Chapter 2 - The Storm.

(KW) July 24, 2023 – Leading up to my first chemo appointment, I entered a phase to what I’ve heard a few cancer patients call, “the storm.”  It is a mixture of anxiety, depression and (in the words of the recent Barbie movie), “irrepressible thoughts of death.”  It was pretty much non-stop tears, and mentally preparing for my funeral.  I truly hope that no one who is reading this ever has to go through cancer, but more specifically, a period like this.  I started meeting with a therapist and also started on an anti-depressant.  And even though both helped, I will reiterate how much the Facebook group I had joined helped me.  I had many conversations - some text, some phone and a few video – with people, in my age bracket, who have had the same unlucky hand of cards dealt.  I remember posting one evening that I was “spinning out” and I asked for their collective advice as to how to navigate all of this when so much is unknown, and I got pages and pages of really amazing, supportive thoughts, tips and tricks from this unbelievable tribe.  So many told me that once my treatments started and I got on a schedule, I would be able to breathe.  They told me I would adjust to my new normal.

<<side note:  my husband doesn’t like that I spend so much time on this Facebook group, and my mother says that they are made up people trying to peddle erroneous medical advice. >>

My husband and I arrived to the local oncology center and they issued us back into “the treatment room.”  It’s a large room (about the size of two corporate conference rooms) with 12 chairs in it.  There was even a private room (I was told it’s reserved for patients with special circumstances, but on days where it’s not already booked, it’s up for grabs).  You better believe I asked for it, right there on the spot.  Not because I was being a prima donna, but because I didn’t want to disturb the other patients as I sobbed.  I did not get to nab the private suite, but I did not sob either.  I felt like a deer in headlights as they hooked me up to the IVs.  They were very kind and took extra special care of me since I was a “newbie.”  My husband sat next to me and silently worked on his laptop as I instantly conked out once some of the pre-meds hit my system.

At the end of my 4-hour session, they unhooked me and began the least fun part of the process.  Not only do I have to sit in this chair every other Monday, but they hook me up to another apparatus that I have to take home in an oh-so-fashionable fanny pack.  It runs for 46 hours.  It doesn’t leave my side.  I even have to sleep with it.  It sucks.

The first week of chemo went exactly as my new “friends” in my Facebook group told me it would.  The afternoon following my morning “in the chair” was fine…I felt “normal.”  My appetite was fine and I actually finished working that afternoon.  Tuesday was the same, but I didn’t eat much.  Wednesday, nothing really sounded good to eat, but overall, I was ok.  I got the pump disconnected that day.  Thursday is when things started to hit.  So tired.  A little queasy.  By Friday, I was zapped and didn’t really eat.  The last time I was that tired was when I had mono in high school.  Saturday, I think I slept the day away and again, had no appetite.  That first week, I lost 10 lbs.

However, the following week (my non-chemo week), my appetite and energy rebounded (and I gained 11 lbs.).  My Facebook group friends were right.  Once I had been through one session, I felt a little bit more in control.  I knew what to expect, and I knew how to prepare. 

The outpouring of support (emails, texts, cards and gifts) from the very limited amount of people I had shared the news with was very touching and made me feel loved, yet uncomfortable, at the same time.  The messages that a few people wrote in the cards made me feel like people were saying their goodbyes to me.  Telling me about how wonderful it had been knowing me and what a special place I held in their hearts.  I 100% know they were just putting their thoughts – and hearts – on paper, and really we should all tell everyone we love how much they mean to us – often, but it was also very depressing for me.  Every card I get, still, makes me a little ill.  I don’t want to have cancer.  I don’t want pity.  I don’t want friends to treat me like I am dying.  But I can’t keep it private forever.  Which is why this blog came to life (much love and appreciation for Lisa). 

So, for anyone who is reading this blog, I would ask that if our paths have ever crossed – be it in school, work, Zumba, or even on LinkedIn – I will humbly request prayers, good vibes, positive juju and any other positive energy that you can send my way.  Thank you.

A peek inside my first chemo treatment.