Previous Experience

Yesterday, I had my very first chemo treatment. Prior to that, we met with the physician who gave me great news that my abdomen and pelvis are clear of any metastatic disease and that my brain also remains clear. AND the affected node in my chest is actually smaller than the original scan. It's a little scary knowing you have an aggressively growing cancer and in the weeks that follow surgery, it is important to focus on the tissue healing aspect of that surgery. Once chemotherapy is initiated all healing of tissues stops. Chemotherapy breaks down rapidly dividing cells which are also cells required for healing damaged tissue. That is why it is imperative that you are as healthy as possible (except for the Cancer part) prior to starting chemo. We got the message yesterday that yes, I was healthy enough to begin chemo which strangely enough, brought both anxiety (related to chemo) and relief that my cancer would no longer have an opportunity to proliferate.
Changing hats from Oncology nurse to Oncology patient is an interesting dynamic. The nurses treat you as one of their own and yet the experience is dramatically different from the other side of the chair. I had a nurse yesterday, Jennifer, who was young and sweet and caring but also efficient and brilliant. I liked her. She was visibly nervous about having a nurse as a patient. We all are. Nurses are the best (and the worst) at watching your every move. Every self-respecting nurse asks herself, what if it was me? What would I want to see my nurse doing? Washing hands, not taking shortcuts, taking time to explain things, advocate for my patient and what she might need. Jennifer did a nice job.
Then came the chemo.....I get a medication called Adriamycin. It's a vile, thick, red liquid that they inject directly. Having been an oncology nurse, I asked my surgeon to place a port in my chest wall during my mastectomy. A port is a device that sits directly below the skin and has a rubber stopper facing out, but it's under the skin. There is a catheter attached that goes into the cardiovascular system, specifically the sublcavian vein. The convenience of this is wonderful. The Oncology nurse gets a special needle and pokes right into the rubber stopper through the skin. No multiple IV starts and my veins don't get tracked out and damaged which is important for a girl who likes to go sleeveless in sunny California.
Anyway, Jennifer drove the Adriamycin into my port with ease. After that, I got Cytoxan over 2 hours. Soon after that, I was de-accessed and we were on our way home.
The multitude of new sensations were intriguing. Thankfully, I have lived a very full and colorful life of amazing experiences and I can find an association to what's going on with me that does not allow me to freak out. The first things I noticed were Brain fog. Who slipped me a Mickey? I don't know but it's time to leave the bar. So, I stood up to leave and suddenly, I'm walking sideways....
Did this scare me? Absolutely not, because I had been in this state all too many times before in Europe, in Park City and just leaving the Coloma club. Yep, I felt loaded. Marek looked a lot cuter and I was ten times braver than I was when I went in to the place. I even high-fived the first nurse at the door. Dude, I got this. I'm a pro at this. Ever had that experience when you are in a public place, trying to pull off being completely wasted, head spinning, eyes fogging, trying to find the door? What's your first thought? Please don't let me fall down and please don't let me hurl in front of this really cute guy. You think you are stealth and that no one else around you knows, but the funny thing is, everyone knows. The only bummer is that this drunken chemo state is not fun. It's the un-fun part of being drunk. It's the "oh crap, I drank too much and now I feel like hell" part. I am feeling a little robbed at this point that I didn't get to flirt and break out my dance moves first. However, it's a feeling I've had before and I am grateful to know that this too shall pass with rest, and possibly chocolate milk.
The drive home was uneventful. I didn't get worse and tried to engage in intelligent conversation with the cute guy I picked up at the chemo clinic. The fog in my head was clearing a bit and sitting was better than standing. By the time we hit Sacramento, I was ravenously hungry.
Because of the intense feelings of nausea, many chemo patients don't eat. They lose tons of weight and it's hard to get what little nutrition in to the body because the lining of the GI tract is being killed by chemo. It's super important for chemo patients to eat when they can. Frequent, small meals are generally advised and grazing throughout the day on nuts, fruits and vegetables is preferable.
Wondering when I would be this hungry again, I suggested we celebrate this momentous day and go for sushi. I soon discovered a new chemo staple: Miso Soup. It was sooooooo good. It was warm and salty and yummy. I could eat it all day. Then Marek and I chowed down 3 huge sushi rolls. They tasted like heaven. One of the other cautions with chemo is the tastebuds change. It's advised not to force yourself to eat foods you normally love because later you will no longer love them. However, today's sushi was by no means "forced". It slipped down quite easily.
When we got up to leave the restaurant, my sensation vacation changed to another well-known feeling. Complete and utter exhaustion. Not just tired after a workout, or a long day with the kids. Nope, exhaustion like you may have only felt once or twice before. Thankfully, I have.
11 years ago, before Marek andI had the kids, we went to Nepal and self-support trekked to Everest Base Camp. We climbed from Lukla at 9,000ft above sea level to Kala Pattar which peaks out at 18,390ft. We carried our own gear much to the dismay of the local culture although I think they were okay with it since there weren't any porters available with a multitude of mountain climbs going on at the time. So, carrying 45lbs, we trudged our way up up up. At about 15,000ft, I felt like I was trying to run through a giant vat of molasses. I could hardly put one foot in front of the other and my head felt like it was going to explode any minute. Sure, I was in the early stages of High Altitude sickness. I felt pukie and weak inside and decided that sleeping a little further down was probably a good idea. After a little climatization, we soldiered on to a town called Lobuje. It's more of a hovel really but they had a teahouse there that served potatoes and eggs. I remember feeling so undescribably exhausted here. Sleep was restless at best and recovery was difficult. At these altitudes your body does not heal as well and it's hard to get enough adequate nutrition that your body is screaming for. There isn't a vegetable for miles.... All we did was sit out on the porch for the entire day. We drank tea and ate potatoes and eggs. The idea of putting my hiking boots on was as daunting as climbing Everest itself. Every cell in my body was rebelling against me. I was exhausted.
Yesterday, I revisited this level of exhaustion. My whole world had slowed. All I wanted was to lay down and when I did, I couldn't sleep. I was restless and pukie, but not rattled. I was thankful. Thankful that Marek had won a sales contest that bought us two free tickets anywhere in the world. Thankful that both Marek and I chose Nepal instead of Florida or Hawaii, like the company anticipated. I am thankful that the husband who took me to Nepal was laying right next me and I could say to him, "Remember that night in Lobuje? How awful we felt?"
"(sigh) Yeah."
"It's like that."
"Oh. Bummer."