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Singing from the heart

3/30/2015

(someone gimme a backup)

I'll conflict every interest
Accrue off all your clothes
Cause post this intervention
I'll have SOMETHING TO DISCLOSE
I got the blues
I got the IRB blues

I thought the risk was minimal
Till I got recruited by you

My consent is comprehensible
And I'm community owned
But why does collaboration
Feel like all alone?
I got the blues
I got the IRB blues

There's a significant disparity
Between the aims of me and you

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Symbol of the Year: life (goes on) with cancer

3/23/2015

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Photo by Derek A. Miller. License https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/legalcode

A friend who is a labor and delivery nurse shares with me an email sent on December 25th, 2014, entitled "Symbol of the Year." "We are largely non-religious," she says, "but I appreciate symbolism when it slaps me in the face."

It is Christmas morning, on Thursday, at 4:30 AM. I am frantically preparing potatoes o'gratin, my assigned dish, for a holiday potluck brunch at work. After welcoming two babies earthside, I returned home at 9PM the night before. Woke up at 3:30 AM, must leave by 5:30 AM because I am picking up a fellow nurse - the shuttle does not run on holidays.

Scott is sitting in the corner of the kitchen, feeding baby Antonina freshly pumped breastmilk since I am busy cooking. His voice is a little raspy and his hands are clumsy because he is on day 2 of Folfox cycle #6.

He cannot easily get anything from the refrigerator due to cold sensitivity, so I microwave juice for him. On the whole, he is
tolerating treatments well; these side effects are minor and self-limiting.

Baby Antonina leans on Scott's arm, swaddled like a zucchini. She happily slurps on the bottle that Scott holds with his other arm. Since he does not have a third arm, he places his 5-fluorouracil pump on top of her. 5-FU is given as a 46 hour infusion, so he brings the pump home for a round-the-clock dosing at 2 cc/hr. It's a closed system and is safe to touch.

For a second, I stop in my tracks. It's 4AM on Xmas, there is a father nurturing an infant, and father's chemotherapy pump rests on top of the baby. The baby catches my eye and smiles, without releasing the nipple of the bottle. I realize that I cannot un-see it. It is the symbol of the year.

Potatoes turned out great.

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Singing from the heart

Symbol of the Year: life (goes on) with cancer

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