Thank goodness I had guests lined up this week to post; otherwise, there would not have been any content posted. Today’s the first day I actually feel like placing my fingers on the keyboard.

Monday and Tuesday, I already talked about. That was the honeymoon period. Sure, I didn’t feel great with everything zinging through my veins, but I could handle it. Then…

Tuesday. That afternoon, my cheeks and neck got fiery hot. I talked to the nurse, and she said it could be an allergic reaction, so take some Benadryl. Which was lovely. I took it and took a long, long nap. Just after midnight, early Wednesday morning, was when the real shit hit me.

Every muscle and joint, from my pelvic floor to the tips of my toes, hurt. I couldn’t sit still. I had to constantly rock or shake my feet. For the first 24 hours of that, I didn’t get even so much as a catnap. I relented and took some Hydro and got four hours of sleep, which was helpful, but I remained pretty dazed and uncomfortable throughout Thursday.

It’s Friday now, and it’s better, but all I want to do is steal naps all day long. I get up and shuffle around, then head back to bed. I’m trying to stay away from the Hydro and only use it at night so I can get back to a regular sleep routine. There’s only been light nausea, so that’s good, I guess.

It would be hilarious if I weren’t so miserable how I thought I could plan out my chemo and recovery days. I thought I was giving myself a very generous five days to get back to work. It’s actually blocked out on my calendar like that.

The family has been amazing. They check on me and bring me meals and drinks. It’s up to me to fight this thing, so now that I know, I have to “woman up.” I can do this. I’ll figure out the rhythm and how my body reacts. I’ll figure out what works when I’m tired and cranky because I can’t accept any pity parties from me. What purpose do they serve?

Hope this all makes sense. I’m just journaling at this point, getting it down so I’ll be able to compare it to what comes next. I watched Anne Rice’s Mayfair Witches, Season 1. I didn’t like it, but that could be grumpy me.

I wish everyone health and happiness—and much, much love.

Some of you have asked me to post about my journey. This first post is long. Sorry about that. But the end will make it worth it, I think…

Yesterday was my first chemo day. I arrived at 8:30 in the morning, and I was the last patient checked out at 3:00 in the afternoon. An hour of it was meeting with the doctor, because he likes to check in with you when you begin and answer any questions you have. He monitored me throughout the day to see how my chemo was going. The techs took my stats. Then I headed down to the treatment room. There were five chairs, all mismatched, all different colors and conditions. This treatment room is only used on Mondays by clinic workers that come from their main hub in Hot Springs to help out their patients in Arkadelphia. So, I could have cushier accommodations if I was willing to make the drive, but this is so convenient I’m grateful. I chose one of the two fully functioning chairs and waited as they put in an IV because my chemo port isn’t yet installed.

The boring part—all the meds!

They started a saline drip then disappeared to bring in a multitude of bags they’d be changing in and out throughout the day. They gave me Benedryl for any allergic reactions, something to reduce stomach acid/reflux, steroids, something else (no clue), and I was feeling pretty good. The Bendryl made me feel sleepy so the first hour and an half I dozed happily in and out. Then came the biggie, a 2.5-hour drip of a cancer med, Taxol. As soon as it hit my arm, it burned. I asked if that was normal, the tech frowned, undid the drip and rinsed it out then reapplied it, just to make sure everything was going into my arm the way it was supposed to. The burn was still there, but not as strong, and it warmed up my arm as it shot through my body. Inside a minute, I felt it at the back of my throat. It was acidy, metallic, and just in general tasted like battery acid. After that, they put in the second cancer med, Carboplatin, for another 30-minute drip, followed at last by Jemperli, a monoclonal antibody/immunotherapy drug.

More interesting part… I guess

When I arrived in my treatment room, there was only one other person there. He looked to be in his 70s and had a long, Duck-Dynasty beard. He was very chatty. Very. He asked me where I was from because I didn’t talk like him. I told him I was an Air Force brat who joined the Army. Since I ended up in Arkadelphia, he thought I must be all right then. He told me all about his cancer journey and how he’d been told he wouldn’t live very many months, but he’s seven years into his treatment, and God cured him. He knew exactly when it happened. The preacher prayed over him, and he felt his light sweep inside him. The following week when he returned for a checkup, the bloodwork showed that the cancer in his bone marrow was completely gone. His treatment was very short. I’m thinking he is on immunotherapy now for maintenance. Before he left, he asked if he could pray over me. Now, I’m not religious, I’m spiritual and I’m open-minded. I told him I would appreciate it. He gave me a prayer that was warm and personal, asked for God or the drugs to cure me like they had him, and I smiled afterward and thanked him. As soon as he left, I could see some others filtering into the room, so I grabbed my headphones.

