Miracles and Wonders
Surviving chemo, Part I - The treatment
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
When I started writing my first essay about chemo (My first fun chemo day), I warned
you that I was going to honestly describe how bad it can be. It's not that I wanted to
scare anyone. I just thought having all the details might help someone else get through
it. So I wrote the first essay and when my husband read it he said "Honey that's great
... but you didn't say anything bad." Hmmm, he was right. I guess I just really didn't
want to scare anyone. So I wrote another essay about chemo (Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's off to
chemo I go), and when my husband read it he said "Uhhh ... I love it ... but ... it still
doesn't say anything bad about chemo." Dang, he was right again. Maybe it's me who
is too scared to think about chemo. Anyway, here is my third attempt at an honest and
open description of what chemo is really like ...
Without doubt, the hardest part of having cancer for me was going through the
treatments. I always had faith that I would be healed and Jesus was there for me
throughout, but still, having to face it was scary and both a physical and mental
challenge.
Having cancer is hard enough by itself partly because it’s always on your mind. Every
time I watched TV or read a magazine or newspaper, there it would be --- someone
was diagnosed with cancer on ER, or there was a new study in the news linking cancer
risks with yet another common food or activity, or even worse Entertainment Tonight
was reporting that some famous person, like Dana Reeve, had just died from cancer. It
was EVERYWHERE! Maybe I just didn’t pay attention to it before I was diagnosed,
but it got to the point that I would actually be surprised to make it through an hour
without being reminded of my cancer. I'm sure people who told me to try not to think
about it and occupy my mind with other things thought that they were being helpful,
but truthfully that was almost impossible. Yes, distractions helped, and keeping faith
helped, but it was always in the back of my mind.
Since I was so conscious of having cancer, I avoided running to the computer to read
up on my type of cancer. I figured the last thing I needed was more fuel for my active
mind. So when I went in for my chemotherapy I was both blissfully unaware of what
was going to happen and totally frightened of the unknown at the same time. All I
knew was what I had seen on TV or read about in the chemotherapy brochure. Maybe
brochure isn't the right word. That makes it sound like an advertisement for a cruise
line. It was more of a thick pamphlet filled with every possible side effect and how to
best deal with them. I still had no idea about what I had to face for the actual treatment
or which side effects I would have or how it would actually feel.
Going in for my first chemo, l expected to have an IV and get chemicals pumped into
my vein for an hour or and then go home, feel sick to my stomach, and lose some
weight and all my hair. That’s the picture you get from TV. In truth, it’s different for
every person and every cancer, and it’s a slow grueling process. Luckily for me, I
have a huge stubborn streak which, for once in my life, was a good thing because it
helped to have a strong enough will to get through.
For me, I did have my chemo administered through an IV. It's silly now that I know
better, but I actually thought some big, complicated machine would be pumping in the
chemicals. I was surprised that it was just a standard IV. The “machine” part was just
a simple IV pump to control the flow rate and a big battery to keep things going if I had
to unplug and go to the bathroom. But before you get to the chemo, first a nurse (or
maybe a phlebotomy technician) takes vitals and draws blood for some tests. They
need to know that your blood chemistry and blood counts are sufficiently normal to
endure a dose of chemo (the goal of chemo is to almost poison you to death, so they
have to be careful not to cross the line). Once I had my tests, I could take a seat in the
"chemo lounge" - a big room full of barcoloungers and IV stands- and wait thirty
minutes to an hour for the results to come back from the lab. Once the results came
back and I was clear for treatment, the nurse would choose an arm and search for a
vein to insert the IV needle. Some people have a portal installed to provide easy access
for blood tests and IVs, but I really didn't like the idea of having a semi-permanent
alteration of my body, and I thought it would make it impossible to ever feel "normal".
