Giving It My Breast Shot: Chemotherapy or Forced Rehab???

The past two Saturday nights I have partied hearty and probably drank more crantinis than would be prescribed by my oncologist. All that partying has come to a dramatic halt as the nurse, today, told me that it may not make me feel very good to drink alcohol during my chemo treatments. I may challenge her on that at some point and give into the occasional cocktail. As I've said before, I can't think of a better time to drink than being on chemotherapy!

Today was my first chemotherapy treatment. I actually slept pretty well last night. I guess I wasn't as terrified about this as I was for the surgeries. I walked in with the attitude that this will be one down, five to go, but as TeeTee and I got closer to my "pod" (the place where they keep the pod people) my heart started to race and the dread of reality set in. We were introduced to Nurse Lisa, who sat me in the appropriate chair and was ready to hook me up through my chest port to receive all the toxic liquids. I held TeeTee's hand and burst into tears as Lisa gently jabbed (can you really "gently" jab??) the needle into my port. I don't think it was so much the pain of the needle going in as the utter fear of the knowledge that this necessary poison was going to start pumping into the vein that leads to my right ventricle. I know this is necessary to save my life, and it better work, because I'm not going through all of this for negative results. Nurse Lisa was then very thorough in explaining all the medications' side effects, including her personal guarantee that I will lose the hair on my head on the 14th day. After being completely overwhelmed by too much information, it was time to get started. Nurse Lisa then gave me my anti-nausea medication and offered me a drink to wash them down. We all had a good laugh, as my first request was for a crantini or a glass of shiraz. I settled for water.

Nurse Lisa then hung my bright red Kool-aid-coloured drip and I held her hand while we all watched it course through what seemed like miles of intravenous tubing until it went right into my chest. The moment the liquid hit my chest made me feel completely vulnerable and rather violated, something I wasn't ready for. At that moment I should have been holding TeeTee's hand, but she was too busy videotaping and photographing this incredibly personal moment. Truth be told, I requested her to document every step of this day, so she's not "really" being too negligent in her comforting duties. I was also told I could expect to pee orange or red, so not to freak out when that happens. After 10 or 15 minutes, the red bag was drained and the next bag of drugs were hung. This one only took six minutes to course through my system, and then the final bag was pumped by a machine into my body for 45 minutes. The final step today was to flush my port with a saline solution to cleanse my port for next time, then I was done.

On our way out I had to pee and, sure enough, it was bright orange, as promised. I stopped just short of photographing the toilet bowl for my blog. While some things don't need to be seen, others apparently must be heard, as I find myself full of gas and farting with every step I take. It reminds me of a motorboat in action. This apparently nauseates TeeTee, so she may have to borrow some of my medication to cope.

So now I've been home for a few hours, feeling sort of "strange". I'm not sure if that's as a result of the stress and adrenalin of today or if it's the side effects I was informed about. After realizing it was late in the day and I hadn't eaten since breakfast, I had some toast and experienced a wave of nausea, so decided to give in and take my "bonus" anti-nausea pill and have basically been laying on the couch, allowing TeeTee to be my personal nurse for the afternoon. She has also been acting as my secretary, reading me emails, fielding my calls, and even typing this blog through dictation. I think the rest of my day will be spent laying around, feeling somewhat sorry for myself, but strong in the knowledge that there are a lot of you out there cheering me on and pulling for me. I'm once again very grateful not to walk this path alone. Now, if I could only figure out a way that you could take my chemotherapy for me, that would really make me feel a lot better. I'm not sure how often I'll be blogging over the next little bit, but will do my best to keep you all updated on my progress. Keep your positive thoughts flowing. Next time you see pictures of me I may be bald with a handlebar moustache, waxed lovingly on the tips into a perfect curl. Oh, did I forget to mention that it seems unwanted hair growth is a possible side effect from one of the many medications? Talk about adding insult to injury.

Till next time…