Ok, so it took me a while to settle in and write about my first chemo treatment. Basically because I’m finally coming around to feeling human enough to do it. Thank you to those checking in asking how I’m doing, I hope to be able to update here faster down the line if possible.
I’m doing fine now…but there’s really no way to sugarcoat it, the process and the chemo isn’t fun download your free card from the bodensee-radweg. It’s like you have the worst flu of your life, and on top of that you’ve been poisoned. I know it’s necessary, and life saving, but honestly I think it should be used as punishment in prisons and not on people just doing their best to get by. Here’s why:
- It took 7 hours from the first finger prick to test my blood until the final drip of anti-nausea meds trickled through my veins video uit messenger downloaden.
- The first visit in the morning was to the lab for a blood test around 10:30am. After the lab tested my blood I then had to see my oncologist.
- The oncologist was running behind…like 2 hours behind. The waiting room is nice, but it is full of women all there for the same thing, all in various phases so it’s not a fun place to sit around video van yt download.
- Once I saw my doctor, she went over my vitals, talked about the chemo and answered any last minute questions. And even though she is super smart and thorough, the only thing she could tell me to sum up my first treatment was that I’d know “something happened” afterwards.
- When I was deemed healthy enough to take on chemo the pharmacy began preparing my meds while I waited for my “suite” to open up.
- My nurse and an associate then went over more chemo information and tips for at-home care why can't I download skype. They showed me how to give myself the shot of Neulasta to help raise my white blood cell count back up, and then asked me to try.
- Apparently my rage stab into the fake human flesh was good enough for them to trust I’d be able to stick myself the following morning.
- Finally, about 5 hours after the first lab visit, my name was called and I was directed to the suite you see in the picture above.
- Sure, it’s a nice suite and it’s great to be getting your infusions in private, but if I had my way it would be a suite in a fun Caribbean beach resort hotel download gba games for free.
- I think I should bring artwork and furnishings from home next time and make it less clinical and more homey, starting with my coffee pot.
- After I got settled into the suite the nurses cross referenced my meds and then my nurse started hanging every plastic bag full of liquids in the room.
- She first gave me anti-nausea meds as well as a saline IV to help with dehydration.
- Then she meticulously pushed 3 vials of vampire red chemo into my vein, mixing it with the saline app herunterladen mp3 kostenlos.
- After that chemo drug, she gave me the second chemo drug.
- Then another anti-nausea med.
- When that was finished I was good to go home.
- A couple hours at home and I started to feel nauseous. And yes, I could tell “something happened.”
- I called the resident doctor and he said to immediately begin the anti-nausea meds they sent me home with google chrome browser download mac. That continued for the next five days.
- Every time I would feel nauseous I’d take a pill, then wait for it to kick in as I paced around and felt like my hungover 20 year old self in college the day after a huge weekend party. Or a Wednesday. Because let’s face it, in college every day is the weekend.
- I took the steroids, gave myself the shot (with less rage since it was my own flesh) and sat and waited for all the various side effects to hit how long can you from netflix movies. When they did, I took the at home medications and they eventually helped.
- The nurses called to check in and gave me tips and said for sure we’d adjust medications to help with the nausea the next time, but at least now we know “what to expect.”
- Roughly a week later I felt like I was part of civilization again and made my way back to work, being sure not to overdo it because my immune system is in the toilet and I can’t risk getting sick.
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So that’s about it. Right now I feel ok, aside from the crazy fatigue I knew was going to happen because everyone told me it would. It’s a hard thing to adjust to, I’m not normally a napper and am usually running from morning to night with no problem. Now, I have to conserve energy, take cat naps and only do so much during the day if I want to be awake past 8pm.
Every day gets a little better and I’m enjoying being able to do a few fun things here and there. So I know there is a light at the end of the chemo infusion tunnel.
Well, until Friday…when I head back in for Round 2, where I’ll sit and wait for that last drip to hit so I can go home sweet home.
Deb, we are thinking about you all the time and praying for you. It’s a long journey but I have faith that you will get through this..it’s just your personality. Take it easy, and yes nap a lot and having some fun here and there is key. If you are ever just bored or lonely while waiting for treatment call me and we can chat like we do at the salon. Hugs and kisses, Maira, Christopher and Malachi 😙
Thanks, Maira…maybe I’ll pop in one day and just sit in your chair and we can chat and pretend you’re giving me a keratin. LOL. xoxo
I wish you days of bright sunshine, blue skies and warm breezes on your chemo days. I used to go with my sister to her chemo treatments. I watched her go through chemo like you. You just gotto take one chemo at a time and say – I am tough as nails! You are not going to knock my badass down! – Hmmmph!
Thank you, Denise. One day at a time is right. xoxo
Very well written, Deb, as usual. I was stunned after reading it, and needed about thirty seconds of the “thousand yard stare” to collect myself. There was a tear that I noticed had formed in the outside corner of one eye. It informed me how powerful the urge must be to feel sorry for yourself. What a challenge this all must be… (just call me Captain Obvious, or maybe Coach O) How hard you and BJ must be working… Nick the dog is likely kicking into his life’s work of emotional support puppy. 🐶 Thanks so much for all the details and picture; receiving chemo sounded kind of mysterious before your shared bullets. So, my wish for you, Wonder Woman, are your bracelets (to deflect all the info in your bullets) and of course, an invisible plane to fly to your exotic (chemo) suite, if only in your mind… You could lend your truth lasso to Megyn Kelly to use on her guests – wouldn’t THAT be something?! Xxoo Alison
Thanks, Alison. There’s a lot more to chemo than I expected, it’s definitely a huge learning experience. The mental and emotional part of the cancer battle is just as big as the physical, but I’m lucky to have all the support that I do, which really helps. Nick knows something is going on and is definitely being his loving, charming self. 🙂 xoxo
God Bless..You can do this. Xo
Thanks, Sue! xoxo
Hi Deb,
I’m sorry that you have to go through all of this, I know you will get through this. I’m happy to see it hasn’t broken your spirt or humor. I wish nothing but a speedy recovery.