So I had to get a manual IV every time. Luckily, I’m not squeamish about needles or
blood, because when you have cancer, it seems like every third person you meet wants
to poke you with a needle. Some days I felt like a pin cushion. Even so, the poking of
the IV was never particularly painful for me, but it was difficult and sometimes painful
having the needle in my hand or arm for so many hours. It was hard to move or even
to turn the page of a magazine without it grabbing at your skin and feeling like being
pinched. Let's just say it was ... uncomfortable.
It was also boring. Each treatment dragged on for hours. I expected each treatment
would take only an hour or maybe two, but sometimes I would be there for up to 7
hours or more. First there was the blood tests, then they would start the IV and run in
some saline while we waited for the pharmacy to send up the drugs, then I have two
separate pre-meds to help be tolerate the primary drugs, then the two primary drugs,
and then more saline to flush out my veins. If everything went perfectly I could finish
in a little over five hours, but things rarely went perfectly. I learned early on that I could
shave off thirty minutes to an hour if I had blood drawn on the Friday before my
Monday morning chemo appointment, because that would let the test results be in the
computer by the time I arrived. The downside to that is that it gives you three fewer
days for your blood counts to return to normal, so there's a good chance that you'll fail
the blood test and just have to have it redone on Monday after all.
Once the IV was in and a little saline had been run in, the first of my four plastic bags
full of clear liquid arrived. It was amusing actually to see the array of colors and sizes
of the bags for all the other chemo patients. I swear one lady got a glass bottle that
looked like beer - it was a nice golden yellow and as it ran out of the bottle air bubbles
floated up and made a nice foamy head. I never did find out what that was, and until
then I had no idea that there were different kinds of chemo. In retrospect its obvious
but I'd just never thought about it before. Anyway, my first two bags were pre-meds.
One was a combination of pepsid for nausea and an anti-histamine, and the second was
decadron, a steroid, to help reduce the joint pains. The pre-meds took about an hour to
run in and they each had some immediate side effects. One of them caused anxiety and
nervousness while another caused drowsiness. Not the best combination. I was sleepy
and jittery at the same time. I would squirm in my chair trying to find a comfortable
position that would let me sleep. One time I actually fell asleep while continuing to toss
and turn, so my husband mistakenly thought something was wrong and put a hand on
me and asked what was the matter. With the touch of his hand I jerked awake and he
realized I had been sleeping. I found in later treatments that standing up and doing
some light stretching would help with the jitters so that I could more readily take a nap.
Unfortunately, if I stood for two long or held my arm in the wrong position, it would
affect to pressure in the IV line and blood would start backing up the tube instead of
chemicals flowing in. That's a little scary the first time it happens, luckily Chuck knew
what was happening and had me sit down and everything started flowing the right way
again.
Each small bag took about half an hour, then it was time for my the real drugs. For my
ovarian cancer I was on combination chemotherapy which meant 2 chemicals. The
first was Taxol which was a large bag and took 3 to 4 hours, followed by smaller bag
of Carboplaten which took another half hour, and that was followed by another 20
minutes of saline. It was roughly 2 liters of saline and chemicals that I received every
3 weeks. To this day I can't even look at a two liter bottle of soda - the thought of that
much liquid flowing through the IV just grosses me out.
In other words, just getting the chemicals into me took nearly a whole day, so to find
the boredom I brought piles of magazines, newspapers and other light reading. I found
that I didn't really have enough concentration for novels or anything serious. Fighting
boredom was a big part of the ordeal. The chemo chairs were comfortable enough,
and if you were scheduled early enough you might be one of the lucky few who got
one of the stations that included a little TV mounted overhead. But even then I found
that watching TV and reading didn’t really distract me from the reason I was there. I
found myself unable to concentrate on much and spent a lot of time just observing my
fellow chemo companions. Wondering things like: "Is that her real hair?" or "what is
that red liquid for?" It was interesting the variety of people and treatments. Young and
old, black and white, and all sorts of IV bags. Some people finished in 45 minutes,
others took hours, and unfortunately I was always one of the last to leave.
