the first 30 drips

The warning labels on the medications known as “chemotherapy” make ‘take with food’ look like small meaningless asides for amateurs.

Of course, they don’t simply hand you the IV package to read over. The doctor and nurse sit with you and explain each point and then hand you paperwork for a little light reading at home. You come away pretty convinced you shouldn’t be anywhere near the stuff, let alone let someone else deliberately poison you with it.

Still, my first chemo went well. The nurses hung out for “the first 30 drips” watching carefully for undue reactions. The most painful thing for me was actually getting the IV put in, a procedure I am normally “very good about” I kept telling everyone, but for some reason hurt like the dickens. Add to that the incredible stomachache I had when I arrived—oddly, the same one I took with me for my surgery (what nerves will do!).

We were given a private room for my first time and trooped in with magazines, snacks and a portable Scrabble game. (Shall I just mention here, that yes, I did whup my sister in Scrabble in a first that probably had to do with the fact that I was pumped up with steroids?)

Then, it is simply waiting. It takes a long time to drip and you are told to drink and pee as much as possible, chew ice chips and eat snacks and a light lunch. We read Christmas magazines. My daughter darted out for Panera. I whupped my sister in Scrabble (oh, already mentioned that didn’t I?).

When we arrived home I was tired, but who isn’t around 3:30? We decided then and there that chemo nights would become movie nights and so off we went to AMC where I stood far from the crowd while the tickets were bought. Not bad.

Fast forward to the 6th day—er night. It is 4:15 and I am wide awake at the computer because I am (ironically?) tired of lying awake. Last night the temperature drop combined with the 6th day caused ripples of spasms in my lower back that had me cringing while I attempted to ignore it all and watch Glee.

I think it is fixin’ to snow.

I also have what I am calling “pink tissue issues”—a condition where it feels like anything on my body that has pink tissue feels sensitive. This is because the drugs kill fast-growing cells and those cells in our pink tissues (aka mouth) are fast-growing.

Just call me, sting-ache-itch and you’ve pretty much covered it.
There are a few soothing remedies, however. One is the knowledge that I just have to do this three more times. The other is the timely delivery of Christmas cookies. And third? Same cure Harry Potter used against dementors—chocolate—seems to work with chemo as well…that’s my theory anyway.