Little Drips of Poison 2

What’s Chematter with You?

Last Friday I had my fourth round of chemo.  Originally, I was supposed to have only six treatments, one every three weeks.  The chemotherapy I first received was called TAC, which stands for some chemicals that start with T, A, and C.  My sister had the same treatment and went to work almost every day, so how bad can it be?

I recently reconnected with an old friend from summer camp who was coming up on her 90th dose over the last four years.  I'm pretty sure she's a superhero. If she wasn't before, she is now, what with all the treatment.  I thought, if Erin can do 90, even a huge wimp like me can handle six.

Several other survivors told me “It won’t be as bad as you’re expecting.” I was also told that day four would be the worst day of the cycle.  The people who told me these things are LIARS! Hey liars, maybe it wasn’t as bad as you were expecting, but it was way worse than what I was expecting. And as for the day four myth? Every day is the worst day.  I spent the first week in terrible pain.  I was convinced that the liars had messed with my expectations or that my sister and friend EG were freakish mutants with magical powers of pain tolerance.

When I finally spoke to my sister about the specific symptoms I was experiencing, she told me to hang up and call my doctor immediately because “that’s not right.” The on-call doctor explained that 1% of people who receive TAC experience a side effect similar to having battery acid poured through your stomach every two hours.  That may not have been how he explained it. 

They put me on a bunch of drugs, which seemed to work.  When I met with a nurse practitioner prior to my next dose, I naively asked if the same thing would happen again, she said—in a particularly snotty tone—“We’ll find out.”  For some reason I accepted that answer.  I figured if it happened again we’d go straight to the drugs and it would clear up right away.

So. Very. Wrong.  I spent another three weeks living the Verve song, The Drugs Don’t Work.  We went in and saw a new, much kinder nurse. She told me that, like 1% of people who try this treatment, I was experiencing a side effect that would feel like swallowing a gallon of pop rocks and soda and broken glass.  Maybe that’s not how she explained it.

A few days later we saw my oncologist.  After a few minutes of discussing my symptoms, she helpfully explained that 1% of people using TAC experience intestinal issues.  Most doctors describe it as a group of blind amateur ninjas practicing with throwing stars inside your belly.  Well, maybe she didn’t say belly.

Ultimately, it was decided that we should change my chemo treatment. Instead of TAC, my next treatment included just A and C. Three weeks out and I am thrilled to announce that the pop rocks, ninjas and other devices of torture have left the building. Of course there are new and exciting symptoms, and I've stopped losing weight but I’ll take it all ten times over what happened the first two rounds.

I’ve decided to come clean with you. The first six weeks hurt like hell. I know, I’ve been playing coy, but I should be honest with you.  Joking aside, it was probably the worst part of cancer so far.  I’ve probably said that about something else, but chemotherapy affects your memory. 

There were many nights when I never slept because the pain was so intense.  I was terrified to eat, which—while helpful with weight loss—was not ideal for my healing process.  There were days when I thought I would give up and take my chances without the treatment, because I could not imagine spending four months living in so much pain.  There were far too many times when Jason had to try and comfort me when there was nothing he could do to ease the pain.

I have tried to focus on the positive throughout this experience, but every month or so, cancer likes to remind me who is boss.   I am looking forward to another week of almost normalcy, with at least a few hours a day of productivity and nothing trying to kill me from my insides.  I am particularly excited to have been able to spend a few days with my sister and her kids.

What’s Next?

The next four cycles will leave behind the A and C and start with a new T chemical.  Not the evil one from before, but a relative.  When I asked my new chemo nurse what to expect, she was constructively honest with me.

“You’re going from two chemicals to one, so it should be easier.  And most people tolerate new T pretty well.  Of course new T is related to old T and….well… you’re special.”

Some days I wish I was a little less special.

I know they’re doing all this to help me, but sometimes it feels a little like torture.  I thought the surgery sucked, but I look back on those days fondly: pain meds, bed rest, presents, people waiting on you hand and foot.

How to Help the Chemo Victim in Your Life

While we may all be cancer survivors, anybody going through it is a chemo victim. My feelings about chemo are probably pretty clear if you read part 1. 

The day of chemo is usually okay, aside from the initial stab and the boredom.  Your chemo victim will likely sleep for the first four days. He or she will not be up for much socializing, unless you’re the kind of friend who can socialize in bed. Fortunately, I have one of those. You know who you are.

Sending food to a chemo victim can be tricky. Ask about preferences.  It is impossible to know what will taste good on what day.  For three days I ate only applesauce, the fourth day I was convinced it went bad and tossed it. I was wrong. You don’t even want to know what went down between grape juice and me. 

Stopping by and bringing room service is hugely appreciated. It is important the victim receive plenty of fluids and protein.  A nice plate of scrambled cheese eggs and toast, or maybe a milkshake, gatorade or a smoothie.  I’ve become a huge fan of pedialyte freezer pops.  Just ask and your victim will tell you what tastes good that day. Beware of false cravings.  A few days in I was convinced I wanted Chinese food for dinner. Jason tried to discourage me. I ate a ton of it and it actually tasted good. Two hours later I was begging for mercy.

Non-food presents are also appreciated to cheer up a chemo victim. Moisturizers, moisturizing gloves and socks, hand sanitizers, head coverings, warm socks and wraps and eye masks are some of the things I’ve enjoyed. Of course rides to the countless doctors appointments or company at chemo are invaluable gifts. Every chemo patient has a different experience. We’re all tired but other than that, the symptoms run the gamut. Just talk to your chemo victim and find out what he or she needs and wants.

This may be the time your friend with cancer needs you most.

In Conclusion

The really, really good news is that we’re almost done.  I’ve got four more treatments and then it’s time for reconstructive surgery.  That's about fifty more days of this torture. That may seem daunting, but looking back on what we’ve already been through, it’s just a drop in the pan.  Okay, a few drips of poison in the pan. See how I brought it back around?

As always, thanks for your love and support.