Chemo Nurse Angel- If there ever was a person who was perfectly placed in her field, she was it. She took me to an infusion chair, had me sit and started explaining. First, she showed me how the chair worked. They recline and have heat settings. (What, no massage? Now that would be wicked awesome!). She told me the prescribed lidocaine cream would need to be put on the port about an hour before every treatment, so that it would numb the skin so you wouldn’t feel the needle when it was inserted. She had some clear tegaderm dressings and told me to put one over the cream so it wouldn’t get all over my clothes. If you can’t afford the patches you can use saran wrap. Once the poke you, you basically spend the rest of the time in the chair.
She then went through each drug I would get infused with and how long it would take. She said the first infusion would be the longest, as they start with a 90 min infusion that would drop to 60 mins the next time. She spoke slowly and sweetly, calmly and compassionately. While the anti-cancer drugs would destroy the cancer in my body, my other cells would be damaged too. She explained all the side effects of each drug, and the premeds they would have to give me to combat the sickness caused by the drugs and to prevent my body from rejecting them. She told me that my immune system would weaken, such that if my temp was ever above 100.4 it was a cause for real concern. Like go to the ER concern. Not 104, 100.4! She told me about extreme fatigue I would experience, like never before. That only cancer patients and similar would understand. She told me about cancer brain fog, and peripheral neuropathy, and to bring in ice packs to my very first treatment to wear on my feet and my hands to prevent it.
While she talked, I started to cry. So she gave me tissues and continued on. While she talked, I started to shake. So she held my hand and continued on. She continued on, and on, until she talked me through it all and then, when I could hear no more, she reminded me that I would go through this and so much more so I would survive. She knew.
When I was composed enough to start breathing again, she showed me around the infusion suite. They have a counter with drinks and snacks to get you through your treatment. There was a hat basket constantly refilled from local knitters for the taking, and then there was a wall of wigs. Blonde, brunette, short, long, curly- mannequin heads with hair of all shapes and sizes, for if you couldn’t afford your own. I looked at that wall in horror and almost passed out. I took a step back. There was a scarf basket and she asked me if I would like a scarf, which I politely declined. She offered me bits and pieces and then told me I had to at least accept one thing. Then she handed me a port pillow. I didn’t know what it was for. It was to protect your port from the seatbelt strap when you drive. Who knew? I thanked her and then ran like hell back to my car.
I jumped in my car, backed out of the spot and sped out of the lot. I jumped back on the highway to head back home as fast as I could get there, wheels and head spinning the whole way. The further I got, the worse I felt. I started salivating like crazy and the veins were throbbing in the back of my neck, up the right side of my head. Just keep moving, just keep breathing. I needed to get home. Actually, I really needed to get home. The mobile vet was coming to check out my dogs and give them their vaccinations. My little, ancient, fugly dog (named Goat) had been really ill. I think he suffered a stroke. I took him on a long walk a few weeks ago and he couldn’t move after. He had lost movement on the left side of his body and had to be fed with a syringe. I had tried to take him to a vet earlier but they were booked out, so while we waited for an appointment he miraculously recovered. I need him.
I passed several towns and the Gorilla fireworks stand. My head was spinning, but I was doing great until just outside of Houston, when I could no longer see straight and had to pull over to puke out my guts. It could have been the coffee, or the early morning hours, but I just couldn’t stop. And it didn’t stop. I watched my puke freeze as it hit the snow at 15 below. Doubled over, I was impressed by how the vapor from my breath turned to crystals. Then I realized that I was freezing, without any coat or gloves on, but kept heaving anyway. Exhausted, I pulled myself up and took a huge breath. Icy acid air burned my lungs, and I thought “well that was awesome, yeay me!” Contemplating my existence while looking over my puke pile, I looked around and noticed the sun had risen, and there were fresh moose tracks. At least the moose are back I thought, as I frigidly ran back to my car.
I pulled over one more time but got to my house just behind the vet mobile. I ran up my stairs and shouted to them that they could come in. I ran to the bathroom because I had to puke again. I let the dogs out and then realized the vet had not come in. I walked out to their van and realized they had masked up. I wasn’t sick before this morning and I didn’t think projectile puking was a sign of COVID. They asked if I would rather the dogs come out or if I was exposed to COVID. Don’t worry, it’s not COVID, it’s only cancer I told them, and again invited them.
I was nauseated the rest of the day. Couldn’t manage my video counselling session because I kept having to go to the bathroom to puke during the session. Laid down a bit and then had a video consult with the second oncology group.
This oncologist was amazing. He knew my history, read through all the reports and had a game plan ready to present. He explained to me that since I had two different cancers, that he would be dealing with each independently, treating me first for HER2+ cancer, and then going from there. He set up a bunch of tests and scans because he wanted to know why I had cancer so young, and whether or not there was cancer anywhere else in my body. He told me he wanted me not to just recover from cancer fully but to get back to the quality of life I was currently living. He told me I could still teach fitness, still be me, and I knew instantly I wanted him on my team.
I cancelled my fitness classes that evening, still having bouts of nausea and went straight to bed. I spent that afternoon and evening in bed, or in the bathroom hurling, even when there was nothing left to hurl. In-between bouts of dry heaving, I slowly let the feelings sink in. This was real. This was really happening to me. Actually, it already had happened and now I had to do something about it.
When I woke up the next morning I figured that had been the worse nausea I had ever experienced, and that I absolutely HATE being nauseous. Like really hate it, like I would rather have constipation and diarrhea at the same time than be nauseous. I had never been that nauseous in all my life, and I was pretty much morning sick all 9 months of all 3 of my pregnancies, and projectile vomit the whole time whenever on a boat. Cancer nauseous could not possibly be as bad as the night I just went through, so if I lived through that, I could live through this too.
Bigger than Boobies 