On Friday December 27th, two days after celebrating Christmas, I walked in to Dr. Banerjee's office for my first dose of chemotherapy. This time it was my mom and I...and the morning started off pretty rocky. As I mentioned, we moved in to our beautiful new house on December 21st (4 days before Christmas and 6 days before chemo). The move actually went great and we were fairly settled in and comfortable in our home by this time, but there was one small issue that, by the time "chemo day" rolled around had become the bane of my existence. That issue was trying to get our phone/cable/internet installed. Long story short, we had 4 separate technicians from AT&T out to the house on various days, all whom were unsuccessful in getting us service, and I spent the early morning hours of "chemo day" on hold to AT&T yet again, listening to the annoying music and pre-recordings tellling me that my problems could be solved by going to the AT&T website (seriously?) and touting how wonderful U-Verse is and all of that bull-oney. I was hoping to get someone who actually knew what they were doing out to our house so that while I was getting chemo, Josh could be home facilitating these projects that had to get done. We had gone 6 days with no connection to the outside world, and were beginning to go a bit batty (even batty-er than before.)
So, on Chemo Morning, I was frustrated with the AT&T situation, but really it was so much more than that. I was absolutely terrified about beginning chemotherapy. On one hand I was nervous about starting the ball rolling on all of the side effects that they tell you about...nausea, mouth sores, constipation or diarrhea, loss of appetite, loss of taste...just to name a few. Oh, and of course, the hair loss. To be honest, I really wasn't all that worried about the physical side effects (minus the hair loss). At this point in my recovery, I have come to see myself as a fairly strong individual. I've handled 2 cesarean sections fairly well, a double mastectomy that really didn't seem to be the big scary deal that I was expecting it to be (thanks to the proper narcotic pain meds)...and it always seems that what is horrible for a lot of patients just doesn't seem to be so bad for me. Call it a high tolerance to pain, or chock it up to the fact that I am young and in good shape, but I knew that my body could make it through the rigors of chemotherapy. However, the reason why I couldn't seem to stop myself from crying on "Chemo Morning" was that I didn't know if I was mentally prepared for the road ahead. I saw "Chemo Morning" as my last day to feel normal...the last day that I would not be a "sick person" going through CHEMOTHERAPY and all that implies. Honestly, after my diagnosis and even after my surgery, I was scared for sure, but I never felt that I was "sick." I was recovering, I had stitches and scars, but I wasn't sick. I felt well...people told me that I looked well. I feared that "Chemo Morning" was going to be the end of all of that...the end of being just NORMAL Lindsay. After Chemo started, I would become the bald "cancer patient"...and even after chemo is over, I will still be the bald "cancer patient" that has to go to radiation every day...and then that brings a whole new slew of issues...so really, the fear on "Chemo Morning" was a lot more than just getting these medications in my arm...it was about losing my ability to pretend that I was normal...to blend in as someone that no one would guess had just been diagnosed with breast cancer 2 months before, someone who just had a mastectomy 1.5 months before. Chemo was going to blow my cover.
So, I cried getting ready in the morning, I cried on the ride to the doctor's office, I cried walking in to the doctor's office...and then, I tried to pull it together. The room was absolutely full of other patients receiving chemotherapy and other treatments. Most people were already hooked up to their IV's, looking relaxed in their chairs...on their computers, napping, reading a magazine, talking with a friend. If these folks could handle this, then I definitely should not be crying anymore.
The "Room" is a lounge on the right side of the doctors' office with sunny windows and paintings of palm trees silhouetted against burning orange and red sunsets. There are about 8 cushy leather recliners for patients to sit in while getting treatment, and snacks on a counter at one end of the room...couldn't help myself but the Doritos caught my eye. Definitely NOT on the Anti-Cancer Diet. Resist. It seemed apparent that the "room" was designed to be relaxing and comfortable to hide what it actually was...the scariest room imaginable. Sorry, Oncology and Hematology Specialists, but your palm tree prints from Bed Bath and Beyond did not fool me.
I was seated in one of the cushy recliners, while my mom was offered a tiny little folding chair to sit on. Immediately, I focused on figuring out which recliner was going to free up so that she could sit in one as well. But, first things first...they had to get some blood from me before we could get started. I have "beautiful veins", I am told by just about every phlebotomist and nurse that I encounter, so it's never really scary to get bloodwork, or an IV...but today, was a different story. The chemo nurse with 20 years of experience could barely get one vial of blood out of my vein...she was massaging it and rubbing it, but it was not putting out what she needed. She was afraid that the vein had infiltrated...so she tried another spot on my arm.
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The second site blew up like a balloon and it was clear that she had gone through that vein as well. She gave me a break and put a heating pad on my arm...called over one of her colleagues. After about 30 minutes of waiting, Brandi came over and assured me that she would get me on the first stick. Two sticks and two blown veins later, and I couldn't handle it anymore. The crying came back. I couldn't help it! What the heck...I'm here for chemotherapy, which I would rather gouge my eyes out with plastic spoons than get, but I'm here...I'm ready...it's been over an hour and they still can't even get my blood? It was just too much for me...I couldn't choke back the pain and frustration anymore...so I just cried. The nurses and my mom tried to console me...telling me that this shouldn't happen to anyone, let alone on their first time, two days after Christmas no less.
She tries again. It's a bloody mess. Finally she gets an IV in the underside of my arm, right where it bends at the elbow...but the IV is in and she gets her final two vials of blood. Now I'm supposed to wait again while they get their stuff ready for me...
Every nurse keeps coming by to check the IV. No one (including my Mom- a former RN) can believe that she actually got a good IV, but it seems to be working. They finally hook me up to a bag of saline and anti-nausea and steroid medication. This will get my body prepped for the chemo drugs that they will administer later. The steroids help to deter any sort of allergic reactions to the drugs, which is a rare occurence, but still one that they account for.
