memories of chemo...

Chemo.

Not sure what to expect but I’m trying not to think about it so much. My body rejects most drugs and overreacts to all of them so it makes me a bit wary of this idea. It is poison. It is helpful. Okay, that contradiction makes no sense but I am not crazy enough to go rogue like Suzanne Somers or Steve Jobs. No. Not me. I am going to do it the regular way and then obsess about how to get the crap out of my system later.

Time to kill cancer.

After all, this tumor of mine is (apparently) taking over and I mustn’t let it get into the bone, which I hear is a big deal. No bone infiltration for me. I will kill the sucker off first.

I’m headed into the waiting room where most of the people there look like they need a Red Bull or something. How did this happen to me? Hanging out with sick people seems foreign to me. It’s just weird.

They call my name to get blood work. I’m feeling edgy but refuse to give in to this in any melodramatic way. I will be a hard ass. I can do this without acting like a girl. I wish everyone would stop looking at me like I’m going to die in a month. I think this may be the hardest part because I do denial just fine. But no. I have to have visitors who bring me food that I don’t want and looks that I don’t need.

Thus far, my daughter owns my favorite reaction to this issue: “you’ll be fine, mom… got it?” I like it. It feels normal and encouraging without being pitiful. God, I hate pitiful pity.

Actually, I am allergic to everything. At chemo central Room 210, they don’t believe it. They start pumping the anti-nausea drugs in my like no tomorrow. I start to shake. Then, the hives begin to form all over my body. This is just not fun. Not to mention, it’s just such a waste of my time. Short of another real coke in a large Styrofoam cup they brought to me, I am over this crap. Oh, dear Jesus.

I love watching people. I love hearing their stories or overhearing them when they don’t know... okay, I am bored and my need to be busy all the time is showing. People seem worse than I do. They seem sick and I wonder if this will be the same for me when the chemo kicks in a few weeks from now. My kids have all come and gone and Bruce had to go to work. I made them leave. They know me and understand that do NOT want the typical reaction of too much attention. That will piss me off and make me feel sicker than I already feel. Then there are the nurses. “How do you feel, Mrs. Feldman?”

Fine.

“no, really.. are you okay?”

Yes, I’m fine. Never felt better.

You are about to stick heinous red poison into my veins. How do you think I feel, you imbecile? I’ll take some xanax. Yeah, that’s it. You can get me some more of that, sweetheart.

I’m holding magazines but looking right through the words. I am worried too but am hoping that I can just avoid this altogether… this giving into it, that is. You know, the crying. Starting the death march attitude will ruin me and I refuse to buckle.

They come to the conclusion that they have to put me out in order to get me through this. They do.

I had eaten a light breakfast, which was a good combination with my stress meds. I drove with Bruce without saying one word due to my nerves. They put me in a chair in cubicle separated by little walls, so most of the people had visitors who were pretty loud. So, being the very unlike Grammy that I am, I put on my Rhianna, my Robin Thicke, my Michael Jackson and my Janelle Monae on my headphones. I'm not exactly into old people music, so with the bald head and my too-loud jacked-up Chevy homeboy music, I should build quite a rep at the geriatric cancer care center by next week.

I care.

They should have realized that even though I am 60 years old, that I needed to be put into the Children's Cancer Center. They know not what they do by putting me here with the old people.

My "healthy" body doesn't like this crap. It was four whole bags of anti-nausea pre-chemo stuff along with Benydryl for the hives. Then the nurse kept waking me up saying "the chemo is coming last" the chemo is coming last." Why can people just not shut the heck up and allow me to just be in my medicated stupor. Sooo, I needed something more to distract me from the medical chatter. I needed music, people, support, calm and genuine distraction. The nurse says "heeeeeeeeeere is the chemo" kind of like Ed Mc Mahon (no kidding) and brings over (3) HUGE syringes with this dark pink chemo mixture that she was going to inject it in my arm. Terrifying.

Truth is, they color it so they know which one is the chemo as to not kill the wrong person with it.

All of a sudden, I said (kinda pushy-bitchy-like) "WHOA, heartless babes." "Not ready for the pink syringes right now. I need my computer first." I but on "Breaking Dishes" by Rhianna (LOUDLY) and put on my daughter's music mix as I quickly got to my email - read all of my notes. I started to sob to myself so no one notices (in a good way) knowing so well that my people were here with me -- all of them, all over the world remembering me, praying for me and holding me in their hearts - together in spirit. My tears were good tears. I said "okay, let do this."

It was icy cold and I could feel it rush through every vein of my body. I waited to something terrible but that didn’t happen. That would come later.

Two days later: I feel like I have the flu, with a horrible headache. My mouth is filled with a metal taste and my appetite is gone. I have problems with my balance and my goals in life have instantly changed. I am going to try to eat healthy meals and see if I can walk to the end of the street every day. I will lose my hair in five weeks so I will be wearing my "uni-bomber looking" sweatshirt on my walks. The nurse said "we don't want you to lose weight at all. Kidding right?

If I’m going through this crap, I might as well be skinny at the end of it. Sick and skinny; that’s right. Knowing me, I will be the only person in the world to gain weight during chemo.

Yep. Only me.