Today is day six of my second chemotherapy cycle. I’m feeling a bit chilled as I look out my window to a dreary Manitoba sky and an unusually low August day time temperature of 16°
Chemo cycle two has been similar to the first cycle with day three once again making me feel “out of sorts”, with the poison percolating in my body. This time, I didn’t lose my sense of taste and have a less intense metal taste in my mouth. I still have dry mouth. I am more tired though than the first cycle, which is something that I have been forewarned about and is expected to increase with each treatment.
By the time my sixth treatment cycle occurs, I’ve been told that the fatigue will dominate my life and I won’t feel up to doing anything but resting.
As well, because I have acquired a low white blood cell count condition called “neutropenia” as a result of my first cycle of chemotherapy, I’m now navigating through having Neupogen in my body and dealing with its side effects. Neupogen will be part of my chemotherapy regime until I complete the sixth cycle of treatments.
I was prescribed this white cell count booster drug to stimulate my bone marrow to produce more white blood cells so that my chemotherapy cycles could resume to three-week intervals. Neupogen is also needed to help prevent infections because the army of white blood cell counts in my body needed to fight off infection is not as plentiful due to being killed off with chemotherapy.
My doctor said that I can expect two main side effects with Neupogen--bone and/or muscle pain. The injections are given daily for seven days on the same side of my body as the blood thinner, alternating sides each day.
Generally, Neupogen is injected in the abdomen. Because my tummy is already bruised and tender with the daily blood thinner injections, my chemotherapy nurse recommended that Neupogen be given in my upper arm. The Neupogen needles can still be very painful like the blood thinner shots, but at least they don’t leave me feeling tender and bruised.
My first day Neupogen was two days ago with a 7:00 a.m. injection in addition to the daily blood thinner needle. It was only a matter of hours before I could feel Neupogen at work in my body on the first day of the injection.
As I was getting groceries on Friday afternoon, an achy fatigue started in my calves. I’ve felt this ache before when I over-exerted at the gym or took too long a hike when my body should have quit earlier. The aching has not left since it arrived.
Yesterday, I could feel the aching starting earlier in the day. By last night, I gave in and took some Tylenol to make coping with the aches more comfortable. The only other recommended relief for the pain is warm baths.
Today, the aching is pretty much constant. It hurts even more if I bear weight on my legs for any length of time.
Neupogen is an interesting drug. It is made using E-coli bacteria and is extremely expensive. The daily one ml dose is $200. I need seven doses of the drug during each chemotherapy cycle. Fortunately, the costs of it are covered by the organization treating me for cancer. Yet another gift I have been given by our provincial cancer organization to fight off cancer in my body.
Although I am feeling a bit tough today, I realize that this discomfort provides me with dividends in my fight against cancer. I’m moving a bit slower, but I continue on this cancer journey with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
After one week’s delay due to extremely low white blood cell counts, I was finally able to undergo my second round of chemo treatment today. Yesterday, I again needed to have my central port IV line cleared with more blood thinners to enable blood tests for chemo prep.
The chemotherapy treatment centre is an interesting place of contrasts. The environment is one of serious medicine in treating life-threatening cancer diagnoses combined with cheery surroundings and calm. Several devoted chemotherapy nurses work very hard to allay patient fears, provide education, and bring comfort and hope in a time of angst.
The treatment room faces south. The wall of windows lets warm rays of sunshine light up the room and creates cozy comfort. On cloudy days, you can watch the clouds change colour and dance in formation across the city’s prairie sky.
There is a reception desk, a small waiting area, bathrooms, two treatment bays of four recliners each, two beds, and three private treatment rooms. A nursing station sits in the corner for nurses to observe patients, do the required patient paperwork, and field phone calls. IV poles and pumps, syringe disposal containers, medical supply carts, and garbage cans round out the ambience of the room at each station. From Monday to Friday anywhere from 30-70 cancer patients are treated daily at the facility.
A classical guitarist may come by and provide soothing music to relax patients undergoing treatment. Overhead t.v.’s can be accessed to distract patients from witnessing deadly poison being injected into their veins to chase and kill cancer cells.
The nurses are constantly available to field questions and to provide assurance to patients with their treatments. If one is cold, heated blankets are available to soothe your chilled body to warmth. An array of magazines are available should one wish to read. Facial tissue boxes are placed at each treatment station, along with a visitor’s chair.
