Chemotherapy tastes like eating pennies

I stared at my plate.  My husband sat across the table and gently reminded me of my appointment.  We were sitting in one of my favorite restaurants, our son was with a babysitter, and the sun was shining brightly outside. 

I stared at the people seated near us.  They were laughing together as they ate lunch, and I wondered if any of them ever dealt with cancer.  I wondered if I would ever be able to talk and laugh with such freedom once the day was over. 

I felt such dread when my husband said, "We really should go.   We don't want to be late." 

My tiny inner voice squeaked a tiny response...

"Sure, I want to be late!  Late, late, LATE!  Screw cancer, and SCREW CHEMOTHERAPY!"

While I applauded my little voice for speaking up, my real voice joined the conversation.  "Let's go to chemo." 

I was absolutely terrified of chemotherapy.  What would it feel like when it went into my less-than-a-week-old mediport?  Would it burn?  Would I instantly feel like h*ll?

We walked into the Oncology Building and were directed to our "pod."  This particular pod, we found out, would always be my first stop.  My (wonderful) port-nurse accessed the port for the first of several times so I would be ready for chemo (she'd tape the rest of the syringe to my chest), and my blood would be drawn.  On this first visit, I gripped my husband's hand and squeezed my eyes shut.  The needle actually went in much easier than I had expected.  My bravery level took a small leap. I can DO this!  
 
NOTE: An important factor in my breast cancer journey was my medi-port.  I loved the thing for the ease of blood draws.  I loved how it saved my veins from becoming a horrible mess.  I HATED the fact that I could feel the port getting flushed.  Whenever she would push the saline through the line, I would have a strange taste in my mouth, and I would have an overwhelming feeling of light-headedness.  After two bouts of "IthinkIamgoingtopassoutwhatdoIdo," I discovered that by talking nonstop about pure nonsense, my port would be flushed and I would be ready to go to pod 2 and not sniffing the smelling salts. 

At pod 2, I was weighed in for the first time, and told to prepare for my few minues with my doctor.  I learned very quickly that I had to be prepared for my visits or my questions would remain answered.  My doctor was a very energetic man who truly loved to relate with me by means of discussing parenthood.  He would share stories about his daughters as I would scramble to ask my questions before he left the room.  This visit consisted of my doctor reminding me what a powerful cancer I had.  My bravery level withered.  I can do this?

Pod 3 was where I would receive my chemo.  The room looks relatively warm and inviting.  It is filled with reclining chairs and couches, and there are tables with magazines (over the next 7 months, I would have donated hundreds of magazines and a few books to those tables).   I chose a seat and squeezed my eyes as tightly as I could. 

Most people tend to assume that cancer is just like what you see on TV.  Generally, we are all satisfied to accept that as a reference and simply hope we never deal with it.  The unfortunate thing is that we have no choice but to be terrified when we do face cancer.  We don't know any better. 

After a briefing on what chemo would be going into my body, it was time to start.  I asked for some hand-holding because I was a wreck.  One nurse came over to me. 

"Another, please....."  My voice seemed almost childlike.  When they brought out the Adrimyacin, I had my husband on one arm and two nurses on the other.  I literally squeezed my eyes shut and SCREAMED. 

What was going to happen to me?  This was weirdly similar to the evening we leapt into the New Millenium.  When the clock struck midnight, you could hear a sigh of relief ripple throughout the crowd upon realization of things going okay. 

What was going to happen when my "chemo-clock" struck it's time? 

I took my breath of relief.  It didn't hurt! 

I tried to read through a stack of magazines I had brought from home, and my husband wrote "to-do" lists.  I finally felt comfortable enough to use the bathroom (with my chemo rolling beside me). 

This is where I officially became a chemo-girl.  What was the moment that changed my life? 

When I saw that my pee was the color of cherry-flavored Kool-aide. I was really spooked that my urine looked like a delicious and refreshing summertime drink.  All I needed was the fun swirly straw and a tiny umbrella to float in it. 

It took a few hours after my first treatment ended before I felt like Hell.  I spent my first few hours playing with my son in an almost-manic fashion. By the time dinnertime rolled around, I felt clammy, shaky, had a headache, was incredibly tired, and WORST OF ALL: I couldn't move my hands or arms. 

My doctor wasn't a bit concerned when I gave him a frantic call.  "Oh, that's a very rare but harmless reaction some people get.  It's called 'whatcha-macallit' (I have no idea what he said, but whenever I tell this story, 'whatcha-macallit' is the name of my rare syndrome).  Take some Benadryl and you should be fine within an hour."  

Sure, Doc.  Whatever you say.  I gnashed my teeth in immediate annoyance at my Stupid Cancer.  I had to lay down while my husband and son played in the living room?  

Hell-to-the-no!  

Chemo went from November 9th to May 18th.  During these months, I had a lot of moments where I felt like a fool.  I had a lot of moments where I felt like my dignity floated away in a sea of cherry-colored urine.  I felt lousy, I felt tired.  If it wasn't for my amazing support network, I never would have made it. 

My biggest struggle during chemo was food.  I am a foodie by nature and love to eat. You can understand how this would be unsettling for a person like myself.  My favorite hobby became an unpredictable enemy. 

The first day after my first chemo treatment, I woke up and thought, "I really should eat something healthy to keep my strength going."  I walked into the kitchen and popped some bread in the toaster.

"What is a good side dish for this?  (gasp)  PINEAPPLE TIDBITS!"

I took one bite of those pineapple tidbits, spit it out as fast as I could, but moved too slowly.  For the first time in years, I gagged. 

NOTE: I just ate pineapple for the first time this summer

Day by day, I grew more discouraged with the mind-game I was playing by myself.  Why the h*ll does everything taste like I licked a dirty penny, sucked on a battery, or feel like it is a thousand times more spicy than normal? 

I told my church family (who took care of my family the ENTIRE TIME) not to worry about bringing a meal for me, but my husband and son would be grateful. 

Just as a good church family would do, they took care of each of us.  I'm grateful they did, because I eventually learned that anything bread, starch, or carbohydrate-based would stay with me. 

Water was a terrible struggle for me.  We are told to drink as much water as we could, but if you asked any cancer patient we'd all agree that water was simply a cup full of pennies.  Just by chance, I learned that a certain brand of water tasted like the nectar of the Gods. 

To this day, I can only drink that brand of water.  The pizza I once despised is now a favorite.  I will never be able to eat popsicles again (they were eaten during every chemo session to help avoid mouth sores). 

Stupid Cancer tinkered with my love for food.  I had the most successful diet of my life and lost 30 pounds.  Sadly enough, it is now four years later and I have been eating like mad so that my taste buds could catch up to everything. 

Hrmpfh-if only the penny-taste could be something we'd have the option to keep.  I'd be skinny as hell.