Another Round of Chemo

Day 4 of treatment and I'm overcome by nausea. Wednesday was Day 1 and I dragged myself to the infusion room at Overlake to get hooked up to a chemo pump for my first round of FOLFOX (which contains 5FU, Leucovorin, and Oxaliplatin). After almost 4 months since the end of my last chemo treatment, I found that everyone remembered my name and even asked about the twins. The oncology nurses explain that they remember me because I am the young mother with twin boys and cancer. As I settle myself into the infusion chair and have the inch-long needle inserted into my portacath, I scan the crowded room and see many faces, all over 50 years of age, all tired and seemingly resigned to their disease. But like me, I know that they are fighting fiercely even beneath the facade of fatigue. I settle in with several magazines, a knit blanket and a cup of Earl Grey tea to pass the time during the 3 hour infusion of chemo.

As the poison spread through me, so did the dread. I remembered all the terrible side effects and symptoms from just 4 short months ago and did not relish the thought of reliving them. But this time there wouldn't be radiation to contend with as well, so no third degree burns on top of the fatigue and nausea. I got up twice to use the bathroom because there were so many liquids coursing through my body, so I dragged my IV stand with me back and forth, unplugging and replugging the stand every time I got up. As I passed the other infusion chairs, I saw patients reading, scanning laptops, sleeping, talking with relatives who sat with them the entire time. Every single chair was filled; there was so much cancer in this room alone.

At the end of three hours, I was released from my temporary confinement to drive myself home. The heavy metals in the chemo already sensed the cold air and caused my fingertips and lips to feel pricked by thousands of little needles. The side effect is called neuropathy because of the nerve damage that the oxaliplatin causes. I quickly tucked my hands into my jacket and pursed my lips to get rid of the uncomfortable sensation. Later, I would learn that even a sip of cold water would constrict my throat and make it feel as if I was swallowing a shard of glass. Running my hands under the faucet or reaching into the fridge intensified the painfully prickly sensation in my fingers. Day 2 and Day 3 passed without too much incident at my sister's condo where I stayed until I return to the hospital to have the continuous pump disconnected. I have 14 days to rest until the next treatment cycle. I have 7 more treatments after this one.

And now, the nausea makes it difficult to enjoy food and water and I am losing weight again. Everything has a metallic aftertaste, sometimes making plain water taste savory. I took the anti-nausea medication the doctor prescribed but found that it literally knocks you out as a means of managing your side effects, so I only take it at night. I tell myself I can do this, that I need to do this. But a part of me can't fully enjoy life right now, as much as I really want to. Certainly happy to be alive at all, yet the quality of life could be better for sure. I am keeping my eyes on the light at the end of the tunnel, but there always seems to be another tunnel. I just want to come out on the other side.