Some patients bring in their own distractions, which may include personal portable DVD players or laptop computers. Others choose to play cards or do crossword puzzles. Some patients simply visit with their companions who drove them to their treatment.
Volunteers from the cancer care program stand by eagerly waiting to hand out patient treats of juices, tea, coffee, and cookies. If you’re being infused over the lunch hour, you will be asked if you want a cup of hot soup and crackers. At the food station, water is on standby to hydrate patients to aid in flushing chemotherapy out of the body. Crushed ice is available to help minimize side effects of some chemotherapy drugs while one is being treated.
The spectrum of patients being treated includes occasional young adults, and a few middle-agers. A good majority of patients who are receiving chemo are seniors. In my early 50’s, I feel young and old amongst the group being treated depending on the patient mix on the days I’m there.
On my first visit, a chemotherapy nurse whose homeland is Korea treated me. She came to the chemo unit four years ago via nursing stints in intensive care and oncology wards. She was kind, upbeat, and very thorough in her teachings about the three chemotherapy drugs that would be sequentially injected into my body.
Today’s treatment was slightly different than the first time. My chemo nurse came to the centre via Lethbridge three years ago in association with her husband’s work transfer to our city. She was kind, attentive, compassionate, and made sure I was comfortable. It took three heated blankets before I was warm today--the coldness likely came as a result of getting up too early on the treatment day anticipating what was to come.
Today also featured an orientation on how to inject neuprogen—the blood cell boost medication I am required to take on days four to ten of each chemo cycle to prevent my white cell count from dipping too low and delaying treatments. This medication is made from e-coli bacteria and requires delicate handling and refrigeration.
With neuprogen, my husband adds another needle medication to the blood thinners that he has to inject me with each morning. I simply can’t give myself these needles. I get lightheaded each time I get a needle, and have been advised by my treatment nurse to lie down for a few minutes after each injection until I rebound.
When neuprogen is added to the daily blood thinner injections, the supporting drug costs in addition to the anti-nausea steroids is over $2,400 a month. I can’t imagine what the costs of the chemo prescriptions are. Our medicare system and the cancer treatment unit cover the costs of some of these drugs, but not all of them. This cancer fight is not only taxing on the body and spirit, but also on the cheque book.
Two chemo treatments are completed. There are four more to go. I take small steps forward in continuing to walk in this cancer journey with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
This past Sunday our daughter and her husband were wed, while on the same day our son and daughter-in-law took possession of their first house. It was a big day in the lives of our four kids and their parents. There was happiness and excitement all around for different reasons.
The whirling of the wedding weekend began on Friday morning. I was scheduled to go to the cancer treatment facility for blood tests to assess my red and white blood cell counts in preparation for my second round of chemo to follow two days after the wedding.
The oncology nurse who was to draw blood for the tests had difficulty collecting samples as my central port line had a blockage. I was injected with yet another blood thinner to clear a blood clot that had plugged the line preventing it from allowing blood to flow easily for the tests. An hour and a half later, the line was cleared and blood samples could be collected.
Prior to the blood tests, I had been feeling an indescribable fatigue on Thursday and again on Friday morning. When the test results were delivered Friday afternoon, the fatigue made sense. My white blood cell count was at 0.50, when it should have been at 1.2-1.5 to enable my second chemo infusion in four days. I felt frustrated and discouraged because my body let me down once again in this cancer fight—all the worse because our daughter’s wedding was in two days.
So with this blood test result came a new set of dire warnings and precautions. My body had very low immunity and was very highly susceptible to infection from day to day contact with people that one takes for granted.
My oncologist’s nurse warned me that with the wedding on the weekend, I was to restrict my contact with all people. No congratulatory hugs and kisses in a receiving line or elsewhere. No contact with people who had any kind of illness as simple as a cold or flu. I had to wash my hands often. Wearing gloves during the wedding and reception was deemed a positive move.
If my body temperature reached 38°+, I was to report immediately to an emergency ward despite the wedding, as my body would be housing some kind of infection that could be deadly if left untreated as I had very low white blood cell counts to fight it off.
If it weren’t for our daughter’s wedding, I would have likely been advised to stay home and rest all weekend to aid in elevating my white blood cell count.
Consequently, because of the low white cell counts, my second chemotherapy treatment was postponed for another week. I will have more blood tests done on Aug. 9 to assess my blood cell counts to see if chemo can resume as rescheduled on Aug. 10.
As well, I will now need to have another series of daily injections to boost my blood cell counts so that my chemotherapy treatments can resume to a three-week treatment cycle, and make me less prone to infections.
