Today I entered step 2 of sending this cancer on its way out of my body...permanently.  I had my first chemotherapy treatment.

I've thought about it, and have divided step one into various stages.  Step 1a was recognizing there was a problem.  Step 1b...calling the doctor and having the various medical appointments, like a mammogram, physical exam, biopsy, etc. to detect the problem.    Step 1c...getting the actual diagnosis...my problem now had a name...Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, triple negative.  Step 1d was forging a plan of attack, from my surgeon and oncology team.  They made me a partner in my treatment, including choice of order of attack.  Step 1e was was preparing for the attack with surgery, including lymph node removal, and port placement.  Step 1f was additional testing... A ct scan, blood work, and including a bone scan that I will have on Thursday. Step 1g has been ongoing...the healing... physically from the surgery, and the ACCEPTANCE emotionally of all the previous steps, a through g.  I feel that right now, at 4:00 in the morning after my first round of chemotherapy, that I'm in a better place than I was in steps 1a-1f.

The night before, I packed my bag to go to my first chemo visit.  A red patterned 31 bag my mom gave me, with lots of little pockets.  Magazines, books, check, check.  Water, diet Pepsi?  Check, check.  IPad, turquoise blanket my mother in law Florence gave me, made by women at Queen's, her church?  Check, check.  Even a book from my friend Karen, "Chicken Soup for the Breast Cancer Survivor's Soul", and "Jesus Calling," a book from my friend Janie (and her husband wanted me to be sure it wasn't Jesus "calling me home"). Gotta love that.  Check. Check.  And last, but not least, a piece of pink camo ribbon, that came on my "sunshine basket" from my friends at work, tied to the handle..."for the fight," Sabrena had told me....that felt just right.  I was ready.

Now...what does one wear to a chemo appointment.  "Steve, when we toured the infusion room, were those people wearing gowns, or regular clothing?"  "Regular clothes," my hubby said.  Hmmm...I'm not a person who goes out in public in jammy pants, but that sounded comfortable for a five hour visit in a recliner.  What kind of shirt?  I was clueless.  Ended up wearing a regular old "kim" outfit...Capri jeans and a scoop neck shirt.  Perfect!  As the shirt only had to be pulled aside a little bit for port access.

Chemo, I was told, would be 5 hours long my first round, so Steve and my mom had broken it into shifts...Steve would get me there at 9:50, stay with me for the first part of my treatment, and my mom would get there at 12:30 , watch the "Young and the Restless" with me, and take me home when those five hours were up, around 3:00.  So I was very surprised when I was told I would be done about 12:45-1:00.  "Don't I have to be here, for my first visit, for five hours?  Stay a few hours to make sure I don't have any reactions?  They double-checked twice, and no, I didn't.  Better call my mom, or she'll miss the whole thing!

The first hour was all about the pre-chemo...they accessed my port for the first time, that hard little disc implanted in my right chest.  Steve looked out the window...couldn't watch...and I couldn't look away.  Basically, a needle stick, more painful than a traditional IV, but not intolerable, then it was over.  Added a line.  Got a good blood flow, which meant it was working.  Hallelujiah!   No clue there could even be a problem...which would have meant "fiddling" with it, or worst case scenario, it could be broken, and need to be surgically fixed.  Good news...it worked right away!  A saline flush.  Drew two vials of blood.  Then Sent me to the infusion room, with a dangling IV from my chest

It seems the infusion room, the large space where chemotherapy is administered, has been operating at full capacity for a while now, so my regular assigned seat was taken, so it took a minute to get me a chair.  I got seated, situated, then about five minutes later they told me I was going to be moved.  For my first time, they wanted me near the nurse's station.  Ok, no big deal.  Even though I had a primo view of that waterfall, and every tv around me seemed to have on the "Price is Right."  I don't know why, but I love that game show, and I've watched it regularly since college, when I would pedal my bike back to my apartment, eat lunch between classes, and turn it on with my roommate Donna. Every school vacation or if I'm home sick, I watch it.  Somehow, it's comforting to me...so it was a normal, almost welcome sound, full of good memories in my life, in an abnormal, non-comforting environment, and somehow felt right to me hearing that background voice of "Come On Down!!!" while getting my first cancer treatment.  Sound crazy?

