Round Three of Chemo

The third chemo "trip" has begun. Mom and Becca made the drive with me to Bozeman Health yesterday. We left at 7:30 a.m. and even with road construction delays, made it to hospital with five minutes to spare for my 9:30 check in.

I slept really rough Tuesday night, waking up with sweats and moving to the couch downstairs and finally, ended up in the spare room. I felt like a night lurker with my thoughts keeping me up. I wish I could open my arms to chemo and the required destruction of it that is saving my life. I have chemo in my bones and my blood and my brain. I hate having to go to chemo but I know I choose this because it is a choice. I also know that hating something isn't the best place for my body or mind to be at. So, I tell myself I get the power to choose to go, or not.

Each chemo day starts in the waiting room. Everyone sits spaced out and mostly, people keep to themselves. It is styled like a living room in a rest home with a fireplace and those predictable inspirational quotes. I don't know yet if I've seen anyone interact with their neighbor. I always check in with a young man named Spencer at the main desk. I look forward to seeing him each chemo treatment---He brings the best energy and he always helps direct my calls to nurses when I ring in.

The clinical chemo day starts when a phlebotomist calls my name and I go back to their area. They disinfect the skin over my port. Yesterday, I forgot to frost my port with a thick layer of numbing lidocaine before the road trip began. The first chemo appointment, I didn't know to apply lidocaine at least an hour before the blood draw. I jumped when they accessed my port and the gal said, "Did that hurt?" "Like a needle to the chest," I said.

I shared that I forgot to do the lidocaine in advance. This time, they sprayed on a numbing agent and the poke was subtle. Then, they flush my port, draw my blood, and then I wait for the next appointment.

Mom and Becca and I took the next half hour in between my meeting with a PA name Tennille to get outside and move. Right alongside the hospital are public trails. We left Helena too early for me to be outside before and ground myself for the day. We walked over to Peet's Hill and it felt so good to see the spring green and be on a dirt path before a day in the hospital.

Back in the waiting room, we all went back to meet with Tennille to check in on symptoms, treatment plan, and go over my bloodwork. We discussed the timelines for referrals for surgery, radiation, and another echocardiogram in June.

My blood work came back high enough and I had the “good to go” to continue with chemo. Tennille did explain that I will be neutropenic between days 5-17 after chemo and the height of my neutropenia will be from days 7-10. Being neutropenic means that I am more vulnerable to infection and that my body will be less likely to be able to fight it off. On these days, every symptom becomes more critical to track, such as a fever. To mitigate this risk, I will likely stay more solo and will need to avoid being around anyone who may be ill. I can still hike and be autonomous, but I just need to be more proactive in maintaining healthy environments.

I didn’t want the post-blood draw appointment with Tennille to end because, then, chemo begins. I felt sad and tired. Usually, I come in with a list of questions and symptoms to troubleshoot. This meeting with Tennille felt shorter than the others. Once my appointment ended, we waited outside the infusion clinic until a nurse came back to bring me to my chair for the day.

Luckily, I was cared for today by an amazing nurse named Corrine. She is steady. She is warm compassion. She is excellent. She is deeply kind. I felt so cared for during the four or so hours in the infusion clinic. Once the port started doing the work and the chemo bags started their constant dripping, I felt ready to relax into the day, and did.

I do have some favorite parts of chemo. I always pack a warm quilt and switch out between beautiful quilts made by my Aunt Gina or Mike's mom, Gail.

This time, I was seated in front of a large window and I love getting to take in the light. At chemo, I don't have to do anything and there's nothing for me to accomplish besides being there. I've brought books and my journal to the last three treatments and I have yet to open them. Nurses and volunteers walk around, responding to the beeping infusion machines and checking in. When Corrine needed to check in on the patient to my left (who was born in 1937), Jamie or another nurse named Ashley would take her place with hooking my next IV bag into the dripline. It felt so good to see Jamie, who was my first chemo nurse. I love that my family is getting to know my care team.

I hold deeply that chemo always gives me the chance to be surrounded by love. My Mom and Becca came. I asked for the Benadryl to be administered later this round so I could get in some present conversation time before the happy, sleepy drugs kicked in. It mostly worked and had zero impact on Becca dominating the cribbage board!

I did the cold mitts and cold feet again and they felt properly cold. Another cancer sister, Becky, gave me thin, soft linings to make the cold more manageable when I ice to avoid neuropathy. I have always been good at napping and with Gail's quilt and two warm blankets that Corrine wrapped around me, I managed to doze in and out of sleep with the cold gloves and footies on. My mom came back to the room some time after I'd fallen asleep.

Chemo has given me road trips with my loved ones. This is always a time I would not get with them if not for cancer treatments. I love the road-trips there and home. I love what I hear and see when my loved ones come together for a day. This has been the greatest gift of this wild, tiring journey, and something I value every three weeks. Next time, my sisters, Mary and Erin, will go with me.

Round three begun!