Continue to Page 2
you that I was going to honestly describe how bad it can be. It's not that I wanted to
scare anyone. I just thought having all the details might help someone else get through
it. So I wrote the first essay and when my husband read it he said "Honey that's great
... but you didn't say anything bad." Hmmm, he was right. I guess I just really didn't
want to scare anyone. So I wrote another essay about chemo (Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's off to
chemo I go), and when my husband read it he said "Uhhh ... I love it ... but ... it still
doesn't say anything bad about chemo." Dang, he was right again. Maybe it's me who
is too scared to think about chemo. Anyway, here is my third attempt at an honest and
open description of what chemo is really like ...
Without doubt, the hardest part of having cancer for me was going through the
treatments. I always had faith that I would be healed and Jesus was there for me
throughout, but still, having to face it was scary and both a physical and mental
challenge.
Having cancer is hard enough by itself partly because it’s always on your mind. Every
time I watched TV or read a magazine or newspaper, there it would be --- someone
was diagnosed with cancer on ER, or there was a new study in the news linking cancer
risks with yet another common food or activity, or even worse Entertainment Tonight
was reporting that some famous person, like Dana Reeve, had just died from cancer. It
was EVERYWHERE! Maybe I just didn’t pay attention to it before I was diagnosed,
but it got to the point that I would actually be surprised to make it through an hour
without being reminded of my cancer. I'm sure people who told me to try not to think
about it and occupy my mind with other things thought that they were being helpful,
but truthfully that was almost impossible. Yes, distractions helped, and keeping faith
helped, but it was always in the back of my mind.
Since I was so conscious of having cancer, I avoided running to the computer to read
up on my type of cancer. I figured the last thing I needed was more fuel for my active
mind. So when I went in for my chemotherapy I was both blissfully unaware of what
was going to happen and totally frightened of the unknown at the same time. All I
knew was what I had seen on TV or read about in the chemotherapy brochure. Maybe
brochure isn't the right word. That makes it sound like an advertisement for a cruise
line. It was more of a thick pamphlet filled with every possible side effect and how to
best deal with them. I still had no idea about what I had to face for the actual treatment
or which side effects I would have or how it would actually feel.
Going in for my first chemo, l expected to have an IV and get chemicals pumped into
my vein for an hour or and then go home, feel sick to my stomach, and lose some
weight and all my hair. That’s the picture you get from TV. In truth, it’s different for
every person and every cancer, and it’s a slow grueling process. Luckily for me, I
have a huge stubborn streak which, for once in my life, was a good thing because it
helped to have a strong enough will to get through.
For me, I did have my chemo administered through an IV. It's silly now that I know
better, but I actually thought some big, complicated machine would be pumping in the
chemicals. I was surprised that it was just a standard IV. The “machine” part was just
a simple IV pump to control the flow rate and a big battery to keep things going if I had
to unplug and go to the bathroom. But before you get to the chemo, first a nurse (or
maybe a phlebotomy technician) takes vitals and draws blood for some tests. They
need to know that your blood chemistry and blood counts are sufficiently normal to
endure a dose of chemo (the goal of chemo is to almost poison you to death, so they
have to be careful not to cross the line). Once I had my tests, I could take a seat in the
"chemo lounge" - a big room full of barcoloungers and IV stands- and wait thirty
minutes to an hour for the results to come back from the lab. Once the results came
back and I was clear for treatment, the nurse would choose an arm and search for a
vein to insert the IV needle. Some people have a portal installed to provide easy access
for blood tests and IVs, but I really didn't like the idea of having a semi-permanent
alteration of my body, and I thought it would make it impossible to ever feel "normal".
