Day Five: Nurse Doofus and the Prisoner

Yesterday morning was a little rough on this girlie.  That nagging, biting fear set in, the one I've managed to keep relatively at bay since being transported to LeukemiaTown.  Something compelled me to devour all this printed information on AML that the doctors gave me when I first came, and subsequently I frightened the living bazoobas out of myself.  It was like I had been hit with a baseball bat straight to the teeth:  I could die.  This could kill me.  Shit.

So I wandered around my room for some time in a weepy daze, contemplating my own mortality.  We all gotta go sometime, but it's some hard funky stuff to actually have the possibility that you might very well kick the bucket soon laid out before you like some sort of gruesome buffet.   

Then I got over myself.

Cause dammit; I am a zombie warrior.  This is my Resident Evil moment where I go stomping down the hallways of my body taking out those slow, stupid Leukemia Zombie Cells (No Zac Snyder-inspired fast moving undead here.) with aplomb and grace.  I am armed to the teeth with chemo weaponry appropriate for mass zombie destruction.  You know, the usual goods like that all-purpose AK-47, machete, a couple of pistols strapped to my side, and a fat shotgun on my back.  Of course, I am perpetrating this zombicide dressed in a killer red silk dress, kickass boots, and motorcycle jacket.  I am fierce.

So now whenever those smooth worms of doubt creep in, I fire up my Zombie Warrior and take her on a stroll through LeukemiaTown to rid my body of some more unwanted stupid cells.  

I also think about all my peeps out there in the interwebby and real worlds who are thinking of me and holding me in their heart and prayers.  

But putting the Zombie Warrior out on the prowl is pretty darn satisfying.  

Last night, The Mister and I enjoyed our version of a datenight which involved lying snuggled together on my cozy hospital bed and watching Sweeney Todd on my laptop.  It was wonderful and peaceful and a somewhat return to normalcy.

Until Nurse Doofus arrived.  Within five seconds of her entering the room, I could tell I was in for a night.  She was practically bobbing off the walls with weird, awkward energy, introducing herself as new to the floor, but not new to nursing.  I was not assured by this statement because she then proceeded to futz with my IV machine, seemingly puzzled at its control buttons. 

 "DON'T MESS WITH MY ARSENAL!"  I wanted to shriek at her.

To recap my night with Nurse Doofus: At 2:30 a.m., I was awakened by an innocuous alarm on my IV telling me there was air in the line.  It's a quick fix, no problem.  It took 15 minutes and two calls to the nurses station to get Nurse Doofus down here to fix it; meanwhile, I am kept awake by incessant beeping.  Then a few hours later, she came crashing into my room to take my blood sample.  Normally, the nurses come pretty quietly and keep the lights dim while doing a quick blood draw.  But no, Nurse Doofus had to bust into the room, exclaim she was going to turn on the lights (which she promptly did), and then proceed to clatter nervously about while she took my blood.  And a little while later, Nurse Doofus returned AGAIN to take my vital signs, all the while complaining that normally the care partners do this and fumbling about the equipment like a blind seal.

I didn't get a lot of sleep last night.  And if Nurse Doofus materializes again soon, I might give her a taste of the Zombie Warrior.

Tonight, I leave you all with the tantalizing tidbit that a few doors down my hall there is a new patient with an armed correctional officer hanging out in his room.  Guess this Big House beats the real one.