I celebrated a milestone today that I never thought I would celebrate - my first chemotherapy treatment. I do think that "celebrate" is the right word to use here because today marked the first real step in a very important direction (though I don't mitigate the importance of everything leading up to this point). My goal is to get this cancer out of my body and to move on with my life, and chemotherapy is going to be a pretty big component (maybe the biggest) of achieving that goal.
I was nervous this morning, which is common for me when facing something new, and this is certainly all still very new. I was nervous, but I was also ready. I had been building up to this day for almost 3 weeks, and it was time to go. I gave Henry a million hugs and kisses, and we bid him and his babysitter farewell.
Once I arrived at the cancer center, we waited (waiting is going to be a very common theme here), I had blood drawn, the took my vitals, then we waited to see the doctor (more waiting). Dr. Keogh came in, gave me a great pep talk, measured the tumor (with a small tape measure...yeah), and sent me on my way to the infusion room. When I told the doctor that I was nervous, he said "I understand that, but I've got 70-year old women on the same treatment regimen as you. You can certainly do this." I like it. Not exactly tough love, but also showing me that others who may not be as physically strong as me have endured the same treatment. He was extremely positive and optimistic about the effectiveness of the treatment.
In the infusion room, we waited a little bit longer then the nurse came over to get things rolling. She was cleaning the skin over my port and asked "will this be the first time accessing your port?" Such personal questions. Yes, it was, and I was freaked out by it. I just had the thing put in last week, and it is still bruised and very tender. She sprayed it with some cold spray to numb it some, and in went the needle which was attached to various IV tubing for the different medicines I would be receiving. I didn't look, but I bet the needle was not terribly small. I felt some pressure when she put the needle in, but not pain necessarily.
The drip started off with some anti-nausea meds and a steroid for about 30 minutes. Mike and I both got our laptops set up, and I got out my notebook and pens (I like to have options), and we started to work. After the "pre-meds" were in, the nurse walked over with a giant syringe full of bright red liquid, commonly referred to as "the red devil" in the cancer biz. Bright red. She attached the syringe to a tube and started to slowly push that through my port over the course of 15 min or so. Wow. This was really and truly happening. For the grand finale, after all of the red medicine was in, I was given a drip of the last chemo. It was a small bag and took 30 min from start to finish.
When all was said and done, I was in the chair in the infusion room for about an hour and a half. Not too bad. I thought it was going to take much longer.
My mind raced when the chemo meds started, but I didn't really feel anything different. The red medicine was really cold so it gave me a little bit of a chill, but warm blankets and a jacket solved that problem. A lot of wonderfully caring people have asked me how I am doing today, and I am fine. Something feels different, but I can't pinpoint exactly what it is. I didn't feel badly during the day, just different. That could also be completely psychosomatic.
The side effects from the chemo will build over time as it gets into my system so I will take the "different" and enjoy it until something else comes along. I am tired and will be going to bed early tonight. Tired is understandable!
After chemo, we went to the grocery store, and I parked on the couch in front of a fire to finish the work day. I figured that I could allow myself to be warmer and more comfortable than I am in my home office.
I will also say that my support team came on particularly strong last night and today. Strong! Calls, texts, emails, Facebook posts, flowers, a video message, a "Treatment Tuesday" workout specifically dedicated to me. You name it, I got it. I know that I have said it before, but I will say it again (and probably again), my loved ones have absolutely no idea how meaningful that all is to me. I've cried more happy tears from being so overwhelmed with good emotions than sad during this whole process. I will never forget all of the support and love that I have received.
Bottom line - 1 chemo treatment in the books. 7 more to go. Next one will happen on March 10.
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