Adrian

Mom started chemo today. Up until now, the cancer has been on the attack. Today, Mom goes on offense and takes the fight to the cancer.

We, Alia (sister ) and Mom and I, arrived at the Abramson Cancer Center early for an 8:45 a.m. appointment — extra early, as I never know what I-76 is going to be like during rush hour.

Despite our enthusiasm to be here on-time or better, we ended up sitting and waiting for about an hour.

There are so many people here, apparently it is too easy to get overlooked. Despite the fact that we checked in early, apparently they forgot to ”assign a room” to Mom to meet with her provider, and it was not until we went back to the desk to check that we got things moving.

This is the second time something like this happened here, and we should have been more aggressive today with making sure Mom was being seen within 15 minutes. Next time we will be on top of that.

However, like the last time, once things got moving, they got MOVING. In minutes we were being seen by our provider who reviewed everything and answered questions and spent so much time with us.

From there, we scheduled Mom’s next 3 appointments and checked in for infusion. I think ”infusion” means chemo. Or close enough. Infusion is where you go to get chemo so we will go with that.

We got a big private room with a nice view and plenty of natural light.

The nurses handling all the work are tremendous — efficient and cheery and confident.

While we were waiting for pharmacy to mix the chemo — they don’t do that until the last minute, and every chemo dose is custom made for each patient — we were visited by a pharmacist who went over Mom’s entire list of medicines and supplements. He talked about how each worked with each other, what the side effects could be, and what we could do to counter the side effects, and so on. He gave us a folder full of info and his card with his cell phone that he said we could use anytime if we had any questions.

While the pharmacist was meeting with us, Mom’s chemo arrived and the nurse hooked it up and got things flowing.

After a few minutes, Mom had a reaction to the chemo; she lost feeling in her throat and had trouble swallowing. I was out getting coffee, but Alia was here and witnessed the rapid response team arrive in about a second. They paused the chemo and gave mom some steroids and got things settled down, and eventually re-started the chemo, but at a slower rate.

This being the first time, we were prepared for anything. We were told many times how each patient reacts differently, and there would be some trial and error.

Still, it was quite scary for Alia and I am sorry I wasn’t here.

But mom is fine, and that La Colombe coffee is the best on the planet.

Once the chemo was flowing again, we were visited by a nutritionist. We’ve been working so hard the past few weeks to stock my Mom’s house with the best possible foods, and it was wonderful to hear the nutritionist state that we were on target. She had some great explanations for some things, and some great tips, and also left a folder full of recipes and information, and her cell phone number if we should have any questions.

This place does love their folders. Each one is custom designed. Some graphic designer landed this gig and is probably funding his whole operation with this work. Custom folders for every team. Good for them. I am not jealous. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

So, with the delayed start and with the slowed-down chemo, we are here for a few more hours than we anticipated… but what we anticipated was potentially being here all day, so, no worries.

Mom is comfortable — napping, watching TV, playing crosswords.

We talked about what games to bring for next time, what foods to bring for next time, and who might come next time.

We are focused on next times, on all the next times.

We have faith this will work, and we will have many years of planning ”next times” with Mom that have nothing to do with hospitals and pharmacists and nutritionists.

As for today: that should be about it for today; hopefully we will be on our way home shortly.

Until next time…

Today my younger sister Alia (also a nurse) and I (not a nurse) took Mom back to the Abramson Cancer Center to have Mom’s port replaced. Mom had a port put in about 10 days ago at a different hospital, but when we switched to Penn, their infusion team said they could not use it. At all.

Not going to lie — the poor port placement was a factor is Mom choosing to switch her care to Penn.

This was Mom and my second time here, and my younger sister’s first. Again, the whole experience was outstanding. The entire staff there is kind, efficient, competent, confident, cheerful, and empathetic. There really is something to be said for going to a facility that is built from the ground up to care for cancer patients in the best possible way.

However, there are so many people — so many patients, so many staff — that it is very sobering and always a little sad: everyone here is here to fight cancer. It is a little staggering.

But today was a good day!

We arrived exactly on time (you are welcome) and were immediately greeted and checked-in, and before we knew it we were being led straight to Mom’s room. My sister and I were both able to sit with Mom in the room the whole time.

When the surgeon came, he asked to look at the existing port. He said, “That…uh… that sucks.”

Soon they were wheeling Mom out and Alia and I sat and talked about all sorts of things, from the trivial to the serious. It was some good sibling bonding time; our family relationship is, I think, our greatest strength.

In no time they were wheeling Mom back, with the new port in and the old port gone.

Mom said she was able to remain awake during the procedure, and while it did not feel great, it was not “too bad”.

They had us out of there — Mom was easily able to walk the whole way from the room through the Center down to the parking garage — in no time.

As we were getting on the elevator to go down to the parking garage, and man and woman joined us.

“They gave me this shirt!” the man said with more than a little excitement. He held up a shirt. “Today was my last radiation treatment!”

We were effusive in our congratulations. He was beaming. The woman with him was beaming. There was so much joy in the short ride to level P3.

He wished us luck and, as we walked away, I heard him say to the woman “This is a really good shirt, too.”

I think there are signs everywhere. You might think meeting that man at that moment as we took our last preparatory step before Mom starts her chemo was a coincidence, but I believe I know better.

The sun was out after two weeks of cold, rainy weather. We are full of hope and encouragement.

We made it home in time for the Phillies’ opening day pitch.

And on the first day of baseball season, hope springs eternal.