I'm On The Pump Now

Wednesday October 21, 1992

We are back at Kaiser Sunset at 10 a.m. I slept well. Dr. Semrad shows us the pump and how it works. It's much larger than I thought, about the size of a hardbound book, but thicker. It's heavy, 3-4 pounds. We talk. Yes, I will probably lose my hair, at least 50%, soon. I'd better shop for a wig soon. I hate them. They are hot and uncomfortable. Will probably only wear it out. I'm sad. I thought there were no side effects. Dr. Semrad says they're having much success with the pump.

More confusion. The nurse that is to instruct us on the catheter and bandage care is not available until 12:30-1 p.m. So we wait. She comes. It's so complicated and confusing. I'm glad Frank is there to help me remember. She also gives us instructions. I don't feel well. We go right home. I have some soup. I'm on the pump now.

For the most part up until now, I sense that Mom is blissfully in denial about the severity of her cancer. She has not had to curtail many activities and had few side effects. Having to now carry around a 3-4 pound pump everywhere she goes and cleaning out the catheter everyday will be a chore. Mom took alot of pride in her appearance and spent an hour fixing her hair and makeup every morning, so I am quite sure the thought of losing at least half her hair was quite disturbing. Her hair was fine, like mine, and also thin, so she didn't have much to lose. I completely understand her feelings of sadness.