Chemovember

Best blog title yet, right? I have to give credit to my husband for that one.

Last Thursday I had the first of 12 chemotherapy treatments. The treatment itself was bearable enough. The center was comfortable and the staff was very professional, kind, and accommodating.

Since this was my first treatment, I elected to be placed in a more isolated space. Maybe once I’m an ol’ pro at this, I’ll spend my time in the open area (called “Tiki Bar” at my center, adorable) where I can socialize with other cancer victims. But for now, I’m still getting used to being this person so I’ll take the room off to the side with the drawn curtains, please.

Grover is my co-pilot.

My nurse accessed the port in my chest where blood was to come out and toxins were to go in. Ouch—still tender from only just being placed and sewn under my skin last week. But he’s good at his job and the discomfort was minimal. In preparation for the release of a vicious chemotherapy assault into my system, the nurse drew blood to be sure my values were normal and strong enough to accept the attack, then started a saline drip into my vein for hydration. One should always be hydrated before entering battle.  

In an attempt to thwart my body’s heroic defense against the chemotherapy drugs, they administered 2 different anti-histamines. Blocking my natural guards (histamine) from protecting against foreign enemies (chemo), the anti-histamines are jesters (or seductive dancers—whichever scenario suits you) sent in to distract the sentries. When this sleepy brigade took over, I had no choice but to surrender into a 30 minute-or-so slumber.

In addition to the antihistamines, they gave me a steroid to prevent nausea and dull my body’s inflammatory response to the chemo drugs. This was good when it was in my system—helping to boost my energy (yet bad when it wore off two days later). Surely my body was wondering what all this preventative build-up was for. I imagine the little soldiers of my immune system realizing all the feel-good stuff must be in preparation for something bad, yelling, “wait…. a… minute…..” right before the tsunami hit. 

When they brought in the chemotherapy agents to be administered in my vein, you’d have thought they were handling nuclear waste. I couldn’t help but notice (and hate) how awfully wasteful this process was. Everything that touched the chemo drug bags were wrapped in extra plastic, and handled with gloved hands. Triple protection. Even the nurse was wearing a disposable gown over his clothes, just to carry the toxins in. Before you hit me with sharp reasons on the need for caution around chemotherapy drugs, I get it. Of course I understand the real necessity in protecting others from this toxin (which is about to be pumped into my veins—just a reminder of how scary this is). I just don’t think it needs to be this wasteful. I am sure that if we wanted to, we could come up with a more waste-less system that’s still as safe. 

This is posted in the treatment center's restrooms.

I was given 3 heavy-hitting chemo drugs. Although I was keenly aware of every drop entering my vein, waiting for some horrible feeling of ill to fall over me, it wasn’t too bad. Aside from minimal side effects of dizziness and weakness, I came out feeling pretty normal. One down, 11 to go.