I experienced questionable nursing for the first time at UCSF yesterday. We waited an extra 3 hours because my nurse was just not on the ball. The only reason I know this, is I am a nurse myself. First, lab did not draw all the tubes of blood they were supposed to, so when I went for my infusion, there was a critical lab result that was missing. My nurse proceeded to tell me that it was essentially my fault for not presenting to the infusion lab instead of the processing lab, both in the same building, doing the same job. I informed her of the importance of new patient teaching and that if I was supposed to get labs drawn in the infusion center, then I shouldn't have been specifically instructed to report to the lab on the 1st floor by the last infusion nurse. We started out on the wrong foot......
After the redraw, we waited two hours for a lab result and another hour for my chemo agents to be prepared by pharmacy. The talk of the floor was "Why is the patient in Chair 2 still here?" The rest of the nursing staff was incredibly helpful. I don't think I would have been as chapped if my friend Marian hadn't offered to drive Marek and I down for the day. I felt responsible for the fact that she would be spending her entire day off in a cancer infusion center. She, of course, is the poster child for grace and kindness. Selfishly, I was happy to have her there to keep me company while Marek ruled the world with his technological devices from the waiting room.
Meanwhile, we had a lovely view of all the patients that cycled through that day. One woman, a breast cancer patient, bald like me, was on a different treatment. She said she had already been through my treatment of AC-T and had a lot of advice. I'm not sure why she was on a new treatment, but I suspect she either had a recurrence or started deeper in the cancer hole than I. I worried about the possibility of recurrence. I reeled over the fact that after 6 months of chemo, she had to start all over again. That would require some serious durability.
She was lovely. She was a tiny thing and wore a brightly-colored scarf and just the right lipstick color to bring out her pretty features. She lacked eyebrows and eyelashes but her eyes were big and beautiful and her smile made up for the hair deficit. Her skin was alabaster white. She showed us photos of her nuptials, recently married in Kauai. Apparently, she and her fiancee had rented a villa in the South of France but her Oncologist said it was too far for her to be away from her Cancer treatment center at this point in her treatment. Kauai did not disappoint and her photos were stunning. She was radiant and happy (and durable). I was inspired by her.
In another chair, a woman came in from Guam. She gets her treatments at UCSF because she travels so much. She was receiving Zometa, a medication given to protect the bones from complications related to chemotherapy and prevent bone metastasis. I will receive this medication after my chemo treatment. She was also a small, filipino-looking woman and reported that she has been traveling all over southeast Asia, the Phillipines, China etc.
She was happy to talk of her travels and looked fabulous with textiles I recognized from far away lands. She too, inspired me.
There were some sad stories too, but these two women lit up the room and brought an interesting vibe to the place. I felt irritable about waiting so long for lab results and chemo and recognized almost immediately that I was not living in the moment. Because my experience had started out unpleasantly, I was motivated to leave which made waiting more painstakingly difficult. However, I was fascinated by the stories of these two women who were visibly radiant and happy (and durable). I wanted more of that and less of my irritability. Not feeling well physically fosters my frustration. I was hungry, anxious, clashing with an argumentative nurse.....and I let it shape my attitude. I realized this just in time, and engaged in the stories of the other women and suddenly the vibe changed. It reminded me of traveling.
If you have ever traveled in the third world, or on a budget in the first world, you may have shared a small train car, a chickenbus, a youth hostel room or a Thai longboat with people from other countries, other cultures or your own. Admittedly, I am amazed at how much common ground we share with those from different places. We took the girls to Thailand one year and took a tour to Phang Nga Bay. It's fairly famous for its "James Bond Island" featured in the movie "The Golden Gun." Phang Nga bay is full of limestone islands that over time are eroded by the waters of the bay forming these incredible formations that jut out of the bay. Colonies of monkeys live on them and the fishing is pretty good judging from all the longboats out in the morning. Part of our experience was visiting a Muslim Fishing Village at Panyee Village. We shared a jet boat with a really nice family from Spain and a group of Korean women. Because our Spanish was better than our Korean or Thai, we obviously struck up conversations with the Spanish family. They were not fond of our former American President and grilled us with questions of the new regime. They were incredibly nice to us and their two kids played with our two kids throughout the trip.
