Little Mousetrap on My Belly

The oncologist nurse said “Of course, you know it from the commercial.” She was talking about the “onpro” version of Neulasta. Oh yeah, I know that commercial. They play it all the time. I hardly even watch commercial television and I’ve seen it plenty.

Neulasta boosts white blood cell generation, and my WBC counts struggle on chemo. I couldn’t take it last time because you need a one-week break in treatment to let it run its course. Because it generates the “fastest growing cells” it can interfere with chemo, which is busy killing the “fastest growing cells.” In fact, the protocol, because of that, means you can’t get the shot until 24 hours after chemo ends. Give the chemo a chance to hit its target.

So I had two choices: come back in today and get the shot, or go with the “onpro.” Onpro of course! This will be my new Day 8 protocol, since Day 15 is no treatment. It’s a bit of overkill this week, since I just finished 5 shots of xarzio for the same problem and my WBC was great yesterday. Immunity restored! But this will get me on track for the next two cycles.

Modern medical technology is incredible. So the nurse sets a timer on the onpro capsule, 27 hours, and she tapes it to my skin. A green light starts blinking. She says in a few minutes it will start beeping or clicking or both, and then the needle will go in.

I say, “Like a mousetrap?”

She frowns. “No! Not like a mousetrap! It will just startle you.”

Then it starts beeping. And suddenly, “Snap!” Injection! I jump and squeal. Yeah, that was startling all right!

The beeping stops and from then on it will just keep blinking green every 5-10 seconds. If it turns red, it’s come unattached and I have to come back. No showering. Watch it doesn’t come out when you sleep. Unlike the ad, it is on my belly, not my arm. My belly blinks green through my pajama top and I lie in bed and watch it. I start singing my own version of the great They Might Be Giants Song, “Birdhouse in your soul.” It’s so apt! “I am not your only friend, but I am just a little glowing friend, but really I’m not actually your friend…” and “who watches over you? make a little mousetrap on your belly!”

The surreal, Cancerland part, is that although we’ve never had a mouse in my upstairs bedroom, two nights before treatment I was awakened to scratching on the backpack by my bed. I picked it up and a little black– looked like a baby mouse– ran out and away. I was pretty freaked out and left the light on. Started thinking about mouse nests in the closet. It crawled around the baseboards scratching and squeaking and eventually got quiet.

The next night we set a trap and I watched television downstairs waiting for it to go off. about 9:30 there was squealing for a minute and then quiet. I came up and sure enough, it was dead. Put it in the trashcan for morning disposal, when we saw that it was not a mouse but a baby MOLE! A blind, snouted, never-seen-in-the-house-before mole! This was the depth of the Polar Vortex, so not surprisingly there have been more critters than usual. Mostly mice in the kitchen and basement. But yuck. A mole.

So maybe I was more than unusually prepared to have a little mousetrap placed on my belly.

In two hours, there will be more beeping, and then over 45 minutes the Neulasta will go into my system. Once it turns off, I can peel it off and throw it away in a container, even though it is medical waste. This morning I went for a walk at the gym and lifted some light weights, still riding on yesterday’s steroid. My face is burning from the chemo, I am decidedly less strong than I was three weeks ago, and I’ll be putting those chicken thighs in the oven to tide me through the down days of the weekend. Free of my mouse trap, I’ll crawl along until I finally settle down.