Frito Frenzy

Almost two years ago I went to a few therapy sessions.  My general practitioner wanted to be sure my health wasn’t suffering from some of the anxiety issues I had been facing.  I had yet to be diagnosed with M.S.  The therapist acknowledged that I had a very good understanding of anxiety concepts and principles (must have been that highly expensive Master’s degree) and more importantly of what caused my anxiety.  We instead focused on relaxation therapy to try to help reduce stress and to prevent me from tipping over the top of the mountain of panic the next time it was to arise.

He asked me to think of something that made me feel at ease; made me feel calm. I immediately thought of my black Lab Oboe.  When I’m with him I’m peaceful, I’m relaxed, and I feel safe.  “Great!” he said.  He then asked me to close my eyes, think of Oboe, and to see if I could imagine how he felt or how he smelled; could I conjure up those sensory images in my mind as if they were real?  I laughed and timidly told him that Oboe smells like Fritos.  Like the corn chips.  He doesn’t always smell that way, just occasionally, but enough that one of his many nicknames is ‘Frito Puppy’.  “Um, ok, let’s work with that then.  Oboe, the Frito Puppy.”  I was hoping the shrink had bumped into other patients that week who were much more nuts than me.

We practiced using the image of Oboe in my mind’s eye, combined with my conjuring up the smell of Fritos, and mixed it all together with deep breathing and progressions of muscle tightening and loosening.  It was interesting.  I wasn’t sure how helpful it would be in times of extremely anxiety though.  I just couldn’t picture myself walking along somewhere with my eyes closed and my nose pushed into a bag of corn chips while inhaling and exhaling.  I did understand the practice to be beneficial if I were to do regular relaxation techniques outside of scary anxiety situations.

During the inaugural meeting of the Ty-Ty Sisterhood last month, when we perused the menu of food options, both Brenda and I selected – of all things – bags of Fritos to go along with our beverages.  I didn’t really think of my previous therapy experience until yesterday, during Ty-Ty Gathering number two.  Everything was just a little ‘off’ yesterday at the infusion center.  First, the clerical nurse was on vacation and it was day seven of her non-clerical colleagues covering for her.  They were tired and frustrated.  A computer glitch modified our appointment times, so the nurses expected us more than 30 minutes later than when we arrived.  Then my Ty-Ty sister had a long and drawn out battle with a needle or two, as the IV nurse struggle to get Brenda’s line in safely and painlessly.  So, we were behind schedule before we even started.

When we arrived in our private “wing” of the center, we noticed that the all-important and exciting menu was missing from our table.  We didn’t push the issue though, recognizing the insignificance of a lack of menus when compared with all the Murphy’s Law moments going on around us.  One nurse was scrambling around looking for her saline drip.  The pharmacy was running behind with their delivery of my Tysabri.  (Interesting observation this time around – the nurses won’t call over to the hospital pharmacy to retrieve our IV bags until they see not only that we have arrived for treatment, but have also walked us through all the Touch Protocol questions.  Apparently they need to mix and dilute the drug and if they do it beforehand and one of us doesn’t show up or we fail the series of questions, they have to throw the meds away.  With what we now know about the cost of Ty, I certainly understand their reasoning, but it can sometimes take quite awhile for the drugs to arrive).

Within the first hour or so, two other patients (non-Tysabri users) had to be picked up by ambulances and taken across the street to the hospital.  One had respiratory complications and another had an issue that needed hospital admission for treatment.   With the nurses scurrying around, caring for patients, it would have been ridiculous to ask for a menu.  But, when one of the nurses asked if we wanted anything, I blurted out, “Fritos, please!”  “Me, too,” said Brenda.  Moments later we were contentedly munching on chips, drinking our sodas, watching a volume-less television, and fidgeting our way through two hours of treatment in our medical Lazy-Boys.  It was only then that I recalled that therapy session some time ago.  I didn’t share that little story with Brenda at the time though.  I didn’t want her asking one of the nurses to call the ambulance back for a third time with an express trip to the psych ward. 

The last time we were at the center, we were the only two Tysabri patients.  This time two others joined us.  One came in right after the two exoduses to the ER and the other just as I was wrapping up treatment.  More sisters?  At one point Brenda and I thought about sliding the one curtain open to engage with the first ‘other’ gal to arrive, perhaps offering her the opportunity to join the sisterhood, but we didn’t want to be intrusive or to scare the daylights out of her.  Instead we giggled about expanding our little sorority, musing about orientation rituals and rules.  There would certainly have to be some initiation into the clan, no?

We left both patients alone this time, but perhaps if they remain on the same 28-day schedule as the two of us, we’ll extend an opportunity to hop on the Ty-Train with the sisterhood.  Of course at minimum they will have to at least love Fritos!