I will meet with my doctor this Friday to discuss the risks and benefits of the blood cell booster treatment, which will take place daily from days four to 10 in my next chemotherapy treatment cycle and subsequent ones to follow.
The Wedding Day
In one part of the city early in the morning, our son and daughter in law were packing breakable items into their car, and dodging downpours of rain while driving to their new home to drop things off and breathe in the rewards of first time home ownership.
Across town in our house, we had a hairstylist and make-up artist enhance the beauty of a bride and her maidens in preparation for an early Sunday afternoon wedding. Extended family loaded up trucks and cars to transport wedding flowers and decorations to the church and reception venue.
As the ladies were made more beautiful, the bridal parents and groom’s parents down the street watched weather forecasts on the Internet to see how long the rain was to stay.
On the morning of the wedding, it poured for several hours. By the time it was 1:00 p.m., the sun broke through the clouds and left us with a glorious Manitoba summer day for several hours into late evening when it rained again.
Our daughter looked gorgeous in her paternal grandmother’s 56-year-old vintage wedding dress. She smiled throughout the wedding ceremony at her handsome groom.
It was a day to remember and one that they will cherish for the rest of their lives. It was heartwarming to see the joy in each of their faces during the wedding ceremony and thereafter.
It was a day that was rife with all kinds of emotion. I felt elated and sad at the same time in not being well enough to feel fully present in experiencing our daughter’s wedding day due to weakness, low energy levels, and fatigue with my low blood cell counts. The heat and humidity added to the ill feelings. Admittedly, I was frustrated in being prevented from fully experiencing this big day in our daughter’s life because of my medical condition.
My cancer diagnosis was not going to prevent me in being present as best as I could during this wedding celebration. We celebrated with a wedding ceremony rehearsal and dinner on Friday, a traditional Ukrainian wedding wreath making ceremony on Saturday night, the wedding on Sunday, and a post-wedding garden party to open wedding gifts on Monday.
When it was all over, I was exhausted and feeling down for not being able to completely immerse myself into the fullness of the wedding weekend as I fight with cancer.
My dear friend Marianne put things into perspective for me in reflecting about the wedding. She reminded me that I was blessed to be able to attend the wedding after a cancer diagnosis, a mastectomy, cellulitis, and a wedding week countdown that dealt with a blood clot, blood thinners, and low white cell counts.
The Happy First Time Homeowners
As I write this blog, our son and daughter-in-law are overseeing movers coming to their place to load up a truck with their possessions to move to their new home. They have a lot eagerness and excitement in moving out of a rental property into an owned house that they can officially call their home.
They have chosen a 101-year-old character home in the south central part of the city. The home has been lovingly maintained and up kept. Several renovations and modifications have been made. The bonus for them is that the owners sold the house vs. someone who bought the house to flip it and make a profit.
In all, the kids looked at 250 houses via internet and real estate agent listings. They saw over 40 houses in person. The house they bought was the last house that they visited. They were in a bidding war with two other interested parties, but the owners chose to sell to them as they had no encumbrances with their offer to purchase.
Tomorrow, we will share in their joy of home ownership as we plan to visit them amongst their boxes and unpacking. The guys will assemble some new furniture that has been bought, while I will keep my daughter-in-law company while she places possessions in new places.
Unfortunately, I can only be a visiting observer in the moving process. I have to minimize my activities and need to be careful to not get overtired leading into a chemotherapy treatment in the next few days.
However, I will be in the midst of much merriment and sharing in the dreams of kids who are celebrating the satisfaction of owning their first home. It is yet another reward of being parents to adult kids who are finding their way in the world.
We will officially celebrate the ownership of their house with them on Aug. 20 during an open house “housewarming” party and tour they are planning for family and friends.
It has been a busy and heartwarming week. Living with cancer was put aside for a few days to celebrate the gifts of children and their mates in our lives. I live on with a new level of gratitude for the gifts of love, family, and friends in my life. With their help, I will continue my fight against cancer with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
Writer’s Note: this is being posted one week late due to our daughter’s wedding this past week.
An interesting sensory experience entered my world of chemotherapy these past three days. I’m calling it chemo head.
Chemo head is the feeling that your scalp is being stretched to the point of tenderness to the touch. It leaves your head with a unique throbbing sensation, which is different than a headache. A friend, Andrea, who is a breast cancer survivor, aptly describes it as the tension of wearing a tight ponytail that throbs once you release it from being held in place. Except that this tension is on your head 24 hours a day.
