February 21, 2006
Hard to believe that I was being pumped with poison. The room where the chemo is administered is sunny and cheerful. On my arrival, a nurse named John, settled me on a very comfortable recliner. Gave me a blanket, neck pillow and propped up the side tables on the chair. All this kindness informed me this was going to take more than ten minutes. All the while, John is prepping me on what he’s going to do and what I might expect.
Funny thing is, I’ve never been afraid of cancer. I think of it like any disease or anomaly in the body. Something that you’ve got to deal with and treat. Not a death sentence. Chemotherapy, on the other hand, has always scared the bejeezus out of me. Something along the lines the cure is worse than the disease. The archaic idea that in order to kill the cancer cells, you have to destroy the entire immune system – the good with the bad – is to unbelievable to me. It brings up every bad cliche: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger; throwing the baby out with the bath water; insert your own here. I waited for the leeches and medicine man to make their appearance next.
When I was a teenager, I came to own a set of books from the 1800. Specifically, a set of medical encyclopedias. I read these with the fascination of a time traveler, having the insight of future discoveries. One particular section had me enthralled: A section titled: CURING BACK PAIN. The section offered the following advice (I’m paraphrasing here):
If your back hurts, take a rope, make a noose. Hang it around your neck, next to your ears, then step off a chair. This will stretch your spine and relieve the tension.
Uh... did they mention that it will relieve you of your life, as well? Nope. I wondered how many apparent suicides, were just simple back pain. I guess we'll never know.
John gently explained that I’d be getting two different chemicals today: Adriamycin RDF & Cytoxan (hated the ‘tox’ portion of the name) AC for short. He said that these are quite caustic and might cause a reaction. I had been warned of this. Also, I was to let them know immediately if I felt a burning sensation because this would mean that the juice was being sent somewhere else instead of the vein, and that my port might be defective. I asked John about this. I had visions of the AC spreading along my lung like battery acid.
“Oh don’t worry about that. I’ll know way before that if it’s not working.” He hung a bag of saline drip as he spoke.
“How?” I asked.
“The drip won’t be going.”
“Oh.” I was relieved.
He also made sure to tell me, repeatedly, that after the procedure I would have to drink water, consistently, at least ten glasses a day. That, and to make sure to eat small meals, but to eat no matter how I felt. Nausea be damned, I absolutely had to make sure to drink otherwise I would dehydrate and have to be hospitalized.
I asked if the needle in the port would hurt. I had gone on a BB for people w/ports – there is a BB for every type of group imaginable on the Internet – and some had said they had some discomfort on needle insertion. John said no. He was right. When the needle was inserted I realized I felt nothing, I was still numb from the surgery. What a relief!
John turned out to be a movie buff, like me, so we spent the hour and half together, trading movie quotes. I was so pleased to see that he knew many of my favorite, obscure lines. It made the time fly by.
Throughout the process, John changed the various IV bags. Antibiotic, saline, steroids, saline, etc. You get the idea. The last in was the Adriamycin RDF, a cough syrupy red liquid that John gave me along with additional saline. He wanted to be very careful w/it, since the stuff was very strong.
To be continued...
©2006 Annelise Pichardo
Hard to believe that I was being pumped with poison. The room where the chemo is administered is sunny and cheerful. On my arrival, a nurse named John, settled me on a very comfortable recliner. Gave me a blanket, neck pillow and propped up the side tables on the chair. All this kindness informed me this was going to take more than ten minutes. All the while, John is prepping me on what he’s going to do and what I might expect.
Funny thing is, I’ve never been afraid of cancer. I think of it like any disease or anomaly in the body. Something that you’ve got to deal with and treat. Not a death sentence. Chemotherapy, on the other hand, has always scared the bejeezus out of me. Something along the lines the cure is worse than the disease. The archaic idea that in order to kill the cancer cells, you have to destroy the entire immune system – the good with the bad – is to unbelievable to me. It brings up every bad cliche: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger; throwing the baby out with the bath water; insert your own here. I waited for the leeches and medicine man to make their appearance next.
When I was a teenager, I came to own a set of books from the 1800. Specifically, a set of medical encyclopedias. I read these with the fascination of a time traveler, having the insight of future discoveries. One particular section had me enthralled: A section titled: CURING BACK PAIN. The section offered the following advice (I’m paraphrasing here):
If your back hurts, take a rope, make a noose. Hang it around your neck, next to your ears, then step off a chair. This will stretch your spine and relieve the tension.
Uh... did they mention that it will relieve you of your life, as well? Nope. I wondered how many apparent suicides, were just simple back pain. I guess we'll never know.
John gently explained that I’d be getting two different chemicals today: Adriamycin RDF & Cytoxan (hated the ‘tox’ portion of the name) AC for short. He said that these are quite caustic and might cause a reaction. I had been warned of this. Also, I was to let them know immediately if I felt a burning sensation because this would mean that the juice was being sent somewhere else instead of the vein, and that my port might be defective. I asked John about this. I had visions of the AC spreading along my lung like battery acid.
“Oh don’t worry about that. I’ll know way before that if it’s not working.” He hung a bag of saline drip as he spoke.
“How?” I asked.
“The drip won’t be going.”
“Oh.” I was relieved.
He also made sure to tell me, repeatedly, that after the procedure I would have to drink water, consistently, at least ten glasses a day. That, and to make sure to eat small meals, but to eat no matter how I felt. Nausea be damned, I absolutely had to make sure to drink otherwise I would dehydrate and have to be hospitalized.
I asked if the needle in the port would hurt. I had gone on a BB for people w/ports – there is a BB for every type of group imaginable on the Internet – and some had said they had some discomfort on needle insertion. John said no. He was right. When the needle was inserted I realized I felt nothing, I was still numb from the surgery. What a relief!
John turned out to be a movie buff, like me, so we spent the hour and half together, trading movie quotes. I was so pleased to see that he knew many of my favorite, obscure lines. It made the time fly by.
Throughout the process, John changed the various IV bags. Antibiotic, saline, steroids, saline, etc. You get the idea. The last in was the Adriamycin RDF, a cough syrupy red liquid that John gave me along with additional saline. He wanted to be very careful w/it, since the stuff was very strong.
To be continued...
©2006 Annelise Pichardo
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