Part 4: Beginning Chemotherapy

The first thing you notice when you start Chemotherapy is the room(s) it’s in. There are chairs (recliners) that ring the room, with pillows on them wrapped in paper pillowcases, and I.V. poles next to them. If you’re not the first one there, there are people sitting in some of the chairs connected to I.V. bags, and even an occasional I.V. bottle hanging from the I.V. poles. The I.V.’s are connected through either their arm or a port in the chest. You have a sheet of paper that identifies you, and what the Oncologist has ordered for your treatment. You hand the paper to a nurse, and then pick an empty chair to sit in. You are understandably nervous and scared and anxious about what’s going to happen next.

Then one of the nurses comes over, introduces herself, and fills you in on what’s going to happen to you. First though, you need to watch a video on Chemotherapy, which to be honest you don’t really remember much of. It talks about dealing with side effects, getting help from family and friends, and how therapy can be useful in helping deal with Cancer and Chemotherapy. You have to sign that you’ve watched and understood the video before they’ll begin the treatment. You sign and your anxiety rises.

            Before the Chemotherapy starts, you have blood drawn to see if you are healthy enough to tolerate the drugs; this happens every time you have treatment. If you see the Oncologist, a Medical Assistant pricks your finger so everything is ready when it’s treatment time. If it’s a day with only treatment, they hook you up through the port, and take the blood that way (when you have treatment every two weeks- as I did- you see the oncologist every other visit- once a month). I personally prefer the port to the finger prick- it actually hurts less (most of the time), and you don’t feel like your hand’s a cow that they’re milking for blood. I will say that getting stabbed in the chest with a hollow needle that goes into a surgically implanted piece of medical equipment like the port is quite odd at first, but you do get used to it. It’s amazing the things you get used to. They have a lab on premises that processes the blood, and if everything checks out, they then put the Oncologist’s orders into their pharmacy (also on premises).

The pharmacy prepares all the drugs for every individual getting treatment as they are approved. All the bags and shots have your name and date of birth on them, which you have to verify as being yours before they begin. First come what is called “pre-meds”. For me it consisted of a bag of steroids, Decadron, (that helps the Chemo drugs work), and a shot of Aloxi, which is to help prevent nausea. Once the steroids are done- it takes about 20 minutes- then you start on the treatment. They started me with Oxaliplatin, which is a Chemo drug, and Leucovorin, which helps the Chemo work and protects the Kidneys. After that I had a shot (called a “push”) of Fluorouracil (also know as 5FU- best letters for a Chemo drug ever!). Once those are done, it’s a bag of Avastin, another Chemo drug. All together it takes about four hours. 

What being on Chemo looks like.

Once the bags and shots are finished, I was then hooked up to a pump that had more 5FU in it for 46 hours. I hate the pump- it’s clumsy, cumbersome and a walking reminder of what’s trying to kill you. They give you a fanny pack to carry it around in. I never wore a fanny pack when it was fashionable (if they every truly were) and I wasn’t going to start now. So I slung it over my shoulders when I was out, and put it on a table or desk when I was sitting or working. I did manage to forget about it, move the wrong way and pull it off what it was resting on more than a few times. I even ended up in the hospital once when the tube that carried the drug from the pump to my port sprung a leak. See, it’s okay for the drugs to be pumped into you, but they shouldn’t come into contact with your skin or you may have a problem. As a note, nothing bad happened due to the leak- the hospital didn’t have a tube the right size to replace the one that had the hole, so they disconnected the pump, and I went to the Oncologist in the morning where they replaced the tube and hooked me back up- Voila’! After several treatments, I got the best advice from one of the nurses about the pump- wear cargo pants. The pump fits in one of the pockets and becomes less cumbersome. So simple, and yet so genius. This was an enormous lift psychologically. The one good thing about the pump is that if it did not exist I would have had to be admitted to the hospital for the treatment from Wednesday to Friday. As it is, you go back to the office on Friday and have the pump removed. They flush it with saline and heparin to prevent clotting and then you’re free to go- until next time.