FROM A(DRIAMYCIN) TO Z(INC)

When I was little we used to go visit my crotchety grandparents in Ohio.  They had a small house with a single bathroom the size of a Trisket.  In this bathroom was a teeny tiny closet.  The closet held towels – 2 at most – toothpaste and other various bathroomy things.  It also held their dentures.

As a child, the dentures loomed.  They overshadowed everything else.  They were huge.  Like teeth you'd see in museums.  Great White Shark teeth.  Mastodon teeth.  Julia Roberts teeth. It was frightening as a child to open a door and find body parts.  Even now when I think of that closet, the dentures are like the size of tennis shoes in my mind.  Shaquille O'Neal’s tennis shoes.  When I was 7 and opened that closet I swear the teeth would almost freaking jump out at me and start singing Vaudeville hits.  I hated those teeth.  Hated them.  I would try to not look.  I would tell myself as I slowly pulled open the teeny tiny door that I wouldn’t look at them, on the third shelf, in the middle, in the blue cup.  I’m not going to look ….at … them…..  But it never mattered.  I always looked.  Always saw them.  Big pink plastic gums with big white Chicklet teeth attached. 

Ah cha cha cha!

Because of that experience, I vowed to always keep my medicine cabinet – or any cabinet in my bathroom – visitor friendly.  There is no reason to put your personal items right out there behind closed closet doors for anyone to see.  Look, we all know we go through each other’s bathroom cabinet, let’s not be naïve, so why not keep it in showing shape?  There are other places to keep the KY and Preparation H.  Preferably in separate places as not to mix them up. And yes, I know it is called a medicine cabinet but this goes double for pills you’re popping.  No reason for your company to know you are on high powered anti-psychotics and prescription stool softeners.  Just tuck those helpful remedies away somewhere else.  Thank you.

But, in spite of my theory, I noticed the other day that The Hub and I have recently let our bathroom go.  Namely in the area of the meds we keep out.  They aren’t even placed neatly INSIDE the medicine cabinet.  They are everywhere.  Brown bottles with childproof lids litter the shelf below the mirror.  Ziploc bags full of creams and lotions are tossed randomly on the counter.  Weekly pill reminder boxes are left out and over the counter meds are stacked on the back of the toilet.  What has become of us?  Next thing you know we’ll be flossing at the dinner table.

I was beating myself up over this recent turn of events until I read The Hub’s most recent post on our CarePages site – that’s the site that he maintains to chronicle all the wonders of my cancer treatment.  He decided to list the medications I’m on.  Because he posted it, the list is, of course, in alphabetical order.  Are you ready for this?  Here goes:

Adriamycin – kills cancer cells
Allopurinol - protects the kidneys (or kidney – singular -  in my case)
Ambien - sleeping pill
Ativan - anti-nausea, anti-anxiety
B Complex – for all the things B does
Bleomycin - kills cancer cells
Cetaphil - for skin problems caused by Bleomycin
Cephalexin - antibiotic
Compazine - anti-nausea
Dacarbazine - kills cancer cells
Decadron - steroid, given with chemo regimen
Desoximetasone - for skin problems caused by Bleomycin - kills cancer cells (and lung tissue!)
Emend - anti-nausea
Gaviscon - for heartburn
Granisetron - anti-nausea
Hydrocodone - for pain
Levaquin - antibiotic
Methylprednisolone sodium succinate - steroid
Multi-vitamin – for multi-vitamin things
Neupogen - self injected to boost white blood cells
Nexium - for reflux/heartburn
Palonosetron - anti-nausea
Panothenic Acid - aka B5 – for mouth sores
Potassium – to counteract low levels from chemo
Prednisone - steroid
Prilosec - for reflux/heartburn
Saline - (Bleah!)
Solumedrol - a steroid to counteract a Bleomycin reaction
Vinblastine - kills cancer cells
Zinc - to counteract the taste of chemo

That’s a grand total of 30 meds.  30.  And I’m sure he forgot a few.  I can think of two or three off the top of my head that aren’t on the list.  Granted, not all of these meds are taken at home – some are given by the nurses through my port.  Namely, the chemo drugs.  So not all 30 of these are sitting on my counter. Only 80% or so of them. To paraphrase Chief Brody in Jaws, We’re gonna need a bigger bathroom. 

This is yet another side effect of cancer treatment I suppose, you give up storage space to medicines you can’t pronounce in bottles you can’t open.  After tomorrow, I will slowly begin to wean off of most of these.  The multi-vitamin, of course, gets to hang around.  Some of these meds I'll be thrilled to see go and might just have a flushing party.  Some others might prove to be difficult to get rid of.  A few months ago when I started on Ambien, the pill to help me sleep, I asked the nurse if there was a danger of creating a dependence on it.  “Oh sure!” she said without concern, “And you most likely will.  But we’ll worry about that later.”

All things considered, it’s nice to have a later out there to worry about.

Comments

[Christi]

Decadron - I've been listing that as an allergy (or my mom has) since the age of 2. I don't really know what it did to me, but Mom drilled it into me that I should never take it. Docs always seem amazed that it's on my list ... I've never known anyone else to take it ... you've come through this amazingly, one to go, congratulations.

[gilly]

I like to put marbles in my medicine cabinet.

[Jeff Risley]

My grandpa kept his teeth in a green steele-colored cup next to the sink in the "utility room," we called it. The thing I had to learn early was that there were two steele-colored cups -- one was green and one was orange. Never -- ever -- drink from the green one.

The teeth never scared me. In fact, I thought it was totally cool he could take out all of his teeth. He used to do his early-morning chores (milking the cow) without his teeth in. I can still remember how he sounded -- it affect his laugh more than his speech. And then he'd put them in when he came in the house.

I can still see that cup. I can still see my Grandpa. I miss him.