I am an introvert. A hermit. That one conversation “peopled” me out. I spent the rest of the day listening to music or scrolling through Twitter (I refuse to call it X). Wi-Fi inside that building sucked, so I really regretted not pre-downloading a movie and a book, given how much time I had in that chair. The only exercise I got were short walks to the toilet.

I got bored and hungry and didn’t want my snacks. So, I messaged my daughter around lunchtime, and she drove back into town to bring Wendy’s spicy chicken sandwiches and drinks. We enjoyed spending the time together—and she had made me promise to call her if I needed anything. So, I didn’t feel one bit guilty about it. One nice thing was that we got to witness a patient ringing her bell to symbolize that she had beat her cancer. It turns out, my daughter knows her, and was really happy to witness that. There were lots of smiles and clapping. And wistful sighs.

When my Taxol (the kickass cancer drug) was running through me, I got very, very hot. I noted that the other had blankets on, and I was regretting wearing sweatpants because I was roasting. The tech brought me wet paper towels to cool my face, and I sucked down bottles of water. I was scared to death I wasn’t reacting well to the chemo and that they’d have to rejigger my plan.

An hour later, I heard the tech in the hallway say, “Hey, the thermostat says it’s 81-degrees in here!” When he came back inside, he gave me a lopsided smile. “That wasn’t just you.” Whew.

By the time I was done with the drugs, I was done for the day, or so I thought. My daughter was in the school line, waiting to pick up kids, so I had to wait outside for a few minutes after they locked up the clinic to transfer all their equipment and load up for the trek back to Hot Springs. I’m sure I could have waited inside, but I was eager to be OUT.

Aftermath

I was so happy to be home, sitting in the AC, hearing my noisy family and dogs. I sat for a little while, trying to get motivated to head downstairs to my apartment. I have an office, my living-bed area, and my art room downstairs. I like it there. When I need to work or have some quiet time, I retreat there. I have only my cat and the two bunnies in the art room. They don’t make much noise.

I changed out of my sweats into my nightgown and just laid down to take a nap in my cool sheets when the 15-year-old stuck her head in the door. “Hey, Nina, I don’t want to bother you, but you did say to nag you about the pool…”

I had issued orders that, while it was still warm enough, I wasn’t going to miss a day in the pool, no matter how much I might grouse about fatigue or whatever. I grumbled but told her to give me five. So, five minutes later, I was back upstairs, shuffling outside to the pool, thinking I would only last a few minutes before I’d have to head back to bed because chemo sucked the juice out of me.

An hour later, I reluctantly left the pool and headed to the shower, feeling completely rejuvenated. I didn’t go straight to bed. Instead, I ate Domino’s Pizza with the family talking about their days. Completely normal.

So, Day One wasn’t so bad—just overlong. The key is HEADPHONES. Kill the time with something that interests me, so I don’t count the 30-minute drip bags. I know Wednesday is supposedly hell-day for the nausea and fatigue, but I’m ready for it.

The Picture

Around 10:00 last night, when I was finally ready to sleep, the 15-year-old poked her head in the door again. She asked if she could give me something. I waved her in and sat on the edge of the bed.

She was carrying that bear. I barely remembered it. If you’ve been following me for any length of time, you know that she’s the girl who’s had cancer three times in her leg. Her shin bone had to be replaced with a cadaver bone, and her own marrow was encouraged to grow and fill it. She’s been cancer-free for several years now with some nodules they keep an eye on, but she held onto her cancer bear. She apologized that there are worn spots on its it shoes and fur, because she rubbed the bear whenever she couldn’t sleep when she was scared. She wanted me to have it. Her mom followed her inside the room and went to the bag of goodies the clinic had given me as a welcome gift. One of the gifts were the “fighting pretty” gloves in my cancer’s pretty teal color. She carried the bear and the gloves to my desk, took the picture, and said they were to stay on my desk until I’m cured or in remission.

Sorry this was so long. But I thought I’d share some details for anyone else who might be facing this or know someone who is. Just keeping it real.