After about 90 minutes of soaking up the goods, Dr. Smith returned with a massive red vial of Adriamycin. He had warned us ahead of time about the shock factor of this horse-sized syringe of cranberry-colored liquid, but it still elicited a round of "wows" when he walked in with it. (The nurses called it "The Red Devil"...now, that doesn't sound very friendly to me. Why can't they call it "The Lady in Red" or something? But they didn't ask me my opinion.) Check it out:
Well, as it turns out, the chemo part ain't so bad...it's the recovery that's a real bitch! I flew up to San Fran early Tuesday morning, was met by Melissa and my adorable god-daughter, went to breakfast, and then hit the court. Here is a picture of the goods: one small bag of anti-nausea meds (I think I'll ask for a big bag next time), one large bag of Cytoxan in saline, and one medium sized bag of plain saline to follow the Adriamycin (see following pic!). Once I was all hooked up, it was a pretty smooth ride. Melissa and I read, worked on the blog, and talked. A middle-aged woman came in, bald, thin, and told us she'd been fighting cancer for 8 years -- first in her left breast, then her right, and now in her bones. Gulp. We chatted and I tried to forget about her as soon as she left (impossible). On our way in that morning, walking past the children's hospital, we had seen a tiny, pink-clad imp, bald beneath her baseball cap, holding her father's hand as she trotted down the steps into the hospital. And I thought to myself, "See, it could be worse...at least I am old enough to comprehend why I feel this way, to make my own decisions, to understand when my hair falls out..." After about 90 minutes of soaking up the goods, Dr. Smith returned with a massive red vial of Adriamycin. He had warned us ahead of time about the shock factor of this horse-sized syringe of cranberry-colored liquid, but it still elicited a round of "wows" when he walked in with it. (The nurses called it "The Red Devil"...now, that doesn't sound very friendly to me. Why can't they call it "The Lady in Red" or something? But they didn't ask me my opinion.) Check it out: So, after about 2 1/2 hours, I was all done and sent home with a plethora of drugs and instructions and a feeling like I'd swallowed a lemon, or perhaps a small gerbil (the only side effect I seemed to experience during the chemo itself) -- something hard and solid sitting in the middle of my esophagus. We wandered out of the sick-ward and into the crisp cool San Francisco sunshine, and went to pick up Matilda. I suggested we should take a photo of me and Tillie each time I have chemo, so we can track the inverse process of hair-loss/hair-gain and weight-loss/weight-gain that is bound to occur between her and myself (i.e., watch her get fatter and furrier and me get skinnier and balder).
2 Comments
Jenn
9/19/2009 02:33:26 pm
Okay so after seeing the pics, u do know i will need to leave the room at certain points during your next treatment. I'm glad I get to be there for you just like you were there when I was preggers but my fear of needles was only strengthened by child birth not reduced.
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Kim Ritchie
9/21/2009 01:13:16 am
Hey Baby,
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Past: Four months of aggressive chemotherapy, followed by hormone therapy, a lumpectomy and lymph node removal, six weeks of radiation, and a year of Herceptin. The Plan of Attack
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