Not On My Watch

An average day.

It was weird to consider a day a good day no longer based on the weather, if a certain sports team had won, or by the activities I did on that day. A good day then was a day with no vomiting, no blood transfusions, no fevers, good blood counts, the nurses getting the IV on the first attempt (he didn't want a port), and the ability to eat a good meal all capped off by a good night's rest. For months, that's all I wanted in a day.

For the most part, the days of chemotherapy were pretty chill. We got into our routine and felt comfortable there. We'd park the car (in a parking garage that charged a ridiculous amount of money per hour - no discount for chemo patients - thanks Switzerland) and walked down a long underground tunnel to the front of the hospital.

(The tunnel that I could probably navigate blind-folded)

Once we rode the elevator up to the ground floor, we were greeted by a large cloud of thick cigarette smoke. Just outside the elevators and right in front of the hospital entrance conveniently stood the nurses, doctors, and hospital workers on their smoke breaks.

...The simple recollection of this vision causes me the need to take a small break from typing to simmer down...

Do you realize the amount of strength it took me not to walk up to them, take the damn cigarette out of their hand and put the butt out on their cornea? First of all, aren't you people aware of how unprofessional it looks with you standing there in your uniforms puffin' away. What now? You're just going to waltz back in there wreaking of smoke and tell your patients how they need to quit smoking? What a joke you all are. There were many days where I thought for sure I was going to just walk up to them, smack them in the face, give them a solid 5 second stare-down...and simply walk off. Them smoking right there is a smack in the face to me...and to every patient entering the facility. How DARE they stand there and blow smoke in my Eddie's face as he makes the long trek to go get chemotherapy. For hours he will get poison pumped into his veins to cure the very thing that you are willingly/knowingly putting yourselves at risk for! Eddie didn't ask for this! He did nothing to get it! Needless to say, day after day, I successfully made it through that gauntlet without committing and bodily harm to any unfortunate Swiss hospital worker. Instead, I settled for yelling "Smoke it up, clowns!" as we passed. I took small comfort in thinking at least some of them had to understand English.

::walk through entrance, around escalator, pass emergency room, pass courtyard, push button for elevator, greet people in the elevator with a Swiss greeting, push number 8, say "Ade" to the Swiss people in the elevator, exit elevator::

Aww, our second home...the oncology floor of Unispital Basel! Next, Eddie would take a seat and wait to give a blood sample. I would pray to God that the results would come back ok. 

If his red counts were too low, he would have to get a blood transfusion and, for some reason, that would have been a big deal to me. I give blood transfusions all the time at work but the thought of my Eddie getting one was strange. Similarly, if his white counts were too low, they wouldn't do the chemo treatment that day. His cycle would be postponed until he built up more cells. Again, it might not have been a huge deal but I didn't want anything to break our routine. One more wrench in my daily plans might cause another breakdown and those have proven to be no fun. Plus, we had the end of his chemo treatment marked on a calendar hanging on our bedroom wall. It would be upsetting if we had to push it back some weeks. Not to mention the fact that for weeks I was giving Eddie a shot in his thigh called Neulasta. It's supposed to boost the white blood cell count and if his counts came back low I would worry that I wasn't doing it right. (After a few times Eddie told me it hurt him more when I gave him the shots ;) so he started to give them himself.) If my memory serves me correctly, Neulasta injections cost over $3,000...per shot! Per shot, people!

I also didn't want his white counts to be too high either. I did everything in my power to protect that man from infection at home. I'd feel like I failed him if he got sick. He did no cleaning at home and I wouldn't even let him look at the cat's litter box. He ate nothing raw (eggs, meat, etc.) and I washed all his food really well...heck, I washed everything really well. I forbid him from eating at Subway. We probably had 20+ bottles of hand sanitizer around the house and I carried one with me where ever we went. I insisted he use it. I also had antibacterial wipes with me that I would use to wipe down the arms of his movie seat or anything in his immediate surroundings. I annoyed him and I know it but he wasn't getting sick...not again, not on my watch! I wasn't going to miss anything this time. I wasn't going to mess this up too.

Here is a random shot of me cleaning out my purse. His sister took this picture while we waited for Eddie to get an X-Ray or was it an MRI that day? Or maybe a CT scan...I forget.

(Some must haves while your man is going through cancer treatment: Hand sanitizer, disinfecting wipes, diarrhea medicine, prescriptions, bandaids, tissues...chocolate from home)

After his blood work came back borderline ok we would then move into another room. Here they would already have all the bags, tubes, and pills waiting for him by "his chair." (Unfortunately, I never took a picture of the amount of pills he had to take in a day. Some days it was 20 at a time.) I would pray to God that they could get his IV with just one poke.

(Looks like that day it took two pokes but he's jay chillin')

Throughout his treatment, Eddie would tease the nurses and even tried teasing me by saying he was leaving me for one of the student nurses. Her name was Carmen...and I kept a close eye on that one. ;) Eventually Carmen's rotation ended and his favorite nurse was the head nurse, Heidi. I liked Heidi...until the day she started Eddie's IV without gloves and I almost fell off my windowsill. From then on I kept a good eye on her from my perch too. I wasn't there to step on anyone's toes but I'll be damned if someone exposes him to added risks! Again, not on my watch...

