Tuesday, January 6, 2015

A Little Picc Me Up

So today. Ahron, the driver who looks like Robert DeNiro circa Meet The Fockers but has the crazy kinetic energy of You Talkin' To Me DeNiro without any of the rage, only sweet, sweet positivity and boundless charm, Ahron, the driver took us to the hospital for me to get my picc line. I didn't understand why we needed to go to the hospital for this. I thought it was a simple thing like an iv line they keep open, but no. We sped across Tel Aviv (I think), all while Ahron rapid fire told us about the city and why it's important to stay positive, always positive! Very emphatic like that, interspersed with him suddenly yelling in Hebrew on his headset. At times I thought maybe he was still talking to us--you talkin' to me?--and then just as suddenly he would switch back and yes, he would be talking to me.

Then we got to the hospital and we were walking very very fast down slick hallways and into 4 different elevators to get to a desk where they all spoke in Hebrew, sometimes flicking their head in my direction so I just smiled back, the smiley American who only speaks one and a half languages while everyone here speaks fluent Hebrew, English, Russian, Arabic, often more. Finally they led me to a bed and told me to put on a gown, which I didn't understand because wasn't this just an iv line sort of thing? Easy peasy, stomach no queasy? Here I am taking a picc of myself--ha ha! see what I did there?--in the hospital bed totally not understanding what the fuck is going on. Dumb American...
My hair is just tucked beneath my head. It's all still there. Admittedly this is a terrible no-makeup pic of yours truly, but something tells me this treatment is not about looking my best.
I mean, this is what I was surrounded with. Is this sign telling me to wash my hands? Slippery floor? Emergency room? You tell me what is about to happen.
When they put this on my wrist I started to really question my whole "just like an iv line" theory...
Finally they wheeled me away and, long story short, took me into a surgery room where they gave me a few shots of anesthesia, punctured my upper arm and snaked a catheter line into a peripheral vein, advancing it close to my heart. Quick! I have to start a new paragraph because that last sentence gives me the heebee jeebees.

Lesson learned: watch more Nurse Jackie and/or don't be afraid to ask questions. Might as well embrace this whole Dumb American thing seeing as how I told the nurse that el papel está awhen he couldn't find my form, and Spanish isn't even the half of another language that I speak.

Tomorrow: first day of chemo. Chemo-lite? Campath. ¡Si se puede!
xo,
S

12 comments:

Cindy * Daisies and Crazies said...

With those eyebrows and those teeth, you don't need makeup. You look amazing and naive. haha xo

kerwin said...

I feel like we should have had "I am here for a bone marrow transplant" tattooed on your stomach or else you might come back from Tel Aviv with new boobs instead of, you know, no MS.

Mr. X said...

You [still] look amazing!

I certainly wouldn't have guessed you as 42.4 years old. You don't look a day more than 34.2.

Anonymous said...

Susannah, thinking of you all the time over here and checking your blog like once an hour (so what?). Sending you love like your kids on a sunny beach day, and positive energy like brilliant waterfalls.
-katie

Shelley Macdonald said...

Susannah,

You are my hero. I thought I had a positive outlook in the face of health challenges but you take the cake. Remember to always question authority, be your own advocate, take names and kick some ass. Welcome to the "Sisterhood of Traveling Body Parts" You're beautiful inside and out, Shelley

Nancy Fastenau, Fastenau and Associates said...

Yes, ask more questions. That's what the doctor is supposed to do. She/he speaks English, right? Or a little Spanish? Buck up deary, you will be fine.

Anonymous said...

Nurse Jackie starts back up soon...can you watch it in Israel? Good distraction.

Jan Rostov said...

Hello Susannah, I am the friend of Farrish who had lunch with him, your Dad and Bonnie Rait and Bryan in '05. After some work, I remembered Bryan was Diana's son and I'd met him in '88 (or when he came to live with her and Derick.)
First: you look BEAUTIFUL. Second, I am wondering what you are coping with (I'll call Diana for details.) Third, and most importantly, I will say prayers and sing to you when I am singing at bedsides. I will hold you in my heart. Blessings and Love to you!

JackeeG4glamorous said...

You are quite possibly the bravest woman I know. Thinking of you, checking your blog, and sending positive vibes.
Possibly, with the Pic line, could they slide in a boob job too? Just askin.

Anonymous said...

Just a little pick-me-up so you have something to read while you're probably nauseated. Saltine crackers help. They always do!
I have two friends with MS - each taking it differently, but neither would be as brave as you. Hang in there - still rooting for you!

Isabel Arias said...

Dear Susannah,

I am thinking of you. I thought you would enjoy reading this:
http://havesomedecorum.blogspot.com

Anonymous said...

The Hebrew sign is "The Patient Rights"
;)