Staying Positive

I believe a positive attitude helps health. I believe that people who can remain hopeful, determined, and positive have better outcomes when faced with illness. I believe optimism heals. I believe that God wants us to feel happy and confident.

I know that maintaining a positive attitude can be hard work and almost impossible to maintain when faced with major losses. . .of loved ones, relationships, security, health, serenity. There have been many times when I have felt hopeless and scared and sad and mad and worried and in pain and weak and sick with fever.

As I have journeyed through Lymphoma, I have had to search my soul and I have often had to reach very deep within to find something to be thankful for. Other times, my blessings are abundant, obvious, and easily felt.

To help myself stay encouraged while facing a life-threatening illness and coping with side-effects of toxic treatments, I have tried to keep my words and language positive.

It is very popular to use such language as battle with cancer, cancer warrior, the beast, the nasty beast, war against cancer, victim of cancer, monster, struggle, hate, cancer sucks, fight. 

I don't use any of those words. They are all negative; some are violent.  I don't use hateful words in any other aspect of my life and I believe in peace.  In fact, I'm glad my cancer has its own name, Lymphoma, so I don't even have to use the word cancer if I don't want to. I call it my Lymphoma Journey. I will not hate my Lymphoma as it has become part of me and I will not hate myself.

I try not to fear my Lymphoma. If it takes my life then that will be the way I go.

M R S A

I wish we could send  Bad Doctor   a bill to be reimbursed for the thousands of dollars he cost us, not to mention the sickness and pain, because of his bad work! Two hospitalizations and two additional surgeries as corrections for the 2 surgeries he did.

Bad Doctor gave me the gift of Methicillin-Resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA). When I was told I had cancer, I was very brave but when I was told I had MRSA I broke down and cried like a baby. The doctor and nurse both cried with me.

Amongst the things I never wanted to know how to do, I was taught to give myself  IV's to treat the MRSA. I had a very sweet and super cool home health nurse who accessed my port and showed me how to clean and attach the bottles of medication and how to flush it afterwards. She came to draw blood for testing and also came to change the needle into the port. Afterwards, she came in and de-accessed the port.

A very large box was delivered to our home. It contained 24 bottles of the correct dosage of medication for a 90 minute infusion. It also included boxes of surgical gloves, masks, alcohol wipes, prefilled syringes with both saline solution and heparin for flushing my port, and additional supplies for changing the port and drawing lab work.

The bottle pictured above has been used. That post in the center is covered with a deflated balloon. When the bottle was new the balloon was filled with the medication (think: water balloon). As soon as I attached it to my port line and unclamped it, it would start flowing by pressure. I infused myself twice a day for 2 weeks.

I am thankful I was able to do this at home. The active infection is cleared up but it is doubtful I will ever be free of MRSA.

Bad Doctor. 

 

Bad Doctor

In the beginning of my Lymphoma Journey, I had a Bad Doctor. The most excellent Dr. V referred us to a surgeon to have a port-a-cath placement with ultrasound guidance and an underarm lymph node dissection for biopsy. Both procedures were done at the same time in an outpatient surgical center. I went straight from the surgical center's recovery room to the hospital for my first chemo.

It did not occur to me at the time to wonder why I wasn't having those procedures done at the hospital, since I was going there anyway.

 

 

The day after the surgery, my underarm surgical wound was draining at lot of lymph fluid. It was soaking the very thick bandages the nurses were applying and soaking my bedclothes and bedding. A nurse said the wound was not completely closed and reported it to Dr. V, who called Bad Doctor to come see about it.

 

About 8:30 PM, Bad Doctor came into my room, late, acting furtive and sneaky. He looked very unkempt and smelled bad. I'm pretty sure he had been drinking. He did not wash his hands even after I pointed out the hand sanitizer and gloves.

 

First thing, he starting scolding me for "telling everyone in the hospital" that he hadn't sutured my surgical wound. I promptly told him I didn't say anything to anyone, that I was sick in bed and couldn't even see it!

 

He had brought a stapler, a suture removal tray, and steri-strips with him. He said he could staple the wound but that the fluid would get backed up and I would get a swelling the size of a baseball under my arm! He was putting pressure on me to tell him what I wanted him to do.

 

My husband was down the hall, in the lounge, making family phone calls. I picked up my phone and told Bad Doctor I wanted my husband. Bad Doctor starting yelling at me!! He said he didn't have time to wait for my husband to get there as he only had 5 minutes and his wife was waiting in the car. Again, I snapped back at him, "He's in the hospital"! I have never had a doctor be so rude to me.

 

I buzzed the nurse and asked her to locate my husband. I think they both ran to my room. And surprise, Bad Doctor suddenly became Mr. Nice Guy when my husband walked in. My husband, the nurse, and I unanimously decided to send Bad Doctor away.  He left the room muttering something about God's will. Indeed. 

 

Was Bad Doctor really going to remove stitches and staple my surgical wound, in his allocated 5 minutes, there in my room, without sterilization or anesthesia of any kind, without even washing his hands??  Probably so.

 

I learned later that Bad Doctor does not have any affiliation or surgical privileges at the hospital! So that is why I had the surgery elsewhere.

 

 

And this was not the end of dealing with the after-effects of Bad Doctor's shoddy and nasty work.