As the infusions dripped into Eddie's veins he would play on his iPhone, munch on fruit, joke around and make me giggle. There was one time that mid-laugh I caught a glimpse of the patient in the next bed and my laughter immediately ceased. I realized that my laughter didn't fit in this room. These walls were used to the sounds of sobs, of cries of pain, of bad news, of thick coughs, of ragged breaths. My laughter was out of place and I felt a chill in the air. The woman next to me was silently weeping over her husband as he slept in the bed and my heart sank for being so insensitive. Even though things are going somewhat smoothly for Eddie, that wasn't the case for everyone else. Even though Eddie's bald head made us part of the group, I felt like I didn't belong there with my good spirits. I thought to myself the amount of tears shed in this room could probably fill a lake.

There was only a small curtain that separated the patients from one another and I often had to scold Eddie for staring or for listening in on other people's conversations. (HIPAA what?) I didn't listen in because I couldn't understand them anyway but I tried to turn away when people were getting their ports accessed or if I noticed I was looking too hard at someone's scar/bandage. With Eddie, I would make my eyes big and occasionally, if he was staring too intently, I had to pinch him. We saw so many different types of patients coming and going. My heart would ache for them and their support givers. You'd have the ones that were frail, gray, and all bones or the ones that were swollen, bald, and all shiny. There were the women in scarves or the woman whose wig would stay in the same position even though her head had turned in her sleep. The old man who snored so loudly but you couldn't help but smile because he wasn't in pain and he was getting some rest. In these moments I'd send up a small prayer thanking God for letting things go the way that they were going for Eddie. His case wasn't so bad. We were lucky. I was thankful.

Eddie was the youngest one there. The next man closest to his age was in his early 30's and they befriended each other. His name began with a "B" and was a weird European name so I don't remember it. This man's girlfriend would occasionally come with him and we would exchange polite smiles (with the language barrier that's all I could offer). "B" and Eddie would take turns harassing the nurses and it would make everyone smile. Some weeks later we met up with "B" at one of his check-ups and he said his cancer wasn't reacting that well and he had to do more treatment. You can tell he was bummed and not his usual cheerful self. Eddie asked about his girlfriend and he told Eddie that they had broken up. She told "B" that the cancer had changed him and she couldn't be with him any longer...

(?!?!)

A lot of people tell me that I was really strong during those days (thanks, but I wasn't). They tell me that I was a good woman for going and being by his side but in my head there was no other option. Not once did I think that I couldn't do it or that I wouldn't do it. I never thought to myself "nope, this is too much for me, he needs to go through it without me." It was never an option for me not to be with him or not to be by his side. There was only this one way and we had to get through it together. I'm no superwoman. What I did deserves no medal. Think about it yourself, if it was your man (or your woman) you would do it too. Wouldn't you? It wasn't until I heard the story about this man and his girlfriend that I realized there are people like that. This cancer stuff is serious and exhausting. There are some people that do skedaddle...but for me, I never gave it a second thought. When I try to think about not being with him I have a hard time imagining it. Just the idea feels awkward and I just push it from thought.

How did I do it? Again, it sounds cliché but I got through it with my family, friends, and faith. The support I got from home was unbelievable. 

We got care packages:

We got cards:

(Note: ONE of these cards is from a German...the rest of from my Americans)

And we got prayers...lots of prayers.

During the months Eddie was sick I learned a lot about myself, about Eddie...and it might be a little too deep, but I learned a lot about life in general too. I always knew how strong Eddie was on the outside but through this difficult time I realized just how strong he was on the inside...and just how strong I can be with him by my side. He battled his sickness with such dignity and courage like I have never seen before. I cherish every day with that man and vow to never take him, our love together, or our health for granted!

(to be cont.)

America vs. Germany

121.   Just in case any of you want to come and visit me in Germany, it's actually better to fly into Zürich, Switzerland. It’s closer (1 hour) to our house than Frankfurt (3 hours).

122.   It is incredibly difficult to find ranch dressing in Germany. I only know one store where I can get cheddar cheese. If I want peanut butter I have to look in the "American Section" of the grocery store where they have a small jars...all major set backs for me.

123.   You don't have to pay a toll to drive on the highway like you do back home but you do have to buy a "Vignette" to drive on the Swiss highway each year. It's 40 Francs right now but the price is supposed to rise in the upcoming years. It's a sticker that you put on your windshield and it's valid until the next calendar year.

124.   There was (is still?) a German version of Facebook called "Schuelervz" and "Studivz" but then I think the Germans realized how lame that was and finally got the real Facebook.

125.   We live about 10 mins from France and 10 mins from Switzerland. I once road on the back of his scooter to both countries...I felt like I was in a Mary Kate and Ashley Olson movie...

126.   My children will speak English, German, Russian, and when Eddie isn't home, I'll teach them Spanish....aw nah, who am I kidding, I'll be happy if those little stinkers aren't still pooping in their pants at age 6. Gotta keep my expectations low these days.

127.   They have German rappers and it's pretty funny. I remember the first time I heard it, I couldn't take them seriously. It sounds so...off?

128.   East and West Germany claim that the other has an accent.

129.   The last time Eddie tried to teach me to drive stick shift, it ended with me in the back seat in tears. You can imagine the scene…

130.   I once broke down and cried in the middle of a busy festival in Switzerland. Ed put me in front of a crowded food stand and asked me “So, come on, what do you want?” People were surrounding me and I had no idea what any of the mystery meats were! Würst? Wieners? Which type of bread do I choose? I was too stressed/pressured so I just started to cry. This scene ended with us stepping out of line and Eddie trying to comfort me in the middle of a court yard. Sometimes I feel bad thinking his life would be so much easier (boring?) if he had married a German girl...