Chemo head makes sleeping difficult as resting your head on a pillow aggravates the pressure of the tender scalp. Cancer patients are advised to buy satin pillowcases to ease the pressure points that come with a tender scalp while in chemo treatments. I am now on a mission to find this luxurious bed linen.
My oncology nurse warned me that there would be a tingling sensation that comes with chemo when your hair is starting to fall out. There is tingling to be sure, but this throbbing coupled with an extremely dry and tight scalp are different than what I was expecting.
I knew that this was the precursor of chemo side effects that would lead to hair loss. It certainly is. I have been losing my hair everywhere for the last three days. So much so, that they tell you in the cancer care "Look Good, Feel Better" program that once this starts it's wise to put on a head cover so that your hair doesn’t fall everywhere you go, particularly around food and kitchen prep areas. My hat wardrobe has been deployed.
Coping with a chemo scalp condition puts you in a quandary. You know you’re going to lose your hair and you debate about holding onto it as long as you can knowing that you’re moulting everywhere.
Cancer survivors have said that when the scalp throbbing starts they get a set of electric clippers and cut off what remains of their hair. The end result is that the clipping minimizes the throbbing sensations you feel as your brittle hair breaks off and comes out in clumps in your hands whenever you wash or handle it.
It seems counter-intuitive to get rid of your hair before it falls out. I did it anyway. There is something liberating about having control of how you lose your hair. With cancer little else is in your control. After three days of a throbbing scalp, I bravely took out the clippers and shaved my head. There was immediate relief on the old noggin! Amazing. I had a great sleep last night because of it.
Today I greet the day with a new “hat-itude”. I don my caps with a sense of satisfaction knowing I had a say in how I would lose my hair. I’ll shed what is left of my hair these next few days and continue my fight against cancer with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
I had my last cancer scan on Friday afternoon to check my chest, abdomen and lungs. It went well. I was told that my medical oncologist would have the results in a week. It was perfect timing, as I am scheduled for pre-chemo blood work and a visit with my oncologist this Friday before chemo round two starts on August 3.
Early Monday afternoon, my medical oncologist called with a concern. She advised that the radiologist who was reviewing my CT scan found a suspected blood clot in my chest. My husband and I needed to get to the cancer clinic to receive a blood thinner injection as soon as possible. We also needed to be taught how to inject the blood thinner at home.
My body let me down again.
Rare breast cancer, strike one. Rare cellulitis complication with a mastectomy, strike two. Blood clot as a result of a central venous catheter implant (port), strike three.
I had a small meltdown yesterday and burst into tears with this latest diagnosis. It was news I didn’t want to hear, and is yet another frustration that comes in living with cancer. I thought I was doing fairly well in coping with these cancer complications until this new problem. Unfortunately, it also happened on the week of our daughter’s wedding.
Before my cancer diagnosis, I was in excellent health overall, not on any medications, and had no need for a blood thinner. Because of the chemo port and clotting, I now require daily injections of blood thinner to ensure that this condition does not recur. It has to happen at the same time every day. This will need to take place for the duration of my chemo treatment—another 16 weeks before it’s done.
I can’t give myself these injections as I have a history of fainting with needles. Consequently, my husband had to learn how to give these injections to me every morning to save my life. They are given underneath the skin in the abdominal area. They sting, hurt for a few minutes, and make the injection area tender to touch. One of the side effects of this drug is that it leaves me with bruises from the injections. In a few days my injection area will look like a patchwork quilt.
At the time I was discussing my cancer treatment plan with my medical oncologist, she warned me that there is a potential risk of blood clotting with a central venous catheter. This can also occur with an implanted IV line in one’s arm, the other means in which chemotherapy drugs are infused. Apparently, the first six weeks after a port implant pose the highest risk for complications. My port was installed on July 2.
I knew of the risks, but chose the port for ease of maintenance and to avoid an unsightly IV line and dressing for our daughter’s wedding and related photos. It was the infusion method that my oncology nurse and I discussed and chose based on these considerations.
If it weren’t for the CT scan picking up on the suspected blood clot, I would not have known my life was in danger of a heart attack. By luck (or fate), I was not able to have the CT scan prior to my first chemo treatment due to scheduling delays. If I had the scan prior to my port, I would have been living with the potential of the blood clot dislodging and traveling to my heart due to the proximity of the port location in my chest and jugular vein.
