Tell the Mouse to Bring Me Some Juice

So, the other day Shawnna and I were getting ready for bed, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the bathroom, worshipping before the great American altar that is a porcelain double vanity, and performing our respective evening ablutions. We became synchronous, unconsciously so, but synchronous nonetheless. She had her handful of nighttime pills and was popping them one at a time. I was doubling and tripling mine in random combinations. I have more than she, so we were still keeping time… like a couple of pharmacological Art Blakeys. An epiphanic clarity came over me; a clarity so palpable that I had no choice but to give it voice, “This is a stupid fucking ritual.” 

Tomorrow is gonna be a long week. At 8:20 I have a CT of my abdomen and pelvis with contrast. I think “with contrast” is when they shoot you full of radioactive fizzy water that makes it feel like you’re peeing in your pants when you’re really not. At 10:00, I have labs. Since I still have my central line port, this is relatively easy, especially since, at 10:00, I’ll miss the morning rush. Then, at 11:00, it’s upstairs for an office visit with my Doctor and her overly-solicitous receptionist. The Medical Assistant who takes my vitals, knowing that I just came from bloodwork, will ask me, “Would you like something to drink?” 

I’ll answer, “Some juice would be nice.” 

She’ll then tell me that they have apple, cranberry and fruit punch to which I’ll reply, “Apple please.” 

“One, or two?”

“I think two,” and she’ll disappear for 3 ½ minutes to retrieve my two little jugs of juice with the peel-away tin foil lids. 

After my Doctor’s visit, at which she’ll tell me my lab results and read my scan, I’ll go to the Infusion Center for my semi-monthly maintenance Chemo. I hate it when I have a scan the same day as the trinity of Lab, Doctor and Holy Chemo. It’s too long of a day, and I’m always afraid that Imaging won’t get the scans to my Doctor in time. I still have it in my mind that Gus-Gus and Jaq are in the back of the Imaging Center toiling away to develop the film in hopes that I can make it to the Cancer Ball in time to dance with the Prince. I like having my scan the day before, but at least this way I get to go to the Imaging Center by the Infusion Center instead of the one between the shopping mall and the Whole Foods. 

"Disney Jeu D'atout Ducale- Jaq et Gus" by andertoons is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

I shouldn’t have a preference about any of this. Nobody should possess the experience necessary to form a strong opinion about when they prefer to have a CT of abdomen and pelvis with contrast in relation to their semi-monthly infusion of Chemo. Nobody should know when rush hour at the lab is; nobody should be able to recite the juice menu at their Oncologist’s office by heart; and nobody should be able to navigate to more than one Imaging Center without the use of Google Maps. 

It’s been almost a year since I got a clean PET scan and entered the maintenance phase. If we stick to the original plan, I have another year to go. When I go to the Infusion Center tomorrow, I’ll be placed in a chair off to the side, relegated to the room’s perimeter. I used to be in the center of the room, in the middle of all the action. Most of the time, I would even get one of the private rooms with a curtain and more than one nurse "just checking in..." Now, I’m on the periphery. I’m still there, and still commanding the occasional attention of nurses, but they have to go a little more out of their way to get to me. 

My place in that room is cancer’s place in my life. Present, but on the periphery. It still commands attention, but sometimes I have to go a little out of my way to give it. Not tomorrow, though. Tomorrow it will be front and center, and it’s a stupid fucking ritual.