When we arrived at Panyee Village, we all sat down at a table for lunch. Panyee Village is traditional muslim. The practice of this religion puts me on edge. They have different personal space distance, treat women differently and have a devious look toward foreigners and infidels. The women, with their heads and bodies covered served the meals while the men sat and did nothing.
A man and 2 women joined us at our table and we learned that they were from Iran. I bristled. Of all the muslim cultures, Iran was depicted the worst in the American media....my only source of Iranian culture and political news. The women were uncovered in modern western clothing with beautiful olive skin, eyelashes that swept their dark bushy eyebrows and heads of jet black Iranian hair cut short in defiance of their women counterparts. I remember being irritated by the presence of their male companion because he was presumably their chaperone. They all spoke perfect English and they were lovely. Stella and Zoe asked unabashed questions about Iran and these women answered radiantly about how they had to have special permission to leave on vacation, and that their country required a family male to accompany them. (Validating my irritation). However, the Iranian man at the table was very progressive and pleasant. He "allowed" the women to speak openly and outwardly and did not appear to control them in any way. He was quiet and placid, and our interaction with him enlightened me that, perhaps, he was not comfortable with his country's assignment of duties. Both of the women were highly educated and had a far better grasp on world politics and the role of the United States than we did. They were fascinating and kind and possesed a level of hope for the future that I did not. It was another example of how changing the way you see things, changes the world around you.
Recently, we traveled to Morocco and took a train from Marrakesh to Fez. Our seat assignments placed us in a car with an older, married Arab couple from Algiers. They did not speak English. We didn't speak a grunt of Arabic, but I spoke the butchered version of French. The man also spoke French. However, there was a cultural difference that made it difficult to break the ice. In Arab cultures, men do not address married women or women who are accompanied by a male. The conversation begins with men addressing men. When we entered the car, Marek addressed the female with a polite hello and a smile. As a woman, I immediately read her body-language as uncomfortable. She pulled her head covering close to her and turned her head out the window without responding. The Algerian man started talking with Marek in French. Unfortunately, Marek can't speak a lick of French, so Marek turned to me. I addressed the Algerian man and explained that my husband does not speak French but that I speak a little. The Algerian man then turned to Marek and addressed him again. Marek smiled, and turned to me....and thus our conversation was born. After awhile, the Algerian man addressed me directly. We discussed politics and governments and how different they were from the people they represented. Our American government is not perceived well, but thankfully, everywhere we went we were welcomed as American people. Our differences are not so great at the very basic levels of food, shelter, water and a desire for our kids to be happy. We talked greatly about the destabilization of the Middle East and how it was affecting the people of Algeria and Tunisia with problems of food and water shortages and lack of good medical care. They had two sons, now grown who were having a hard time making an honest living because there were so few jobs for young people. The stories were familiar but a lot more real. These stories made real by talking to an Algerian man in French with his obviously suspicious wife on a train in Morocco. We parted ways in the city of Fez, Morocco after a few hours of train travel. The wife warmed up to us finally with a smile and a wish for a pleasant journey.
Honestly, I had a bit of angst at first when they mentioned they were from Algeria. Mostly, because I knew nothing about Algeria other than the Arab culture that resides there and the depiction of Arab culture in the American media. Fear of the unknown struck. I was honored to talk to them and learn more of who they were which was not much different from us. It was a fantastic epiphane albeit limited in complexity. Nonetheless, it gave me a framework with which to approach my fears of unknown cultures and the people who practice them.
Cancer is another culture. The outward physical expression is frightening at times with physical disabilities, bald women with one or no breasts, speech impediments, extreme cachexia or significant obesity, or simply people from Guam and other parts of the world coming to UCSF for treatment. We must learn to speak the language, learn the way from veteran cancer travelers and find our place in this new world. Some of the attractions to see on our adventure are unbelievable hope, determination of survival, and the power provided by a network of friends. I wish I could take pictures, but it is not customary to take pictures of the inhabitants without their permission. I don't want to forget, despite the chemo's best efforts. While I am disappointed that the Robinson family will not be traveling to the far reaches of the planet this year, I am renewed by the new adventure before us complete with a different culture, language and set of social rules. I must prepare for my new adventure. I think a new wardrobe and some fabulous shoes will do quite nicely.....:-)
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