As in the past with other cancer complications, I did not have the typical signs of a blood clot. There was no redness, pain, or swelling in the area. I was slightly out of breath. However, this was not an unexpected complication as these past few days were ones where my blood counts were the lowest in the chemo treatment cycle, which included lower oxygen levels because of reduced red blood cell counts with chemo.
I am grateful for having been given another chance at life due to the swift and excellent medical care of my cancer treatment medical team. Today is a new day, and I will continue my fight for life with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
If chemotherapy is my friend, then the boredom that comes with it enters into my life as an uninvited guest.
Living with chemotherapy’s mental downside is that you enter into treatment with too much time on your hands.
For me, filling long hours each day is more difficult than actually coping with a cancer diagnosis. I can now understand why some people purposely choose to work while in treatment; they’d go stir crazy otherwise.
My next door neighbor who is also in breast cancer treatments and is waiting to enter the world of chemo, mused the other morning that as professional women when we’re at work we think about all of the little projects we’d like to do if we had spare time on our hands.
With cancer we do have spare time on our hands, but it’s the kind of time that doesn’t lend itself to working on projects that have been left on the backburner. It’s hard to attend to the projects wish list when you’re recovering from surgery, attending a barrage of medical appointments and tests, and being kind to your body as it undergoes the shock of poison pulsing through it with chemotherapy.
My chemo is 18 weeks long. That means that I have 18 weeks to fill my time with. That’s a lot of time on my hands.
While awaiting surgery and feeling well, I attended to the “projects list” in my house. I had six weeks of waiting, and then several more after that once I recovered from surgery, while waiting for chemo. A lot of that time was also filled with planning our daughter’s wedding shower and helping with wedding plans. It’s pretty well wrapped up with the wedding less than two weeks away.
For me so far, the most difficult struggle is the lack of routine that comes with fighting cancer. Your loved ones and friends get up every day and go to work. They maintain their routines, social circles, and contact with the outside world. They come home feeling that they have accomplished something each day by being in the world or work and solving problems that need their skills, energy, and attention.
With chemo, you live alone each day. There is no routine because you don’t know how you’re going to feel. You spend many hours each day alone wondering how to occupy your time. You don’t have a plan for your day, so you don’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything.
You feel cutoff from people. It’s understandable. You’re told while undergoing treatment that you have to restrict your presence around crowds and public places because of the potential risk of germs and lowered immunity.
People want to respect that and know that you are needing to cope with your illness. They’re afraid to call because they fear you’re resting or sleeping and don’t want to intrude.
They also know that their contact with you can potentially pose serious health risks for you while undergoing chemo treatments. Chemo drugs can also be toxic to others around you for the first 48 hours, so the patient and those with them in this time have to take precautions to prevent those who do not need chemo from being exposed to it.
Some folks are scared to be around you because they don’t want the physical proof that you are not only sick with cancer, but getting sicker with chemo. They simply can’t deal with the mirror of someone else’s mortality being placed in front of them, which in turn forces them to look at their own mortality. A cancer diagnosis does not give you the option of when to hold the mirror of mortality in front of you, you hold that mirror in front of you daily.
I have always been a goal-oriented, driven Type A personality that did not have idle moments on my hands. In reflecting on my life, I’ve spent the last three decades building a career, working full time (except for brief breaks with childbirth and toddlers), raising a family, and running a household. There was little time available to develop hobbies, so I don’t really have any.
The one hobby I do have—sewing—can’t be done while I’m in chemo because I risk injury in using sharp scissors and needles and pins. Any break in skin with a cut, poke, or bruise can create a potentially serious infection because of lowered blood cells and platelets that come with chemo treatments.
I’m not a television watcher, never have been. Well-intentioned people around me say it’s now a good time to take up an interest in watching t.v. There’s a multitude of talk shows, soap operas, and reality shows. Not for me. My t.v. limit is a couple of hours max a day, and some of that is news.
Others say it’s the time to read all of the books you have always wanted to read and enjoy them. There are many books waiting to be read, but after a couple of hours of reading a day I no longer have much energy left to concentrate.
Still others say, “take up crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles or Sudoku.” Nope, not for me.
I’ve never been musical or play and instrument, so that option isn’t available to me. There is only so much daily surfing of the internet I can handle, maybe an hour (although I do spend a more time on the computer if friends and family send emails). Games generally need to be played with others who are at work while I am at home.
