When I arrived for my treatment I was quietly ushered back into the treatment room. The room is large with about twelve “bays” separated by low walls and curtains. You can be as public or private as you want during your treatment.
My MO is to find a corner “bay” put on noise canceling headphones and sleep away the three or four hours of treatment. I count it a good day when I do not hear anything and am awakened at the end of my treatment by one of my nurses telling me it is time to go home.
The problem is those corner bays are precious. A lot of us patients have learned they are nice, quiet places to be.
As I walked in my favorite corner had all the curtains drawn. Curtains drawn mean someone beat me to my spot. My nurse spoke softly and said, “your spot is ready, I pulled the curtains so nobody else would take it this morning.” Talk about awesome! I love these people and the way they care for me.
The curtain debacle
A few hours into treatment I awoke to all kinds of commotion. One of my nurses had opened the curtain to adjust my drugs and the curtain started falling off the track. The end cap had fallen off and it was clear the curtain was eventually going to end up on the floor. Trying to ignore everything I went back to sleep.
As I got ready to leave I looked at the curtain. It was an easy fix. Someone tall needed a step stool and it could easily be handled.
I found a chair, grabbed the half wall, and was up fixing the curtain before my nurses had a clue.
From across the room first one, then a duet of nurses started stuttering and stammering.
When they asked what I was standing on, I told them the trashcan…more hysteria.
I had the curtain fixed in less than three minutes.
At that point it became a project. “While you are up there, lets find something to keep it from coming apart again.” My nurses repurposed a paper towel, and I fashioned it into a end cap to keep the curtain from coming out in the future.
Once on the ground I received a mixture of chastisement and praise.
While they got me ready to leave I laughed and told them we just saved about a month worth of work orders, multiple trips to the site to view the issue, place an order for parts, and then return to fix the issue. Not to mention some poor nurse would get yelled at for not knowing how to properly open a curtain.
In the end my nurses settled on this endeavor being a form of assessment. On past chemo days I would not have had the energy to attempt fixing the curtain. The fact that I did this must mean I was feeling better.
I wonder how they will write it up in their notes? “Noticed patient climbing to the ceiling and assessed he must be feeling better than previous treatments.”