down to one such check-up every 4 months.  By summertime, it'll be 2 per year.

***

The draw happens at the same clinic that houses the "chemo-barn."  My doctor has since switched offices--though it's the same company.  We don't normally associate the word "company" to "cancer treatment."  But it's a business, sure enough. 

I think they call it a "practice" to help us all feel better about it.

The point, anyway, is that I go to the same place where I had many, many appointments that one year, where I did all my radiation, too.

And today--it's 70' out and sunny and gorgeous--I couldn't bear the thought of going the same route.

That route is always congested.  Always stressful.  And even though I don't go often, I'm tired of going.

So I went a different route and it was a lovely drive.  Why had I not thought to do it this way when in the midst of commuting 5 days a week for radiation and hating every second of it?

Huh. 

***

I had the kids with me, because it takes no time at all.  I have them bring something quiet to occupy themselves in the lobby, especially because I don't want them to bother the other patients. 

There's always someone new there.  Filling out paperwork.  Not knowing what will happen next and then next and then next. 

Most of the people are old.  Older than 70, easily.  A few in their 50's, if I could know by appearances.  I was the only young person waiting, as usually is the case. 

***

They've changed a few things.  Made both doors of both the inner and outer sets automatic.  Because almost everyone needs that function.  What genius failed to make this feature standard? 

***

Still have the basket of candy on the reception desk, including a sign that reads, "Please do not eat candy until after you have had your imaging done."

***

The lobby still has the display case full of big, intricate marionette puppets that were designed and made by a woman who then died of cancer.  The puppets are cool.  The whole display creeps me out.  Makes me sad.  "Hey folks--in case you are on the dying side of the statistics, be inspired to do something remarkable to be remembered by!"

Of course that's not how they mean it.  But I was once the new person filling out paperwork and then looking around as we waited for my name to be called.  And that's how I took it.

***

Their check-in system is different.  Again.  It changes often.  Guess they haven't figured out one that works well for every service in the building.

***

The tech who drew my blood is the same guy who has drawn my blood for the last 8 check-ups.  At least.  Every time, he seems surprised to learn that I home school, and he asks how I like it, and that he and his wife are considering it.

I don't ever say, "Yes, I know, we had this conversation 4 months ago (or 3 months, or 3 weeks. . .)"  Now, I'm trying to see how many consecutive, identical conversations we can have.  Likely more because I'll be seeing him less.

***

The blood draw room still has a funny little illustration posted on the wall, the one that was there when I visited for my very first appointment:  It is an egret or crane, or some long-legged water bird, trying to swallow a frog.

The frog's head is well-enveloped already, but it's arms are outside the mouth, squeezing the neck of the bird to prevent swallowing.

The bird looks irritated.

The caption reads, "Never Give Up!" 

Great, great drawing.  I came across it in grad school and put it on my office wall.  Hmm.  Back then, was there even any perseverance required?

***

Did I ever mention that drawing on the Big "C" blog?  I feel like there's a handful of things I'd always meant to write about. . . 

***

The tech asked me what color medical tape I'd like to strap the gauze to my arm. 

This used to matter, because I used to save the tape when I got home.  It was exactly the kind I used to wrap my fingers when I still experienced lymphedema in them.  One piece from a blood draw was enough to wrap all 4 fingers for a whole day.

Now, it doesn't matter.  But I requested light blue anyway.

The thing about the colors of this tape:  they're never good colors on me. 

Royal blue (or light blue) instead of Navy.

Orange-based-bright red instead of burgundy.

Bright green instead of hunter. 

Never black.  Always ugly.  And yet so many choices of ugly.

***

The results--I completely expect them to be normal--come next Friday. 

Well.  I'm hoping that they'll be slightly improved.  There is one level that has been off for a little over a year now, and we figured out that its increased number was due to advanced osteoporosis. 

We adjusted some things, and asked for much prayer.  It would be so wonderful if I learned that the level has come down at least a little.  This would mean (probably) that my bones are building up again.

Would you pray about this?  Whenever you see a pink ribbon--so ubiquitous!--would you please pray, "God, please make Amy's bones dense again." 

***

The blood draw finished.  I stepped from the little room in to the hallway and again was disoriented.  How many times had I made my way around that building but I still am not completely sure where to go.  It's a maze in there.

But the exits are clearly marked. 

I didn't swing by the chemo-barn to say "hello" to the nurses.  Each time, I think maybe I'd like to.  But I just don't want to see the patients there.  Not yet. 

This company re-modeled their downtown "infusion suite"--the one along side Dr. Science's new office--and the new decor is very cozy.  Each patient now has a full-body massage chair.  But there didn't seem to be room for friends of the patients.

Maybe next time I will swing by to see the nurses and see whether "my" old chemo-barn has been re-furbished as well.  It sure needed it. . .  But at least there was always room for the chemo-friend I'd brought along.

***

That was that, back into the van.  Back home.  By the same old route.

We are in the middle of listening to the Radio Family Theater production of the Narnia books.

Wonderfully done.  All of them.  I'm not a fan of the books because I generally don't care for fantasy nor allegory and these are allegorical fantasy.

The audio productions are a palatable way to enjoy them.  The kids are not tiring of them, though each book is a new adventure with as many sad and joyful moments as the one before it.  A constant cycle through Narnia.

We're now in the middle of The Last Battle, which is a dark story.  Much wickedness and deception and peril throughout.  But we know that Aslan will come through by the end.  Always a happy end awaiting. 

I've kept the first story of the series--The Magician's Nephew--for the last, because it was published last.  It's that same question of which order we should choose in watching the Star Wars movies. 

In this case, it wasn't a puritanism for the published order I most cared about.  I think I just didn't want the Narnia stories to end with The Last Battle, as though there would ever be a time when there weren't another story to begin.