But the trained writer in me who has plied this trade in some form or other for over 30 years, feels pulled to pen a blog. My tech savvy kids suggested it knowing that their mother would need a therapeutic form of distraction. And, as a cancer survivor friend of mine has said, it’s good therapy for me. He’s right. It is a diversion and a time-occupier, which gives me a couple of hours per session to write this e-diary.
Admittedly, it’s neat to see who the blog’s readers and followers are and where they are coming from. There are readers literally from around the world from destinations in Canada, the U.S., Europe, and Asia. I never thought that this diary would reach to so many places, and would interest so many readers. It was set up as a tool to keep in touch with family and friends who expressed an interest in wanting to keep up to date with my cancer journey.
These same family and friend followers are also the ones who keep me grounded in not becoming overwhelmed by the living with cancer experience. I trust that as they read this, they may have ideas for me to occupy my time. I gratefully welcome their suggestions.
So I mosey on in this cancer journey searching to fill my time productively. I continue to fight the mental beast of coping with cancer with Strength, Courage, and Determination.
It’s Saturday, and I’m closing in on ending my first week of chemotherapy. I’m feeling much better since writing the last blog.
It feels like I was knocked down, but not knocked out, with my first flush of chemo. My energy’s rising. I feel like I could handle a 30-minute walk if I could count on the weather co-operating by briefly holding off the rain.
The light-headedness is gone. My body’s feeling warmer as my chemo-shocked central nervous system is working better to regulate its temperature. I’m only cold to the core first thing in the morning for a couple of hours until breakfast food converts to energy to warm me. Herbal teas help, but I do miss my morning java.
Somehow greeting the morning without a coffee is a missing piece to starting the day. But I know I can’t have coffee (I only drank one cup per day), black tea, colas and any other caffeinated beverages as they deplete fluids in my body that I’m trying to preserve to flush out the chemo.
My chemo nurse said the first three days are the worst in treatment. I concur.
My treatment was on Monday. I felt fairly normal for the first 36 hours. By Wednesday and Thursday I was sick and lethargic. I felt more out of sorts than sick. It was similar to but different than the flu, and not what I had expected.
Today, the treatment symptoms are becoming part of my new normal in living with cancer. I still have a dry mouth and my gums are getting sensitive with the required five times daily tooth brushing. The smell of food cooking still churns my stomach, so I’m limiting my exposure to kitchens and barbecue odors. Cold foods work best.
Chemo is also doing an interesting thing with my digestive tract. If you’ve ever been on a high dosage anti-inflammatory medicine and your stomach hurts and is upset, its similar to what it feels like with chemo. Except that this will go on for weeks versus a few days to treat an injury.
For the digestive upset, my medical oncology nurse recommended a minimum of two daily portions of yogurt to line the stomach against chemo irritation. It seems to work. I know when I need to have a yogurt snack, my stomach reminds me.
I now have a sense of taste and want to eat. But in these past two days, chemo again has changed how food tastes. Sweeter foods now taste more sweet (almost nauseating), acidy foods taste more acidic, and sour foods taste more sour. Bland foods seem to work best but have their limitations; coupled with my gluten intolerance, that takes me away from many comfort foods I’d like to have.
Chemo is teaching me all about new adventures in how to cook bland--blach! It’s similar to how I introduced bland foods to my kids when they were babies as they graduated from baby food to table food.
If this week’s reaction is a pattern in how my body accepts chemo treatments, and it should be according to my chemo nurse, then mentally and physically I know that the first three days are the worst. I can live with that, particularly now that I have gone through chemo this week.
Next week, with my lowest immunity in a chemo cycle arising, things may be different again in how I will feel. For now, yesterday and today are feel good days and I will take them as bonus gifts in this cancer journey.
The only other new, but not unexpected, symptom is the gradual loss of my hair. I can see small alleys on my scalp where the hair is starting to fall out. By the end of next week my chemo nurses tell me that the cocktail I’m on will have stripped me of all of my hair.
A bevy of caps and hats wait to be used to cover my head, keep it warm, and prevent heat loss and sunburn. My wig sits on its stand waiting for its debut, along with false eyebrows and eyelashes. Add these to my breast prosthesis and prosthetic bra, and I’m starting to feel like I’m cancer’s Bionic Woman of television folklore (circa 1976-78).
I continue on this cancer treatment journey as both the patient and the observer. I keep walking on this trail by moving forward with Strength, Courage, and Determination.