So I had to get a manual IV every time. Luckily, I’m not squeamish about needles or
blood, because when you have cancer, it seems like every third person you meet wants
to poke you with a needle. Some days I felt like a pin cushion. Even so, the poking of
the IV was never particularly painful for me, but it was difficult and sometimes painful
having the needle in my hand or arm for so many hours. It was hard to move or even
to turn the page of a magazine without it grabbing at your skin and feeling like being
pinched. Let's just say it was ... uncomfortable.
It was also boring. Each treatment dragged on for hours. I expected each treatment
would take only an hour or maybe two, but sometimes I would be there for up to 7
hours or more. First there was the blood tests, then they would start the IV and run in
some saline while we waited for the pharmacy to send up the drugs, then I have two
separate pre-meds to help be tolerate the primary drugs, then the two primary drugs,
and then more saline to flush out my veins. If everything went perfectly I could finish
in a little over five hours, but things rarely went perfectly. I learned early on that I could
shave off thirty minutes to an hour if I had blood drawn on the Friday before my
Monday morning chemo appointment, because that would let the test results be in the
computer by the time I arrived. The downside to that is that it gives you three fewer
days for your blood counts to return to normal, so there's a good chance that you'll fail
the blood test and just have to have it redone on Monday after all.
Once the IV was in and a little saline had been run in, the first of my four plastic bags
full of clear liquid arrived. It was amusing actually to see the array of colors and sizes
of the bags for all the other chemo patients. I swear one lady got a glass bottle that
looked like beer - it was a nice golden yellow and as it ran out of the bottle air bubbles
floated up and made a nice foamy head. I never did find out what that was, and until
then I had no idea that there were different kinds of chemo. In retrospect its obvious
but I'd just never thought about it before. Anyway, my first two bags were pre-meds.
One was a combination of pepsid for nausea and an anti-histamine, and the second was
decadron, a steroid, to help reduce the joint pains. The pre-meds took about an hour to
run in and they each had some immediate side effects. One of them caused anxiety and
nervousness while another caused drowsiness. Not the best combination. I was sleepy
and jittery at the same time. I would squirm in my chair trying to find a comfortable
position that would let me sleep. One time I actually fell asleep while continuing to toss
and turn, so my husband mistakenly thought something was wrong and put a hand on
me and asked what was the matter. With the touch of his hand I jerked awake and he
realized I had been sleeping. I found in later treatments that standing up and doing
some light stretching would help with the jitters so that I could more readily take a nap.
Unfortunately, if I stood for two long or held my arm in the wrong position, it would
affect to pressure in the IV line and blood would start backing up the tube instead of
chemicals flowing in. That's a little scary the first time it happens, luckily Chuck knew
what was happening and had me sit down and everything started flowing the right way
again.
Each small bag took about half an hour, then it was time for my the real drugs. For my
ovarian cancer I was on combination chemotherapy which meant 2 chemicals. The
first was Taxol which was a large bag and took 3 to 4 hours, followed by smaller bag
of Carboplaten which took another half hour, and that was followed by another 20
minutes of saline. It was roughly 2 liters of saline and chemicals that I received every
3 weeks. To this day I can't even look at a two liter bottle of soda - the thought of that
much liquid flowing through the IV just grosses me out.
In other words, just getting the chemicals into me took nearly a whole day, so to find
the boredom I brought piles of magazines, newspapers and other light reading. I found
that I didn't really have enough concentration for novels or anything serious. Fighting
boredom was a big part of the ordeal. The chemo chairs were comfortable enough,
and if you were scheduled early enough you might be one of the lucky few who got
one of the stations that included a little TV mounted overhead. But even then I found
that watching TV and reading didn’t really distract me from the reason I was there. I
found myself unable to concentrate on much and spent a lot of time just observing my
fellow chemo companions. Wondering things like: "Is that her real hair?" or "what is
that red liquid for?" It was interesting the variety of people and treatments. Young and
old, black and white, and all sorts of IV bags. Some people finished in 45 minutes,
others took hours, and unfortunately I was always one of the last to leave.
Continue to Page 2