Chemo Day #3

Sunrise

Chemo - first class

Salt Lake City

I do not look forward to chemo day, yet, with each 'treatment', I'm moving closer to the finish line.

My husband called this one, chemo day three, "half way done with half" of the Taxol.

One fourth of the way there.

But, in reality, chemo goes for a year because every three weeks, I'm infused with Herceptin.

I am asked many questions about chemo, mostly, I'm sure, due to the curiosity, but perhaps because I am an educator and a safe one to ask. After all, how many teachers don't want to educate?

Here was my third chemo day:

At the Huntsman, a first class airplane seat with a view of the Salt Lake City skyline becomes the infusion place. Beautiful sunrises, with light bouncing from clouds to mountains and reflecting on buildings offer a sense of serenity. A flat screen tv is in every 'bay', and thanks to SkullCandy, I was given headphones for non-obtrusive listening to television, iPad, or just to cancel out noise. It is here, I sit, and wait for the infusion nurse to access my port, a small device placed under my skin, below the collar bone.

Accessing a port is simple enough, and painless, if I've slathered on enough numbing cream. The nurse dons a mask and gloves, and I too, am given a mask. It is an interesting show that the nurse puts on as she never touches the outside of these gloves. She manipulates them with an interesting finesse of folding and twisting without touching. The port area is cleaned, a protective covering is placed in directly that spot, and the nurse "pokes" or accesses the port. Here, blood can be drawn for labs, and once those come back, the infusion may begin.

They start by injecting a steroid to ward off negative reactions to Taxol. This generally takes about half an hour. I don't feel the steroids or any different as these are infused. After the infusion machine beeps, the nurse returns, scans my wrist band asking for my name and date of birth, and confirms this same info on the clear Taxol bag. She then vanishes, and begins dressing into a plastic yellow "hazmat" suit just behind my line of vision. I see her, as her arms move, tying herself in, and she is protected from Taxol -yet, this toxin is what will be streaming in my bloodstream within minutes.

I can "feel" this drug as it hits my brain. Perhaps it is a temperature difference. Perhaps it is the chemical itself. Regardless, I am aware.

I am sometimes cold here, in the infusion room. Warm blankets, cozy foot socks, hot tea, and raisins from the snack lady are my go-to items.

And there, I sit. Watching the sunrise, talking to a friend, answering an email and texts on my phone, trying to learn a new language, that I soon forget because "chemo brain" is real.

#skullcandy #chemobrain #chemohats #chemotherapy #huntsmancancercenter #Taxol #herceptin