{treatment room chronicles, episode 1}

I had planned to sit and type this during my treatment.  A first hand account of what was going on around me, the process, etc. However, one of my six bags of IV drugs had a nice relaxing drug in it that made it near impossible for me to type a sentence in a timely fashion.  So, I had enough common sense to put my computer away to ward off frustration of sloppy fingers and the possibility of typing and posting something inappropriate and entertaining. :-)

November 20th was my first treatment. I was asked if I was nervous.  I wasn’t nervous or anxious.  I was just ready to get this part of the Cancer 2.0 task underway. Let’s just get on with this! I was tired of waiting.  My arrival time was scheduled for 8:15, which ended up being too early.  The beginning of each of my treatments begins with a blood draw to test white blood cell levels and liver function, and then a visit with my oncologist 45 minutes later after all the results come back.  I had my blood drawn the day before at my orientation appointment so my oncologist was able to see my results and sign the orders for my drugs of choice for the day before I even arrived.  She was able to visit with me earlier than planned and get me going on my long day, with time to spare before they started the first of the seven bags of saline and various drugs that would be slowly dripped into my bloodstream.  

So I had a seat in my large, cushy recliner of choice against the far wall. The treatment room has 14 recliners in it, each with it’s very own IV stand.  There are about ten chairs that are against the walls forming a horseshoe against three walls and the remainder of the chairs in a line in the middle of the room.  It’s good to have an early start time to get one of the ten chairs against the wall as they are “plugged in”.  Each chair has a sweet little button to control heat and massage for your chemo treatment comfort.  Sign me up! 

Before going into meet with my oncologist my assigned nurse, Lori, for the day put a big blob of Novocain on my port so it would be adequately numb for the insertion of the IV. My visit with my oncologist was pretty short, just a review of my bloodwork which came back in good form, and an overview of anti-nausea drugs that would be prescribed for me for the week following treatment.  I had a page full of appointments also scheduled out into January so I was sure to have my spot reserved in the treatment room which, sadly it turns out, is a very busy place, every day. After my appointment I found my way back to the treatment room and took my seat against the far wall, kind of close to the corner, not totally secluded, but not out in the open.  Now for the hooking up of my port, not what we expected and left us a bit shocked and giggly. Anything that leaves you giggly in the treatment room is a little moment to hang onto.  So the Novocain was wiped off and the nurse grabs a little can of a cryo/freezing spray and sprayed it on my hand so I know what it feels like, and then proceeds to spray the port site to make sure it is adequately numb so I don’t feel anything.  This is much appreciated because though I am pretty tolerant of pain and discomfort, I find that tolerance is waning as I endure more procedures, surgeries and uncomfortable medical ick.  I’m simply tired of it and tired of being tough, so if there is a numbing cream or spray available to make something not hurt, sign me up. Back to accessing my port, if you’ve ever had an IV you know that it is a relatively slow and gentle process to carefully insert it in to a vein without having to be stuck numerous times. Though I wasn't stuck more than once, it wasn’t quite the gentle process of inserting an IV.  Once numbed my nurse let me know she was now going to access the port, told me to take a deep breath and exhale, and then she gives me a forceful thump to my chest that pushed me back in my seat and WA-LA, port accessed.  WTH? The nurse then says, “It is probably better if you are sitting back against the seat.” I looked up at Tony with big shocked eyes and then we both stifled a laugh at the hilarity of the not so gentle nature of accessing a port.

Now, there was nothing left to do except sit back, relax, and wait the day out one drip at a time. I wanted to make a point to take in the people around me, visit, and say hello to people.  The first person I noticed was a lady about six cushy recliners down from me.  She walked in with her mom, smiling like there was no tomorrow and so cheery.  As it turns out she should be, it was her last treatment!  However, I got the sense that this was just her personality. My guess is she brightens up a room and is a truly kind and genuine person.  Shortly after she sat down a lady walked in carrying a pink balloon bouquet and surprised her resulting in a squeal and tears, followed by, “I didn’t know you were coming!” It was her cousin that came to celebrate her big day and to deliver a huge cake for everybody to enjoy for the day (which I passed on, because sugar feeds cancer cells and it seemed kind of counter productive to feed the cells that the drugs were trying to kill. Just my opinion. Very cool celebration cake, though, and boy did it look tasty!  Chocolate, 'nuf said.).  My hubby walked over to congratulate her and she showed him a memory book that her 21 cousins put together for her.  They each bought her a gift and each treatment she had a collection of gifts to enjoy. She was just giddy and so excited to share.  It was fun to watch her throughout the morning.  She was a positive glow in the room.

