I endured chemo from January 2000 to May 2002. It was a miserable period for me, my family, and my friends. Debbie worked 24/7 to keep me infection free and as healthy as possible. The outpatient thing didn't work for me. Instead, I went to the med center for a week at a time for around the clock IV drips. The rotation was three weeks out, one week in. The boredom of this ritual was more debilitating than the toxins. I had lots of company and tried to keep myself occupied but there's only so much you can do hooked to an IV pole and feeling like road kill.
My family, professional boredom busters, brought me books, games, puzzles, anything to help keep my spirits up. We don't go in for depression so I didn't recognize the signs when it started. I was crying more than usual and I complained to the doctor that maybe my hormones should be checked. She looked at me like I was crazy. Her response? "Of course you're crying! You're depressed. Who wouldn't be?" That's when she prescribed my happy pill and my mood elevated; better living through chemistry.
Better than the Zoloft, Buddy organized Barbie's Battalion of Chemo Fairies. Once again, his pictures flew to my rescue. He developed a series of hilarious, physically imposing fairies who had specific assignments designed to keep me healthy and entertained. His mind went into overdrive as he brought Chemoflage, Chemo No-No, Sue Moe Fokes, Kemo Kazzi, and Chemo Miranda to life. He drew 100 of them; all in color and all with a personal description of her duties in the battalion!
Behind my back, Buddy had Mom and Debbie give him a list of 100 people he could use as sponsors for the fairies. Close friends, work colleagues, special students, and even pets found their names on the fairy cards.
The first ones came in the mail, anonymously, like I wouldn't recognize that style. When that became unwieldy and the fairies took on a life of their own, helpful family members dropped them off in the mailbox. It became the highlight of my days to find a fairy in the mailbox.
The next logical step was to find a place to display them. Naturally, Buddy had that covered too. Debbie and I had a room in the house designated to keeping me healthy. I had a CVL (central venous line) that provided a straight shot into my veins for any medicines or toxic substances. The CVL sight is a breeding ground for infection and infection will kill a chemo patient before cancer will, so it's imperative that this sight be maintained in as sterile environment as possible. Buddy's idea was to station the battalion in this room where so much of the actual fighting took place. With push pins and a yard stick he set to work lining the fairy cards across the wall I faced while Debbie maintained my CVL. This maintenance was daily and a constant concern so I faced the fairies often.
The fairies marched from the mailbox to their battle stations in my war room. Buddy was a man on a mission. Word got out and people dropped in to see the fairies and to see if they'd made the sponsor list. Every week the battalion grew in size and strength; they became part of the family, the landscape of our home. They were in truth my warriors, a tangible expression of the love and support that surrounded me and kept me moving forward. They made me laugh and reminded me of hundreds of reasons I couldn't give up.
My family, professional boredom busters, brought me books, games, puzzles, anything to help keep my spirits up. We don't go in for depression so I didn't recognize the signs when it started. I was crying more than usual and I complained to the doctor that maybe my hormones should be checked. She looked at me like I was crazy. Her response? "Of course you're crying! You're depressed. Who wouldn't be?" That's when she prescribed my happy pill and my mood elevated; better living through chemistry.
Better than the Zoloft, Buddy organized Barbie's Battalion of Chemo Fairies. Once again, his pictures flew to my rescue. He developed a series of hilarious, physically imposing fairies who had specific assignments designed to keep me healthy and entertained. His mind went into overdrive as he brought Chemoflage, Chemo No-No, Sue Moe Fokes, Kemo Kazzi, and Chemo Miranda to life. He drew 100 of them; all in color and all with a personal description of her duties in the battalion!
Behind my back, Buddy had Mom and Debbie give him a list of 100 people he could use as sponsors for the fairies. Close friends, work colleagues, special students, and even pets found their names on the fairy cards.
The first ones came in the mail, anonymously, like I wouldn't recognize that style. When that became unwieldy and the fairies took on a life of their own, helpful family members dropped them off in the mailbox. It became the highlight of my days to find a fairy in the mailbox.
The next logical step was to find a place to display them. Naturally, Buddy had that covered too. Debbie and I had a room in the house designated to keeping me healthy. I had a CVL (central venous line) that provided a straight shot into my veins for any medicines or toxic substances. The CVL sight is a breeding ground for infection and infection will kill a chemo patient before cancer will, so it's imperative that this sight be maintained in as sterile environment as possible. Buddy's idea was to station the battalion in this room where so much of the actual fighting took place. With push pins and a yard stick he set to work lining the fairy cards across the wall I faced while Debbie maintained my CVL. This maintenance was daily and a constant concern so I faced the fairies often.
The fairies marched from the mailbox to their battle stations in my war room. Buddy was a man on a mission. Word got out and people dropped in to see the fairies and to see if they'd made the sponsor list. Every week the battalion grew in size and strength; they became part of the family, the landscape of our home. They were in truth my warriors, a tangible expression of the love and support that surrounded me and kept me moving forward. They made me laugh and reminded me of hundreds of reasons I couldn't give up.
In May 2002 it was determined that all the chemo I'd taken hadn't done a thing to eradicate the cancer in my jaw. I would have the tumor surgically removed the first week in June. For a long time the fairies continued to guard me from the wall in our war room. We'd lost that battle but I was optimistic about the next one.
Five years later my fairies are always with me. I have the originals stored in a box and they live under my bed. I have the book that Buddy put together for me so they are portable and accessible when I need a lift or reminder of how far I've come. He picked out 20 fairies and had them made into a huge poster that hangs on my bedroom wall. The fairies aren't pictures. They are an outward and visible sign of the love and connection I share with my brother.
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