D Minus 2: Presidents, Ports & Pot Pills

November 6, 2012

Today is the day CC goes to the hospital to have her chemo port surgically placed in her chest, a few inches below her collarbone. It was supposed to be right below, but she asked for it to be lower so the odd bulge would be easier to hide. The tube snaking up to her jugular is bad enough. This is where all her IV meds will enter her body every three weeks for the next year. So much for bikini season and book tours.

It’s election day so CC gets up extra early to go to the polls. I can’t help but think a lot of other people wouldn’t bother and it makes me admire CC all the more. Even though I voted absentee and her vote will cancel mine out. We make it to the hospital in time for her pre-op appointment. Normally I’d go in, but my Honey Do list is too long to dally.

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At Target I text CC pictures of fluffy blankies—we’re exchanging the gray one. It reminds us of Eeyore, just not happy. We go with the leopard print—far more attitude.

CC and I text back and forth until the nurse confiscates her half broken phone–a minor sacrifice compared to the car she crashed the day she learned her daughters might have a cancer gene.

I go to Verizon and fidget in line – nervous about getting everything done and back to the hospital plus beating the parking meter. I explained the situation, partly to apologize for being impatient, partly to hurry the Verizon guy. He tells me his young sister had breast cancer. She did not survive. He told me to wish CC good luck. Now I feel like 1. An idiot for opening my mouth, and 2. Everyone Catches the Damn Cancer and 3. It’s so unfair.

I do not feel like an idiot for getting cranky at the pharmacy. I’m typically super polite in public. CC already has a full arsenal of pharmaceutical weapons, but there’s one more on the list. After 90 minutes of waiting, I go to MamaBear Mode, “Look, my friend has CANCER and is in surgery RIGHT NOW and I need to get back to the hospital!” When boy wonder finally hands me CC’s pot pills with an apology (don’t judge) I say, “Dude, you work for one &^%^$#^ up pharmacy.”

It’s so easy to get weed here in California, but this hard to get it in pill form at a real pharmacy? It won’t even get her high.

Evening:  We’re settled into bed for our TV-FroYo ritual. We ignore the election results and find a Hallmark movie to chat over. Besides the chest pain from surgery, CC finds it awkward to have this tube implanted in her neck. “I’m listening to you,” she says looking straight ahead, “I just can’t turn my head.”

“I’m so offended.”

“Pot pill?”

 

 

 

 

 

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