To my left we started chatting with a gal, MJ, that was there keeping her husband company.  He looked like he was a quiet, hard working man, but chemo had left him pretty wore down, physically and emotionally, as expected. It made me sad. She said he had esophageal cancer.  I immediately felt sick to my stomach, my uncle passed away from esophageal cancer six years ago.  I hoped that he had a brighter future ahead of him.  Before I left for the day MJ came over and said, “If you ever need anything while your husband is gone just let me know.”  I had been there for a little over an hour and already the common link of cancer started to bring people together.  Only these people that are directly affected by this disease can truly understand what you are going through, how scary it is, how it affects every moment of your life even if you don’t want it to or realize it, and how you need people surrounding you for support, even if that person is someone you just met.

To my immediate right was another man that was “enjoying” his last treatment for an aggressive bout of cancer in his lymph nodes. I found it a little sad that he was there alone, with nobody to celebrate his last day with him.  He also seemed like a hard working man, but was totally beat down by his treatments.  He said he was hit hard for two weeks following each treatment, his treatments were every three weeks like mine.  He was not a patient man. He said his first treatment he asked over and over why he couldn’t just have his treatments every week and get them over with, his nurse simply replied, “Because it would kill you.” Um, okay.  So now at his last appointment, he kept asking if they couldn’t drip it faster so he could just be done.  His nurse just smiled and went about her business.  I think they were used to his impatience.  He was enjoyable to talk to. As a seasoned chemo patient to the newbie he shared things he had learned along the way that were helpful to him, asked if the nurses had told me this or that, told me to keep exercising if I could, etc.  He asked me if I had a supportive husband and I spewed amazing, glorious words about my rock and biggest cheerleader. :-) When my hubby came back to check on me, this neighbor to my left told Tony what an admirable man he was and that he thought he was a great man for giving me so much support. Very kind words from a stranger.  Sadly when I left for the day he was sound asleep so I couldn't tell him it was nice to meet him and to congratulate him on his last day.  I asked the nurse to tell him, I hope she did.

Now, my day. Once my port was accessed and my magical start time arrived my nurse started the first of seven bags that would be my treatment routine, saline.  This was for extra hydration.  One of the two chemo drugs I would receive, Cytoxan, can cause bladder irritation (one of many side effects, more on that later) so they routinely focus on extra hydration to help eliminate or lessen this side effect.  After this I received six bags of drugs:

1. A steroid - To help with nausea, allergic reactions (I think), and fluid retention from the chemo drugs.
2. Benedryl - Precautionary in case I had an allergic reaction to the chemo drugs
3. Zofran - An anti-nausea drug
4. Ativan - for a little relaxation and to help with nausea
5. Taxotere - interferes with growth and spread of cancer cells, halts cell division
6. Cytoxan - prevents cells from dividing

I guess that is what you would call my Chemo Cocktail.  Cocktail being the key word because the days that followed chemo felt something like a really bad hangover that wouldn’t go away.

I was in the treatment room for seven hours, but they actually went by quickly.  I think the Ativan had a little something to do with it, but even better than drugs that make you feel good are friends and family.  I had a steady flow of wonderful visitors throughout my day, my favorite being my hubby and my daughter, A.  A is having a hard time seeing her momma going through cancer again, especially the chemo. It breaks my heart.  She said before it was easy to deny I had cancer again, but chemo makes it very obvious.  So, even though it was hard for her she took a short lunch and skipped her study hall to come sit with me and do her homework.  It made my day to have her there and I hope she joins me again next week.  I only had to spend about my last 45-60 minutes by myself and I didn’t mind it.  I rarely get a chance to sit, relax and enjoy some quiet so I might as well make the most of my time in my huge, cushy, heated, massaging recliner.  

All in all, the day went very well.  I didn’t know what to expect from it.  I didn’t have high or low expectations, I just didn't know what to expect.  Day one of a long journey in the books.  My hubby came up after I sent him a text telling him I was being unhooked from my port (which was almost as entertaining as the IV being inserted.  The nurse took hold of it, told me to take a deep breath, and pulled it out with just slightly more TLC than when she hooked me up) and gathered me up to take me home. A good day as far as a chemo treatment goes, and just to let the universe know it didn’t get the best of me I didn’t just go home and sit.  Tony and I went out to a local brewery to listen to a very good friend of ours sing her lovely tunes.  She even played my favorite song for me. :-)

Cancer-0 Trina-1