chapter 8: part 6

continued from Chapter 8: part 5

We learned never to leave the house without bringing along a couple of extra doses of medication, in case we were delayed getting home. We found small plastic containers with snap on lids, resembling baby food jars, to carry Hal's liquid morphine whenever we went out in the car, and juice or ice water for the dry mouth that often follows chemotherapy.
These were the days before those handy juice boxes.

Your medication may change frequently, so you might be wise to carry your pills in their original containers rather than putting the current dosage in those flat plastic pill cases you pick up in the drug store. This is not the time to confuse your medication and if you happen to be on pain killers, it is possible to get muddled.

You may be fortunate enough to breeze through chemotherapy with minor discomfort, but just in case, store some readily accessible some barf bags in the car where they're readily accessible. A clean top or sweater is advisable in case of need. Fortunately we never used them but we were glad to have them along.

You can always spot the clinic first-timers by their clothing. They dress without regard to the effort involved in getting those clothes back on without anyone to help zip up that long back opening or do up the fifty- four buttons. They nervously make comments about the taste of barium before the CAT scan, they don't carry reading materials or medication and complain about the waste of time and what might be going on at the office without them. All valid problems and worries, and after a while they'll settle into routine and recognize the value of overcoming this new challenge.

Hal prepared by dressing for comfort and ease; he wanted to slide up the sleeves for blood tests and undress easily for his examination. He'd change into a short robe while waiting for the doctor and because those waiting rooms often felt chilly, we brought a cardigan or two to cover his legs. His feet were comfortable because he had a lifelong passion for Wallabies, a shoe intended for casual wear only. I'm grateful he didn't know about them years before when we were married in a formal ceremony.
The point is, he was comfortable in those shoes, and his legs didn't tire.

I quickly learned to dress for total comfort, leaving me free and unencumbered to concentrate on Hal's needs. As time wore on, I gave up the nylons and coordinated outfits and wore pants, sweaters and sneakers, my house uniform.

continued in chapter 8: part7