Tuesday, October 15, 2024  

     This is the hardest infusion treatment yet out of the 29 treatments. I finish feeling defeated. The treatment is not unusual, lots of waiting, kind nurses trying their best. I feel I have failed the test, and I am not sure there was a test. I suspect my despair comes from the past. I am tired. I should feel better in the morning. This pattern is so familiar to me.

     The nurse is sitting at the desk looking at her computer screen.  She asks me, Are you drinking enough water? What, I don’t know how to answer the question. What is enough water, how to know? But she wants a yes or no answer for the computer. Is there a real answer?  I say yes. A day later I am still pondering this question of what is enough water. One of the many questions that interest the computer but confound me. There are no easy questions here.

     The nurse says you are taking the bicarbonate pills, right?  No, I say I can’t swallow them. I have told this to the nurse the last ten times here. The large pills are chalky and get stuck in my throat. I can’t find an alternative.  She says she has never heard this before from patients. She once again says she will check it out and let me know.

     The supervising nurse is training a new nurse. We are crowded into the small treatment room.  I am lying on the bed waiting and listening. I wear a hat to shield my eyes from the bright ceiling light.  My job is to be quiet and not cry, and stay still as they practice installing the catheter into my urethra. The third try with the third catheter is finally successful. I do not cry.

     This morning, I have recovered and life is good again.