Well, my mom got there about noon, Steve left shortly after, and my mom got to watch the administering of my first actual chemo drug.  Steve was there for my first round of meds, that went directly through the line in my port.  I didn't feel a thing, just chatted with the nurses and volunteers that came through.  The first volunteer had snacks and drinks..."You're So Young!"  She blurted out to me.  Ok.  I'll have an iced tea and some animal crackers please.  My husband wanted a coffee.  What do you say to that?  Is there a proper response?  I'm still wondering what that response would be.  I'm 45 years old, middle-aged, but probably not what the majority of her snack customers look like.  Oh well, cancer can happen to anyone...food for thought, I guess.

Anyway, the first round is several Iv's for anti-nausea, saline solution, and decadron, a steroid, that I will also be ingesting orally over the next two days, and basically getting prepped for my two-drug , bi-weekly cocktail, to come.  My nurse, I hate to say it, was my clone on a better day.  I immediately loved her...super tan, long blonde hair, 43, former softball player who now coached her daughter's softball team, and rocking some neon pink and yellow scrubs.  Super friendly, she told me I could indeed do the mystic tan spray tanning during my treatment, and she "got it."  She told me how for 21 years shed been an RN, 18 in oncology, and how chemotherapy wasn't the same as it was when she started...not even the same as five years ago!  The biggest change is how they are able to combat the many side effects more effectively.  Like that hour of nothing but drugs to combat the effects of what was being hand pushed into me by her, now completely adorned in a blue suit covering, plastic face shield, and sterile gloves.  For any kind of spray.  It is highly toxic.  It's a poison.  "It's killing your cancer," she said to me, more than once, and reiterated it to my mother, who looked a little shell-shocked at Tracy's new attire for this portion of my visit.  Two vials, hand injected over about ten minutes, then two hanging bags of drug #2.   During the last ten minutes of the last chemo drug, my head and face started getting tight.  Like a major sinus cold coming on...I had a big sneeze, and a little of the pressure was relieved, but it was still there.  Wow!  Is this normal?  I asked my other nurse.  Yes, it is, but we want you to stay here until it subsides.  About 10 minutes after my IV was removed, I felt pretty normal.  We walked out, decided we were both starving, and went to get some lunch.

We got sub sandwiches, and I walked around the new Vermeulen's, waiting for my sandwich.  Went home and ate.  Looked through my instructions and cancer 101 folder.  Tried on all my wigs and hats for my mom.  She tried some on.  We laughed, and decided to go to the crossing, I needed more wig stands.  A new pillow, maybe a silk or satin pillowcase, as Tracy told me that can help you keep your hair "a little bit longer," and a cute butterfly barrette for one of my wigs.  Set up my wigs, and trying to figure out what to do with them...I think my dining room table is not the best place, but for now, it'll have to do until I organize a spot in my closet...luckily, Henry, my cat, hadn't noticed them yet :)
It was a pretty normal night.  I really felt fine, maybe a little tired about 7:00, but I figured pretty normal, after all I'd been through that day.  And I was right...I felt better AFTER my visit than I did before...the unknown is what gnaws at you, eats away your spirit, casts doubt on little pieces of your life...knowing is better than not knowing.  For me, anyway.  But.....

I would tell anyone who thinks they might have a "problem," to get to the doctor immediately and get checked out.  More than likely, it's nothing.  But if it's something, I still feel that knowing is a lot better than burying your head in the sand and hoping the symptoms will "just go away."  A lot of time, time is of the essence...who knows if I had just waited until "later," if I would still be at stage 2?  It's really been a blessing that I've been on summer vacation, and had the time to rest, think, and plan.