How Chemo Works, So Far . . .

Here's what I know so far. This is how I described it to Richard in an e-mail last night.

I had a wacky first week of chemo. Wednesday evening (the 28th) was drip day, and I think I may know a tiny bit what it feels like to be in Huntsville, getting poison dripped into your veins. Ick. I didn't have any adverse reactions onsite except boredom, and my friend Linda will come next time to play Scrabble with me, which should make things less dull. One thing I've learned, though: No matter how quick your step when you go into chemo (or into any other procedure where you're hooked up on IVs and stuff), you can only, ONLY shuffle when it's time to get up and go to the bathroom and you have to drag that IV post along with you. There's just no cool move in that situation. Scootch, scootch, scootch. The feet simply cannot leave the floor. Very unattractive.

And the new thing at MD Anderson, after hand-washing, which they seem to have invented and are true nazis about, is falling. I was instructed NOT to get up from the potty without calling the nurse. Apparently she loses her good parking place or something if I fall on her watch. Or else she has to continue working the night shift and to deal with people like me who ask random neural firing questions. Where are you from? Who else is here? What do you guys watch on TV? Didn't you think Lenny was much better on Law & Order than any of the replacements who've come after him? Did you remember that you have to drip in the zofran before you start the third poison drip? What about SVU? Do you know why Mariska Hargitay is famous? Who her mother was? And that she was in the car when her mother died? Important stuff like that to pass the time. And the whole deal took FOUR hours.

Anyhow, Thursday I was ok. Made it to work and was strangely buoyant, sort of. Friday went well enough and I even went to the gym for a fast turn on the treadmill. Saturday morning I woke up and felt like everyone I knew, including myself, was dead or dying. I was sad, heartbroken, and very, very, very tired. Sunday wasn't much better, although I did manage to drag myself out of bed to meet Terrell and Linda for dinner. We went as far as Te the tea shop and getting through my panini was brutal. We went back to T&L's for a gorgeous homemade chocolate cake and I cratered in the middle of it. Made it to work for three hours only on Monday, four hours on Tuesday, and SIX Wednesday. Left at 4 and went to the gym -- wore my F*ck Cancer t-shirt and made 45 minutes on the treadmill. I feel very proud. and tired. I have not been nauseated at all, but I have some heavy drugs handy to prevent that. I didn't have to take any of them yesterday, which was good, since a side effect of compazine is blurry vision. Makes the trip to work on the Southwest Freeway more interesting and a bit of a challenge, but probably not the smartest thing to do.

Tonight for dinner we had two adorable chicken pot pies that my sister Carole had made and frozen for us when she was here. Oh yum yum yum. That was food of the gods. And pretty to look at. Also easy to clean up. I refer here both to the pot pies and Carole.

I'm hoping that chemo runs at that sort of shedule: two not-so-crappy days, followed by two or two-and-a-half really crappy days, and then energy starts to return. I've learned that breakfast is a very important meal. Don't miss it or bad things happen. Next chemo is scheduled for the 20th. Bulletins as they occur.