Chemo

Here I am again, heading off for chemo. The excitement and the sympathy has worn thin for everyone around me. That's OK. I'm pretty tired of it myself. I drive to the Wilmot Center and park on the third floor of the garage. I sit in the car a few minutes to finish my cup of hot ginger peach tea, washing the last crumb of a Stella Doro breakfast cookie from my lips.

I smile as I remember my first time coming in for chemo and not wanting to eat ahead of time in case I got nauseous. Ha! That's a laugh. They fill you so full of anti nausea meds you couldn't throw up if you wanted to. Lucky lucky lucky. I hug my pink carry bag that Pastor gave me for my chemo trips and smile, remembering her wonderful support and kindness throughout this long and bumpy trip, laughing as I recalled the day they pushed Benedryl too fast in my IV and I nearly passed out while she was sitting there chatting. Too funny.

Today I will not have an elegant dinner served on beautiful china like the time my friend brought me lunch. I have a bagel with me. That will suffice. I know the carts will be around with ginger ale and pretzels and stuff. I am in good spirits and relish how delightful it feels to walk fast and free down the hallway toward the infusion center.

I am not in the throes of a death struggle. I am merely keeping the wolf away from the door with this maintenance stuff. I take every precaution to ensure I will have time with Drew, that I will meet my soon to be born grandchildren, that I will be able to hug my sweeties this Christmas. I check in and joke with the ladies who work the reception desk. They know me now and ask after my summer. Its been great! Theirs too. Lots of travel.

I settle into the familiar recliner, picking one near the window so I can see the blue sky and green trees. The nurse is one I like who remembers me and while she preps me, I ask how she got into oncology nursing. What an interesting story she relates and before I know it, I am hooked up and just waiting for the pre meds to take effect. She and I both know that if I get lots of fluids the Rituxan goes better. She hangs an extra bag. I take out my book and start reading.

Suddenly my head aches and my eyes are tired. My system is reacting to the pre meds in the usual way. Its just that I forgot this is not actually a walk in the park. Oh, yeah. I remember. I will feel sluggish and blah. The tiredness begins to creep into my arms and legs. Maybe I won't read. Maybe I will catch a little TV. But I don't bother to turn it on. The Benedryl that normally hypes me up seems to be having the opposite effect today.

I decide not to fight it and doze off between trips to the bathroom, dragging my IV pole along. Normally I name my daylong companion and joke about it, but today I don't feel like it. I feel more like I am being hit by a Mack truck. The nurse keeps upping the dose. Normally I can never get beyond 100 drips per hour, but today I do 150, then 200, then 250 all the way to 500! I can't believe it and neither can the nurse! This is unheard of! No tingling, no numbness, no tongue swelling, no rash. I must be finally adjusted to this stuff.

I am actually going to get out of here in a reasonable timeframe. By 2 pm I am done with the Rituxan and undergoing a final flush. I'm still pretty stable too. I don't feel like the usual wobbly wet spaghetti noodle. What is going on? I thank my lucky stars, hug the nurse and head for home, stopping on the way to pick up a movie. This is great. Maybe maintenance chemo isn't so bad. Just the lousy headache tiredness to deal with. I am confident that a good night's sleep will put me back to normal by tomorrow. Yeah!