Chemotherapy Starts again.

Chemotherapy, at least mine, is something that defies explation or description. Why do I tell you all of this? It isn't because I want your sympathy. It isn't because I want you to know how big and bad I am because I am doing chemo. First of all, I always wondered what chemotherapy was like, and maybe this quenches a curiosity for you. I am also doing it because, since I was a kid, I've documented almost every thing. This documentation has been valuable to me in the past, and I am sure I will need to look back upon this in the future. I have already read what I wrote about last year's chemo, and it helpd me remember a lot of things I had forgotten. I went in to my oncologist yesterday, and I am extremely happy with his facility and his staff. They are so kind, warm professional, and know what they are doing. They took me to my room, accessed my old port, and started a drip of anti-nausea medicine, and some other stuff to prevent unneeded harm to healthy cells. A couple of hours latter, they started the chemo drugs. Two or three medicines to begin KILLING THE NEW CANCER CELLS!! As I watched the drip, I knew, or envisioned that every new drop was going into my artery and finding its way to the tumors on my lung, and choking them off and killing them. Even though I felt fine at the beginning, before it was over, I had to lie down on a bed so I did. After a couple of hours of that, the did a push of the last chemo drug, then put a pump on me to go home with. I was able to leave then, after six hours. I am to keep the pump for 46 hours, a period that ends Wednesday, at 12 noon. (Tomorrow). I felt okay, just woozy and feeling "funky" for whatever that description is worth. I felt disoriented and almost drunk. Mom took me home and I laid down for a while. When I woke up, my legs felt tight and very crampy. I noticed that my pump was dosing me every 30 seconds, and I wondered if that was too high or too frequent. I just felt horrible. So I called the oncologist's office and asked them what the rate should be, and they confirmed what I was seeing. It was normal. They said that if I was feeling really bad, I might be dehydrated and have low electrolytes. They asked that I go to the ER, to have my electrolytes checked which I desperately did not want to do. Peggy was on her way to pick me up and take me for a drive, so when she showed up, I told her about it. She recommended that we get some water, and Gatorade and drive around for a few minutes. We drove to Bradley Chapel, a beautiful, old church on the west bank of Pitman Creek near Grundy - not far east of Somerset. The old church is no longer used, but it is beautiful. The entire churchyard is a lovely cemetery. It is a great place to just walk around, so we did. I was beginning to feel a little better. In about an hour, once home, I went inside, and suddenly had a wave of severe anxiety come over me. I was feeling so desperately horrible; I just knew I couldn't go through with this. I took the pump from the case, and I looked at the stop button. In Pittsburgh, when I was lying in the hospital bed in ICU in indescribable pain, if I had located a stop button, I probably would have pushed it. This time, I had a choice. The stop button was right there, right on the console of the little pump. I cried, praying for the strength to NOT PUSH STOP. I didn't. Rather, I passed out somewhat, and Peggy gathered my things and took me to Mom's at my request. Once there, Mom had gone on a walk, so Peggy took me straight in, and put me in my bed, in the bedroom that I used all last summer. I must have blacked out then, because the next thing I know, I am laying in moms front yard with no idea how I got there. My legs were weak and shaky, but Peggy and Beany, my stepfather assisted me back inside the house and into the bed. Mom got home then. I was in and out of consciousness, but I kept drinking Gatorade. Within a period of time that I think was about an hour, Mom, Peggy and Beany decided that I needed to go to the ER. So we loaded me up. Along the way, and well into my second large Gatorade, I began to come too. When we got to the ER, I could walk under my own effort just fine, and other than just feeling horribly sick, at least I wasn't incoherent. The waiting room was full, and we were sure it would be several hours, or the middle of the night before I was seen. Instead of waiting, we decided to go back home, the Gatorade seemed to have helped. Once home, I feel asleep and slept throughout the night, and into the morning. Of course I was still sick, but at least I wasn't out of my mind. Normally, I feel well enough to at least sew, and do leather works, or write in my journal or paint. I didn't feel like doing anything like that, so I slept on for the entire day. My sister, Carrie came to visit and she ran some errands for me. Early evening, Mom ran some errands as well. It is late evening, nearly 11 pm. This first round of chemo will last another 13 hours. It started out at approximately 72 hours, so I am getting it done. I don't feel completely intolerable. I suppose the worst symptom of the chemo for me is that it takes away peace and ease and any sense of joy. When they remove the pump tomorrow around noon, the medicine will slowly decay in my body, having done its job. If my last round (last winter) is any indication, I will not feel good for a few more days. But there are somewhat different drugs, so I may start to feel better sooner.