First chemo treatment went down yesterday (Tuesday). It was an incredibly long day - six hours all in all at the doctor’s office - but they assured us that this was really abnormal. I was mostly along for the ride. I tried to use the time to respond to the massive amount of calls and texts from all of you. I continue to be so overwhelmed with gratitude for the love and support. Please keep those messages coming. Even if I can’t respond right away, please know how much I appreciate them.
We started by meeting with the oncologist again, reviewed my labs - essentially making sure that I’m in good enough shape to start getting chemo. It’s an odd concept, if you really think about it. When it came time for me to sign the consent form for the chemo, there’s a section at the top with boxes to check about why we are doing the chemo with options like “To treat my cancer, To prolong my life, etc.” She looked me in the eye again and said, “I’m checking this box that says To cure your cancer and I’m going to circle it now too just to make sure you don’t miss it.” When we walked out the door to go upstairs for the infusion, she shook my hand and again said, “It’s time to go cure this cancer. Let’s go kick some cancer ass today!” This felt particularly awesome because she doesn’t strike me as someone who says ass very often. I loved her for it.
The actual treatment itself went fine, save for the few cross-eyed dizzy reaction when they first pushed the anti-nausea meds before the real party began. It was a strange way to start things off but it passed fairly quickly. Anyway, one of the chemo drugs is bright red, which stands in stark contrast to most IV drugs that are clear. It’s a little disconcerting. The nurse also has to gown up to push it in the IV. Again, a reminder of how powerful this stuff is.
Quite a few breast cancer patients refer to it as the“Red Devil.” I’ll be honest - that name has never really resonated with me. I totally get why people would want to call it that, but to me, as much as the side effects may be brutal, this bright red radioactive-looking liquid is also saving my life. I think I may like Red Warrior better.
The second chemo drug can just be dripped so during that one, I listened to my Healing Light meditation again. It helps me envision golden healing light coming through my body and targeting this specific area for healing. It helps me tremendously to envision the chemo doing the same thing. I’m still working on the part where I’m supposed to greet the part that needs healing with love. It’s a process.
When I was done with the meditation, I was laying in the chair relaxing and I had a strong vision of Robin (my mother-in-law who passed away 10 years ago) sitting next to me holding my hand. For the first time all day, I got really emotional. I mean, the tears flowed.
Robin hasn’t visited me like that in quite a while - she used to come when I was pregnant and when BW was really little. I suppose I haven’t needed her as much in the past few years. But she held my hand and said in her sweet, understanding way, “Oh honey, it’s all going to be okay.” We have a connection with this Red Warrior, you see. It’s a connection I never expected to have with her. But I really think she was there to tell me that my experience with it will be so different from hers. Man, I really miss her. Especially now.
I also ordered this print from Flying Edna, which I’ve loved for along time. And like so many things, it has taken on new meaning for me lately, so I brought it with me. It says:
“There is a village of women who know they are fire & they burn fierce with Love & even though each of them lives in different places, far apart, in golden fields & loud cities & by oceans & rivers & underneath the baobabs in Africa, still they come together often in dreams & for all you may think they are just ordinary women you pass on the street every day, they are the ones who hold the Heart of the World for all of us who will come after. “
- Brian Andreas
The day or so since I finished my first chemo treatment has been largely uneventful. I am grateful to my oncologist for being “overly aggressive” with the anti-nausea meds that I have available. I can feel the fatigue coming on. They say most people feel the most fatigue around days 3-5, so we’re heading into that now.
Tomorrow is a big emotional day. I’m going to shave my head. Yeah, it’s a little earlier than if I had waited for it to fall out. But it’s time. And I feel the need to take some control. This feels right. And I’m also feeling incredibly emotional about it. More about that later. Please continue to send thoughts for strength.
Thank you.