4th Round of Chemo

My blood counts were all fine yesterday (well, a little low, but not so low that I couldn’t get chemo), so, for the first time since my very first dose, my chemo did not have to be postponed. That was dose 4 out of 6, so I am 2/3 done!

You may wonder what a day at the infusion suite is actually like. Well, it’s a little bit like being on an airplane. After you check all your baggage with your doctor, you go wait in the waiting room, which really isn’t that much unlike an airplane terminal, until they call you for boarding.

You are shown to your seat (which is actually much bigger than an airplane seat, and has a foot rest and the ability to recline fully, so maybe getting chemo is more like flying first class), and the nurse offers you refreshments, a pillow, or a warm blanket, much like a flight attendant would (in first class, at least). Then you await your lab results, which is sort of like waiting for the maintenance crew to clear the plane for takeoff. Then you have to wait 30 minutes (or more) for the pharmacy to mix up your specific cocktail of poison, which I compare to waiting for air traffic control to give you the green light for takeoff.

Finally your drugs are ready. The nurse, wearing a splash-resistant gown and big nitrile gloves for protection from the toxic substances, brings them to you, along with some premeds to keep you from getting sick, and the chemicals are hooked up to your vein. You then sit back, relax, and enjoy your four hour flight. Hopefully you’ve brought some work to do or a book to read or some music to listen to or a companion to chat with, but if not there’s always the option of TV.

There’s not much you can do but sit there. Oh, sure, you can get up and drag your IV pole to the bathroom, which is about as far away as an airplane bathroom would be, but that’s about all the exercise you’re going to get for the day. Basically, you sit, and you wait, and they come around periodically to check your blood pressure or change out the drugs and IV tubing.

Sometimes there are fun surprises, like a visit from the art therapist or volunteers bearing cookies. During my very first chemo infusion, back in December, a women’s choir came caroling in the lobby, and my nurse let me roll my IV pole out there to listen. The beautiful sound of their voices singing traditional Christmas carols was really uplifting at that time, when I was still in the scared-and-depressed phase of my cancer journey.

Speaking of the scared-and-depressed phase, I think I should perhaps update you with my impressions of my port-a-cath. The last time I wrote about it, during that scared-and-depressed phase, it was still very tender and bruised from the surgery, and I wasn’t exactly comfortable with it yet. But now, I love it, and I’m so glad I have it.

It doesn’t hurt anymore, and it makes getting chemo so much easier. I have a prescription cream that I apply 30 minutes before I go in, and that numbs the port up completely so I don’t even feel them stick me. Much more pleasant than a new IV each time! Even if I forget the cream, though (which I did last time), the stick isn’t too bad. They can draw my labs through it and then use it to give me my chemo. Plus, it’s preserving my veins for the future. I already knew that chemo is damaging to the veins, but yesterday I overheard a nurse talking to my neighbor about his veins getting hard and becoming very difficult to access, and I wondered why the poor guy didn’t get a port.

What my port looks like most days

And what the port looks like, all ready for chemo