#TMIFiles: Infusion #4 in These Foolish Things

Hm. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve written. I guess I don’t have too much to say but I’m feeling good-ish lately - I suppose as good as one can be while going through chemotherapy. Truly, last week was wonderful because it was my recovery week - getting my body back up to a place where I can handle another infusion.

I was able to get up and out and had great walks and a delicious and very special brunch with [Athena], thanks to a fantastic and caring friend here on PB who sent a thoughtful gift card, among other things. Who says this Prosebox community isn’t REAL LIFE? This is as real as it gets, and I’m grateful for every single interaction.

Yesterday was Infusion #4. I had been feeling really good up until Tuesday night when I started getting ready for going to the oncology center. Had a small breakdown Tuesday night and I’m pretty sure the neighbors heard me crying because I got myself up to a pretty fine wail, if I do say so myself. It was cathartic and I felt better but I was also spent, so I went to bed.

Morning came quickly after a not-so-great sleep, but I had to get up and do it and get my ice box ready…

The icing protocol is working, but it’s dependent on ME getting all supplies ready since this is not a hospital protocol. It’s something that I choose to do that the docs and nurses allow me to do since it’s my body and my treatment, but it truly is still controversial and they don’t really understand it.

What I pack in my little rolling ice chest in order to have a successful infusion that includes some comforts and icing my hands, feet and mouth:

• Lidocaine cream for numbing my port before they stick that needle into my chest!

• Blanket (for keeping the rest of my body warm while I ice my extremities

• Lightweight socks for my hands because holding straight up ice is PAINFUL

• Cute little feathered fuzzy pink slippers a long-lost sorority sister sent me (her husband is battling stage IV colon cancer so she has a good idea of what is helpful)

• 2 pair ice socks (pockets in them to put cold packs)

• Ice mittens (with refill gel ice packs)

• Extra ice packs because the gels don’t last that long and the infusion process for this one drug takes 2.5 hours

• Ice treats including healthy fudgesicles and fruit pops made with oat milk

• Extra ice cubes for icing my mouth

• Snacks - in addition to the ice treats, yesterday I brought a banana, vanilla wafers, fig bars, and ginger candies

• iPad

• Earbuds

• Power cord for phone

When I go to infusion, I usually get up at normal time, work out, get dressed and ready almost like I’m going to work, and drop the dog off at daycare at her normal time. This gives me time to get to the fancy grocery store on the way there to have a little breakfast and a cup of decaf and relax a bit and pop a valium before I have to get to the center (I hate to rush, and it helps me get the right mindset). When I get to the treatment center, I usually have a rush of the dreads but then go in and power through.

There’s a woman at the door who checks your temp and asks if you’ve had any covid symptoms, then she lets you check in (I normally have to nerve-pee because I’ve been hydrating as much as possible to have a blood draw). Check in, go to labs to have blood drawn from my arm (contrary to popular belief, they don’t draw blood from the chest port), so it’s another stick. Then wait to see the doc or NP.

Yesterday I saw the oncology doc. Y’all. He’s a gorgeous man - even through that mask. I know…I’ve stalked him online. People love him. He has a fantastic demeanor. But he’s fast and thorough and I find myself wanting to slow him down to chit chat a little, but NO. He’s all business, so I speak to him in medical terms (on our first visit he asked if I was in the medical profession, ha!).

Yesterday he told me that my blood platelets were down, so we’d have to go go a slightly lower dose of the oxaliplatin (one of the three chemo drugs they are infusing me with - and the harshest on my body). I was concerned, but he reassured me that just about everyone going through this treatment has to have their oxali dose lowered because it causes so many irreversible issues, the worst being peripheral neuropathy (permanent pain in hands and feet), which I’m trying to avoid with the icing, but it will still likely happen to a certain degree. Ugh.

He told me that if the reduction in platelets continues, then I may have to move my infusions to every three weeks just to help my body recover better in between infusions. The good part is that I’ll have two GOOD weeks in between - the bad part is that it will take longer to complete treatment.

Regardless, I’m plugging and chugging through this.

After consultation with doc, it’s time to go to the infusion room. Ughhh. This is where it’s kind of sucky. This is where everyone is getting infused with dangerous, poisonous chemicals. And when I tell you it was a madhouse in there yesterday, I’m not exaggerating. The oncology center is getting new computer systems and for whatever reason, they seem to have waaaaay more patients than normal. They had a hard time finding me a section.

Once you are assigned a section, you can sit anywhere in that section you want. I always try to get a window seat, but there were people sitting in those seats and there was only one seat to choose, so I started getting ready and unpacked with the blanket and ipad and such, when one person in a window seat completed her infusion. So I got lucky and got to move to that seat after the nurses had disinfected it!! Yay! Sitting by the window and looking out over that park seems to really keep my spirits up.

I was sitting across from what I believe is a breast cancer patient. The only reason I know is because she was wearing a cold cap on her head so that she wouldn’t lose all of her hair (something that is the norm for breast cancer). The cap looks kind of like one of those big old-fashioned hair dryers that’s connected to a big air-conditioning system. Y’all…seems to me the cold cappers (because this protocol has been around for quite some time now) get a lot of special treatment. When I walked into my section there were two women getting the cold cap treatment and another woman was going back and forth between the two of them making sure they were doing ok and giving foot massages and fluffing pillows and shit. Granted, I know I couldn’t get a foot massage during my icing because my hands and feet are occupied by the icing, but wow! I was a little bit jealous of that attention at first…then I quickly snapped out of it because, HELLO. WE ARE HERE FOR CANCER - it’s not a spa treatment!!!

I got another new nurse (had a different one each time), and her name was Connie. She was really sweet and very thorough.

During infusion, my little old angel, Sam came by to say hello with his infusion pole. I love him. I truly love him and believe he is one of my guardian angels. He tells me that I lift his spirits and I tell him he does the same. He sent me a text this morning telling me how much he cares about me and that his CEA markers (these are colon cancer tumor numbers) are down. And I’m thrilled for him!! He’s making it! He’s doing it!

Anyway, I got through infusion unscathed and went home to rest a bit and then get Martini for our evening walks.

I have more to say, but need to run to a meeting…but this was another day in the life of chemo treatment for a colon cancer patient. It ain’t pretty, but I’m making it work!

Now, back to work!
Love and more and more and more,
GS