So I've been meaning to talk about this for a while, but every time I sit down to go over my thoughts I find I haven't got a clue on how to begin...
I suppose first off I want to make it clear that I don't want this to come off sounding like I want sympathy from any of you. That's not what this is about. Its more about discussing my experiences and how the chemotherapy affected me. A memoir of sorts on what I've felt and learned from this life experience.
My treatments were administered by a team of wonderful people, people who cared for not only myself, but for my family as well. I am still amazed at how I was treated, and in fact how I saw them treat all the patients in the oncology center- never once did I feel a burden or invisible.
In fact, when Ashley and I first sat down with the nurse to speak about the treatment process, the wonderful lady cared so much for us that she began to tear up, quite obviously overtaken with emotion.
I'll admit it was a little unnerving to see her saddened at the thought of my condition, though I understand she probably remembered others who were in her care that weren't as fortunate as myself. I don't honestly know how doctors and nurses like her can do it- it takes a certain caliber of strength and humbleness to be able to look after others in such a manner. Is humbleness a word?
The ProcessSo my treatment began on a Monday in July, 2006. I was to undergo two six-week cycles. Each cycle would begin with a five day regiment during the first week, with the next three weeks requiring a visit only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The last two weeks of the cycle were only Monday visits to take tests, clean the PICC line and recoup from the first round of medicine.
It was decided that since I would be getting these treatments on a rather continuous basis, I would have a PICC line put in (
for information on PICC lines click here). Basically it is a catheter inserted in the inner bend of your elbow that runs up a large vein and ends just north of your heart.
From here, the medicine could be administered without the hassle of daily needle pokes and such. So, this was a simple outpatient procedure that took all of an hour. It was pretty interesting watching them do it, I could see on the monitor as they fed the tube up my arm and into my chest, was something I'd never really witnessed (or much care to witness again). This was done a few days before my chemotherapy began. Over the course of the treatment, I had two of these PICC lines put in.
So now I had a little tube hitch-hiker dangling from my inner left elbow. It would require daily maintenance and had to remain dry- something I wasn't particularly looking forward to. Imagine putting a plastic bag around your arm every morning when you showered, taking care to tape it shut (and I have arm hair mind you). It was convienent though, for the most part.
I walked in the first day feeling a little apprehensive and well okay, a little scared. I knew though, that for all my anxiety, Ashley's must have been triple-fold. Even if she did well to hide it.
As we walked in we were greeted again by the nurses who would be taking care of us, and my anxiety was quickly put to rest when the nurses began to oogle over Isabella. She was just over 6 months old. Suddenly it felt more like a family get-together than anything else. We talked for a little bit while the nurses brought in the IV and (I'm not sure of the technical term) the drip machine thingy.
I was hooked up in no time and was recieving a combination of fluids and medication. We were there for several hours at a time, usually around two-to-three if I can remember correctly. Lunch was always provided (even if rarely taken) and lights were turned off when I wanted to sleep. They made it a very comfortable place, and Isabella was always with us.
How it affected me
So I didn't really feel anything until the third day. I felt... different.
It was like my energy was robbed away, at least in part. I'm not sure how much of this was mental at this stage, but I know that part of it had to be. I had decided to take off from work during this time, and focus on getting through the treatments. This did offer quite the relief on my every day routine, however in hindsight, this was probably a careless descision on my part.
It caused a time of financial stress on us that was difficult to overcome. I would like to mention that it was our dear friends and family who looked after us most generously during this time. We're very lucky to have such wonderful people around us.
I digress...
The third day I began to feel weak, I was sleeping more and my appetite was beginning to diminish. My bowel movements began to change and I remember being plugged up for several weeks (sorry for the visual), which is (ask anyone who knows me) not really usual for me (we'll put it that way).
After the first five-days were through, I had a brief and very welcome break during the weekend. I again began to feel my energy return which carried me through the next week feeling little distress.
After the second week, my white blood cells had diminished significantly, something that is normal for people undergoing chemotherapy. It was decided that I would recieve Neulasta to beef up my bodies defenses (for information on Neulasta click here). Already I was beginning to feel a dip in my body, this one perhaps greater than the first. I was hoping for relief from the new drug, but knew what the doctor had told me- it may cause mild to moderate bone pain.
I thought it wouldn't be too bad...
So I had three shots of this I believe, and boy was I wrong. I remember it laid me flat for many days, unable to walk, feeling feeble and drained. It was as if I couldn't get comfortable in any position. Sleep came difficult as I could not stop from tossing and turning, unable to find relief to the pain that had developed in my leg bones and arm bones especially. Unfortunately they were necessary and in hindsight, I was lucky to have my white blood cells return to an average level. I remember putting Ashley through some difficult times during this event. I can only sit in wonder to think of everything shes done for me over the years.
Now by this time I was just entering my fifth week. It was the two-week break before the next treatment and I had some time away from the drugs. The hair on my head and face had fallen out by now, but oddly enough, my leg and arm hair remained (though thinner).
I remember I put my hand up to my goatee one day and moved it down towards my chin. When I looked at my hand, it was covered in hair. I could literally take my hand and run it through the hair on my head and have sections of it just fall right out. Thats when it was time to shave!
Its too bad I was so white I probably wouldn't have looked half bad bald if I had been tanner... I digress again... So the next main chapter in this story is my staff infection. I'll save that for another entry...