Thank you Sharon, I appreciate it. Hope you are well. xoxo
Hey Deb! Beautifully written piece on your physical and emotional journey! You are stronger than this and you will get through it. I am still at a loss of words knowing you are going through this… thinking of you daily and hoping this goes away as quickly as it came. My love to you, Deb! Trish Clifford XOXOXO Stay Strong, Girl!
Thanks, Trish. When this is all over let’s do our lobster fest down the shore. 🙂 XOXO
Yeah, I’m not going to give you all the cheery advice and you can get though this because I have been there. One day at a time. And later when you come back for checkups and this is all behind you, ned so to speak. Pay it forward. When you sitting getting chemo and wonder if you might die, its kind of nice if a veteran says, I got through it and offers hints to survive. For sure they need to get their ass in gear and get better treatments. I agree, this should be given to prisoners. I guarantee they’d never go back to prison. I understand the rage. I was that patient. But I also shared everywhere I could especially if I saw a face that had just about given up. all rage did for me was hurt myself. But, I damn well am not grateful. Myself, we found some pot for my mother in law when she went through lung cancer treatments. Much better stuff. They need to make it legal across the board. I think more music might have helped me with my rage.
Glad you’re well now, Candice! xoxo
though we shared all this over the phone, reading it is an eyeopener. good thing you inherited all the strong traits from both sides of the family. I know I probably sound like a broken record but remember each day that goes by is one day closer to your cure. just keep remembering what Erin said. “you are a BADASS” you can do this. love you Deb. MOM
Thanks, Mom. 🙂
Hi Deb,
I’m sorry to hear of your illness, I had no idea. Keep on blogging and fighting. Hopefully it will pass by quickly and you will be back to normal soon.
All the best to you,
Maryann and Bob Korsen
Thank you, Maryann, I appreciate it. xoxo
Ah, Deb – you are a trooper. It’s hard to believe that you are going through this right now. Sending you lots of love and healing thoughts. Thanks for sharing in such an up front and eloquent way. Always here if you ever need anything. XOXO
Thanks, Alissa. It’s definitely not something anyone would intentionally sign up for, but when you don’t have a choice you just have to plow through, right? Hope you are doing well and enjoy that new puppy! xoxo
Hi Deb:
Thank you for sharing your journey. I am very proud of you and I’m grateful you are feeling better…Stay Strong for yourself and fight like the Warrior you are! YOU are an inspiration to others to keep that fighting Spirit! Bless you on this journey!
Thank you for this, Lily! xoxo
Aw Deb… you humble me. You have chosen to take an exceptionally high road through this journey, taking a lot of us along with you and educating the heck out of us. So while I’m so incredibly sorry you have to go through this, I’m equally grateful that you have chosen to share your experience so that we may all be a little more knowledgeable and a whole lot more empathetic to cancer survivors.
I cackled out loud at your comment that every day in college is the weekend… partially because I REMEMBER (though vaguely) those days when we’d collectively try to piece together the night before. And the other part of me laughed because I now have a son at college. Doing the exact… same… thing. 🙂
I love you. If I thought my company would help, I’d jump on the train and come see you tomorrow (and NOT make you come meet me at Penn Station!)… but I know that every day is a crap shoot… the bad days are many, the good days are gifts. But please know that Sean and I think of you often, that I pray so hard for your healing and that you are one of the bravest, most selfless people I know.
Rock on, you BadAss!!
Love,
Tammy. xoxoxoxo
Thanks, Tam. I would often see breast cancer patients smiling and going about their business and not know at all what was going on underneath or what they had just gone through to get to that point where it was ok to smile again. Now I know. They say you really can’t understand a person until you have walked in their shoes and I have always believed that to be true. But even though everyone following my progress here isn’t specifically walking in my shoes, they are walking along side me and for that I am grateful. And uh, yeah, I remember some good bashes up there at Annex, we were all freshmen trudging up the hill to hang out with you seniors, the results of which I can’t post here since who knows what the statute of limitations are. LOL. I love you too, Tam and thank you for the offer to come visit. When this is all said and done we will be having a bash in Mass with friends and family and friends who are family. XOXO
Deb,
I’m so sorry you have to go through all of this. Thank you for opening yourself up and sharing what you’re going through. I’ll keep reading and cheering you on from wherever I am. You can do this!
Thanks, Michelle. I’ve had so many friends (and friends of friends) email and tell me they made their mammogram appointments because of me and this blog. Some are fine and good to go for another year, some have to go back for further testing, and others are now required to go every six months to monitor. If I can help one person detect early and possibly not have to go through this, it’s all worth it. xoxo
Hi, Deb. I am a friend of DeeDee. I have been following your blog + I am keeping you in my prayers. I’m glad to hear people calling you a ” badass ” Keep that attitude + you will beat this demon. Sending all kinds of best wishes to you.
Thank you, Kathy, I appreciate it! xoxo
feel the love from Maine
Thank you, Penny. xoxo
As I’ve said – there are no words. It all sucks on every level. The physical toll is horrible – but the emotional toll of the process must be just as draining….it really isn’t fair….only thing I want you to know is I’m thinking of you…. one down….on we go.
Thank you, Jyl. It really is all encompassing…physical, mental, emotional, etc. No way around either part of it, either. And yes, on we go. 🙂 xoxo