So, we sit, and I finally get on to WIFI to check the weeks worth of emails that I've missed...I pay bills, order things for the new house...check Facebook. So far, having a bit of undisturbed alone time isn't so bad.
After about an hour and a half, they are finally ready to start me on the first chemo drug: Taxotere (this is the one I've been dreading, because it's the one that means I will lose my hair)...but my mom and husband keep reminding me, that is just because the medicine works, and with each hair follicle that is killed...so is any remaining cancer cell in my body. I know this is true...I know this is good. But I still hate Taxotere and don't want to lose my hair. I think I'm allowed to protest in spite of its necessity. :) As the nurse starts my drip she reminds me to let her know if I'm feeling different in any way...if I feel hot, a tickle in the back of my throat, anything.
After about 10 minutes of chatting, my Mom and I have formulated a plan for lunch...I'll start reading my Kindle while she goes to pick up some sandwiches from a restaurant near by. I've texted her my order, and she's set to go. She just starts to stand up to leave when,
"Wait Mom, my throat does feel a little funny."
Before she even gets the nearby nurse to turn around I feel that my throat is being strangled. Not the choking hands that I've had on my neck during times of panic and anxiety, but literally the strangling of my throat closing and my head going hot and then PRESSURE. My head is going to explode. It all happens in about 5 seconds. My mom runs back over....
"Lindsay are you ok? You're all flushed!" (She told me later that my face looked beet red.)
I can't respond...I can only grunt "uh-uh." She tells me to breathe, take deep breaths...which I do. I can breathe, but it feels like I can't...
By now, both nurses and the nurse practitioner are hovering over my little recliner. One of them stops the drip of the taxotere, the other is putting a blood pressure cuff on my one good arm (the arm that has had 4 needle pokes and 5th resulting in an IV)...and the cuff begins to squeeze. The veins that have just been mutliated throb with every squeeze of the cuff, and I'm afraid that my "good IV" is just going to pop right out. My blood pressure is low, 80/60.
Susan, the nurse practitioner, explains to me that I have had an allergic reaction to the taxototere, after only receiving it for about 10 minutes. While these reactions are uncommon, they only occur in about 2-10% of people, they are prepared with how to deal with it. My fear then speaks up, "Does this mean that I can't get the taxotere?" I'm surprised that I now know that I want to get this horrible drug, because this drug is my only shot at making sure that we kill any and all of this crazy cancer that may or may not be lurking around in my body.
"Oh, you'll get the taxotere, sweetie. One way or another, you're going to get it. We're gonna give you some benadryl, and some more steroids...the steroids will help with the allergic reaction. And when we get all of those into you, then we will start it again, and just watch you really closely...we'll have to slow the drip way down...so this is going to take a while longer. And even though the benadryl is going to make you feel very woozy and sleepy, you're not going to like me, because all of these steroids are going to make you very awake...you may need some help getting to sleep tonight."
Oy. Well, that was interesting. I stop to get up to the bathroom before we get started again...I am very woozy from the benadryl, but at least my head seems to have deflated and I can breathe again...I think we were on about hour 3 at this point, with a long road yet ahead. My mom reminds me that "of course this would happen to you...nothing about this experience is going to be "normal" to you!" Better to have gotten this out of the way on your first day, and now they are going to know just how to handle you from this point on. I sure hope so.
The minutes tick by, and the benadryl has made it so that I can't keep my eyes open, yet the steroids have my mind wide awake. So, I lay my head back just listening to the sounds of the "Chemo Lounge" and its banter, IV's beeping, nurses talking. It's all actually quite entertaining...but next time, maybe I'll bring some ear plugs.
The nurse lets me know that she's starting the Taxotere again...but very slowly. Again, tell her if I start to feel anything at all. Oh, I definitely will! But no, nothing comes...apparently once your body reacts to the drug once, it then becomes familiar with it and usually doesn't react a second time. Thankfully, that's how it went for me, and after about 3 hours...I finished the taxotere.
Next came Cytoxin, which doens't have any of the same concerns regarding allergic reactions, so we were pretty relaxed at this point. Not to mention the fact that the totally full chemo room had cleared out to just my mom and I and maybe two other people...an hour later and it was just us. The office was closing and the chemo nurses were sticking around just for me.
Finally, at the 9th hour...yes literally 9 hours later, I finished the bag of Cytoxin and the nurse told me I was free to go home and rest. They reminded me that the steroids would have me feeling pretty well for the first two days post-chemo, but to beware, because if I over did it, the feeling of fatigue and nausea could hit pretty hard on day 3 or 4.
So that was it...that was my first round of chemo--down. Now to wait 21 days before the next treatment...and so on for 5 more cycles...
After leaving and heading home, I can't even remember what I did. I know I hugged the girls, and I hugged Josh...so happy to be back with them and out of that office. But, if you could believe it...AT&T still couldn't set up our service. We would now have to wait an additional week for Time Warner Cable to come out and solve all of our problems...the most pressing issue being...
"Seriously though...when can I watch The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Vanderpump Rules? If I have to do this chemo stuff, I need my shows."
**This wasn't a fun or funny post...sorry guys. It wasn't a fun day. But I thank you all for your prayers and hopefully ask for you to keep them coming. I'll write another post tomorrow about what it's been like after chemo, and how I'm feeling, but for now, I'm feeling tired...just wanted to get this much out there tonight...More tomorrow. xo, L.
Lindsay, all I can say is, you are one tough cookie with blonde hair (for now) and know that a bunch of us here in Washington are praying for you daily!
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