Chemo - Day One

Upon pulling in to the Providence cancer center parking garage, late of course, I immediately felt my nerves start to get the best of me. It’s really easy to put on a brave face, and speak positive words, but actually believing them is different. When faced with a diagnosis there are so many unknowns and fears and worries about the what if’s. I started to cry while checking in with the receptionist and gave my name and which doctor I was there to see in some sort of incomprehensible whisper sob. The receptionist commented “day one?” to which he confidently clarified that I am one day closer to being cured. He so warmly assured me that I am in the best medical hands and shared with me that his mother receives infusions for cancer in that same treatment room. I tried to look away but caught a glimpse of the infusion room through an open threshold just beyond his right shoulder. The tears persisted and were now giant crocodile tears, so weighted and full that they missed any chance to roll off my cheeks and fell directly from my eyes down to my toes. I was crying because yes, I was scared, but also because of the empathy from this man who I’d never met before. What I’ve learned so far is it doesn’t really matter what you say to someone faced with a hard fight, as long as it’s positive and provides love and strength, the person is going to feel it and maybe actually believe it. There’s nothing you can say to take away the disease but there is a lot you can say that will add to their fight. 

I was led to the treatment room and instantly taken by what a busy morning it was. The room looks like something straight from a movie, with about 40 reclining vinyl medical chairs all lined up, most of them already occupied by patients. Dozens of nurses and oncology staff, buzzing around hooking up drip bags full of the biohazards that will eventually cure us. 

I met Bryan, my nurse, who had so many qualities that reminded me of Jean-Luke. He was nurturing and funny and made the time go by a little quicker. He inserted an IV catheter in to my port which I had to look the opposite direction for. The poke of the needle was quick and only stung for the first few seconds... talk about poppin’ a cherry. No matter how often I’m around needles and blood, I will always be grossed out by it. This experience will definitely desensitize me a little, but just know a medical career is still not in my future. Bryan quickly drew blood from my port and sent it immediately off to be processed by the onsite lab. We were then led out of the treatment room, down the hall to meet with a doctor. My primary oncologist, Dr. Godwin, was on vacation so we met with one of his colleagues who I also liked. She basically just went over the four chemo drugs I’d be receiving and their side effects, which I’ve heard a hundred times by now. Nausea/vomiting, neuropathy (tingling of hands and feet), hair loss, heart palpations, respiratory toxicity, the list literally goes on and on. I recently read an uplifting thought that I try to apply to every aspect of life. When something goes wrong or you’re confronted with an experience that your mind processes as bad, adjust those bad thoughts and ask yourself, how is this good? With the seemingly endless list of negative side effects there is a shorter but way more powerful list of positive side effects: I will no longer have cancer. I may not have control over getting cancer, but I do have absolute control of how I will deal with it.

My blood work results instantly popped up on the doctors computer and she was able to check my blood numbers. All of my counts looked great which is one of the things that I struggle with the most. How can cancer be ravaging my body if my blood work, vitals and overall health are literally perfect, aside from choking on food and extreme fatigue. Okay so maybe not exactly perfect, but close! I often cry when my vitals are taken because I feel like I’m living some sort of mix up. 

Next we were led back to the treatment room where Bryan was waiting for us. The first couple IV drips were anti-nausea medication, followed with a steroid drip also good for nausea. I was also excited about the prospect of maybe some temporary swelling and swallowing relief. Not to mention relief from the extreme itchiness that’s made my body look like I’m a scabbed over meth head. Before and after each medication, my port line is flushed with some sort of cleaning solution. The first couple times I could smell the solution which smelled like some sort of chemical, similar to hand sanitizer but with a little more pungent metallic chemical smell. 

It was after receiving these two medications that I got up to use the bathroom. I saw myself in the mirror and told myself that it was the last time I would look in the mirror and see the face of a girl so scared about receiving her first round of chemo. I told myself I am strong and I will be ok. When I returned to my chair Bryan was suited up in his protective gear to administer the first drip of chemo. It was a 30 minute drip and uneventful. Throughout the day several Providence staff came to check on me. Social workers, survivor volunteers, pharmacists, other nurses, and patients who were further down their journey but nonetheless still in the chairs. Dr. Godwin made a surprise visit too, and joked with me that because I had chosen him as my treatment provider he came back from vacation early. I told him that I chose him because I felt comfortable and safe with him and that he was like a nurturing grandpa that I just want to hug. 

Around noon, Kaveh ran out to grab lunch. FYI: treatment room rookie mistake. Never bring teriyaki chicken into a treatment room. Although I’d never noticed it before, the smell of the teriyaki was so strong and I felt so aware of the poor smell sensitive patients all around us. Sandwiches next time 😉 

Next it was time for the A part of my ABVD chemo regimen. This was not a drip bag but rather a giant syringe filled with red jelly medicine, often referred to as the red devil due to its toxicity. Bryan used the term push instead of drip. He sat and slowly little by little pushed the entire tube of red goo into my veins. As I sat, I closed my eyes and visualized the medicine finding the cancer and shrinking it away forever. I silently repeated this powerful mantra: Thank you God. For this medication.  Let it go exactly where it's needed in exactly the right dose for my healing, and let anything that is not needed pass through without causing harm.

Me, telling my photographer to take a photo to which he stood for 2 seconds and pushed the button once and called it good. 

Me, proud of myself for being so brave and envisioning the red devil to actually be an angel. 

I was given one more push and one more drip of chemo, each port flush tasting worse than the last. Now instead of smelling the cleaning agent, I could taste it. Unpleasant but temporary. A fellow warrior suggested I suck on hard candy during the infusions for this very reason. I get it now. 

After about 6 hours in the clinic we were done and ready to go home. Upon standing from my chair the sweet and heavily doped elderly lady across from me congratulated me for making it through my first treatment and welcomed me to the club we never signed up to join. I certainly wouldn’t wish club membership on anyone but since we’re here, we minus well make the best of each day. 

There I was, a cancer patient emerging from the comfortable confines of the medical experts, loaded with five prescriptions to combat nausea and entering the reality that is set before me. 

We are about 24 hours out of treatment and I feel surprisingly good. I ate and slept well. Am feeling a little sluggish today and am able to just hang out in bed thanks to Kaveh and my mom. I know this treatment will cumulatively wear on my body but I feel strong today and that is what I am focused on. 

On Saturday I will have my head shaved. A big emotional hurdle for something seemingly so small.  Thank you for your support and all the encouraging words. It really does lift me up when I’m feeling low.

I text my mom from the treatment chair:

I TOTALLY GOT THIS!

Xo

J