The scoop on my first Chemo experience

I can't wait to finish up my Oriah Mountain Dreamer story, but because this blog is about my breast cancer journey, let me first get that experience out the way.

As I mentioned yesterday, my day already begun with excited feelings of Oriah and the support that she has created around the world for me. Then it was added to with the surprise visit from my Mom. She took the 10 hour night drive from P.E. with my new found cousin George (whom I have never met). By 6am my house was like a railway station. Charlotte arrived with a hug and a special goodie bag from Thea, which I will write about on another day - with photos. Then it was the dustbin men wanting their Christmas bonuses. Jordan's ADHD kicking in with the added excitement of seeing Granny. The dogs playing their part in the excitement and fighting for attention. My word, you would think it was Christmas or something.

I couldn't help feeling "held" and strong on the way to the hospital. On arrival though, everything started going downhill for me ... unfortunately. My "counseling session", wasn't quite that. It was with a locum oncologist who told me nothing new to what the nurses were to tell me. Cost R220 upfront. I didn't even understand most of what he was telling me. I am sure it is a case of "the higher their education, the more difficult it must be for an oncologist to explain in lay-man terms what those big words he was using means".

Arrival in the chemo lounge. Heart pounding through my ears now. It was packed to capacity with patients, even this time of the year. Patients were mostly bald, some on the way to losing their hair, some wigs, ME full hair. It definitely felt like "Spot the mistake ... Virgin!!!" Mostly all were over the age of 60. The sister was very compassionate to the extent that I found myself biting my bottom lip to fight back the tears when she asked if I was okay. I was scared shitless, but was trying not to be. I succeeded though ... no tears.

I wasn't very comfortable as everyone around me was speaking Afrikaans and I couldn't even eavesdrop on their conversations. I was tempted to do what my sms suggestion from Thea said "just drop a fart and see what happens", but I was bursting for the loo so a "bietjie bang" I would wet my panties. You can tell I was in there too long, I'm even writing Afrikaans now.

Then came the dreaded needle - which is not quite a needle, but a plastic tube that goes through the hand vein (i.e. more painful). I bloody well cried spontaneously like a baby and everyone was staring with that "Oh Boy!!" expression. Thank God Hil was there to hold my hand. She was crying too. I think I made the pain worse by not being relaxed. The nurse explained to me that it was important for me to be relaxed as the vein contracts which makes it more difficult for the needle thingy to connect. "Calmettes" were suggested for my next round. I must say though, my veins look pumping and received a lot of compliments. Fancy that, being complimented on good looking veins. Hil was only allowed to stay 10 minutes at a time, so I was mostly left on my own with a roomful of sad, sick-looking strangers. I hope I don't look like that when I become part of the furniture.

I couldn't concentrate on reading, writing or even watching the cricket. My mind was in overdrive trying to stay calm. I must have had that "deer spotlight look" on my face as the sister told me to turn away when she put the RED DRIP in. Thank God I didn't try the fart thing and wet my pants, because my wee was RED after that.

I tried striking a conversation with the woman next to me after about an hour, it definitely didn't help when her story was "I was in remission for 5 years, had a mastectomy and now it is back in the bones, liver and blood". Fuck!! Won't try that again in a hurry.

The procedure took all of 3.5 hours which was a relief. I couldn't wait to get out of there but was a little pissed off when the pre-drugs I should have taken an hour before had still not arrived. The script for it was sitting in my file and could have been ordered 3 weeks before if I had known it was there. The chemist couldn't get clearance from the medical aid as they couldn't read the fax. Cost R700 upfront for 3 pills ... or wait longer than the hour we had already waited. To make matters worse, the instructions for these drugs are in Afrikaans.

I was told of all the common symptoms that I could expect. A lot of them were new to me so it didn't help the calm. Cancer cells are active. Chemo attacks all active cells which is why I knew about the hair loss. But then there might be black nails, mouth ulcers, metal taste for 8 months ... so everything is going to taste like a door knob now - goodbye french kissing. I might put on weight and look bloated with the steroids and cortisone - oh man, many many more that I don't even want to think about right now.

I also have to phone every time I experience something so that they can monitor my first round of chemo. So obviously I am on full alert now and have noticed how the imagination starts playing a role - especially as I am very rarely sick. I was a little drained and exhausted when I got home so tried taking a nap from about 4pm. I woke up sweating and thinking I had a fever until Hil reminded me that it is summer and I did have the duvet on me. I think I felt miffy with nausea and headaches for all of 3 hours after that.

During those 3 hours I decided to just lay on the couch and moan. As I was reminded by my friend's enquiry - in the Jewish tradition during child birth it's a case of "the louder the scream, the bigger the diamond", surely it will work with chemo? With Jordan though, I didn't even get a cubic seconia as I had C-Section, so no harm in putting it to the test with this right? Trust me, it works when you get rewarded with a back tickle. Since then I have felt nothing else thanks to all the prayers and support I have received from around the world.

I am led to believe that the worst will come within the next 10 days when my white blood cells start taking a dip, a time when I am most prone to infection. I think though it will be a feeling mostly of fatigue. So I just have to put my dancing shoes away and reserve a place for them in my imagination.

Until tomorrow when my writing will take the form of more pleasurable things ... like the Oriah story ... tits up sisters (.)(.)