FEELIN' LIKE SHIT

Oh decadron I despise you this morning. A pre-med to chemotherapy, it contains steroids that allow me little to no sleep. So please forgive me for errors to this post today. :)

Upon arrival to treatment, my vitals are taken first. Weight, blood pressure, pulse, and temp. A packet containing latex gloves, mask, 3/4 inch needle attached to a long tube, clear sticky "Band-Aid," flushing syringes and a couple to draw blood. My injection site is a mediport, or catheter which was surgically inserted in my chest above my right breast, a little smaller than a nickel and sticks out like a button. I call it my doorbell or an on/off switch.

The site is cleaned and the pre-meds injected. Pepsid for the stomach, Benadryl for allergic reactions, Decadron for naseau, and Atropine for diarrhea. Then it's time for the big stuff. Two bags are hung and hooked to an infusion pump containing Ironotecan, and Leucovorin, which drip over a two hour period. Most times it's pretty full in here. It's a small room with five reclining infusion chairs. Most people bring family members or friends and it can get pretty tight. I don't mind the people it gives me reason to pray for them. I don't mind going alone, but sometimes the fatigue is overwhelming and I don't feel like driving the 40 minutes back home. Today I am the only one here. I usually write, read, or nap as the Benadryl makes me sleepy.

The nurses are wonderfully kind, helpful and attentive. The staff is most pleasant. I only know of one other person with my same disease, around my age, and I try to keep his spirits up when I see him. He unfortunately has lost his hair. I'm lucky to still have mine. I'm reminded of my step-brother who passed away last January from bladder cancer. My uncle also died from neck cancer in August of last year. And yet another friend from high school lost her father not too long ago. The scary part is we were all diagnosed within months of each other and 3 out of the 4 of us are gone. My heart is heavy for that and the not knowing when it may be my turn. The thought of horrible sickness overrunning my body towards the end it very frightening. I pray it's peaceful whenever it may be. I do my best to occupy my mind with useful contemplation, reflection and feelings.


When the two bags have emptied into my veins, I am then hooked to a portable pump that I take home where 5FU is administered over a 48 hr. period. On Wednesday I return to have it unhooked and am free for another week. Some of the side effects I experience are: brain fog, heartburn, blurred vision, soar/sensitive mouth, blistered palms, nausea, soar joints, fatigue is probably the most prominent, loss of appetite, or gorging anything I can get my hands on, dry mouth, chills, dry skin, the shakes, sleeplessness, possible tears, head-ache, diarrhea when the atropine wears off, watery eyes, and runny nose. Fun fun!

A little insight into the world of chemotherapy infusion. By Saturday I'm somewhat back to normal, and it gets better from there. Sorry this is not so lively, will pick it up a little better next time.

Hugs to all!

*The mind that has been graced with light becomes the vessel of the world's illumination. The purpose of prayer is the alignment of the mind with the thoughts and the will of God.
~Marianne Williamson~