Marla Crider: Chemo treatment #4: Halfway there! |
We arrived for the biweekly blood check at the UAMS cancer
institute right on time and, as usual, had to wait for a bit before the ritual
began. I recognized a few familiar chemo
patients in the waiting room. We nodded to each other, signaling that we were
members of a fraternity, of sorts. One
by one, their names were called and mine soon followed.
When I entered the infusion room, I stepped on the scales
and noticed that I had lost more than a pound.
It wasn’t of concern to the medical team, since my total weight loss was
still less than ten pounds, a result of the erratic, steroid-induced blood
sugars that I had been experiencing. Even though the nurse’s assistant escorted
me to a chair in the front of the room, I could still see that all 32 chairs
were taken with patients receiving their prescribed toxin concoctions (Oh, for the day that empty chairs are the
norm and not the exception). A new nurse approached my station and introduced
herself. I rattled off my name
and birth date, a security measure to ensure that I was receiving the correct procedure. As she was organizing the vials on a tray for
the various blood tests, I enlightened her about my port and how it was positioned
on top of a nerve. I asked that she keep
the information in mind when she inserted the needle for the blood collection. She responded that she would, and before I
had time to tense up, my experienced RN had connected the needle to the port and
collected the necessary blood for testing.
It was the first time in four treatments that I didn't have to claim
“port abuse.” Nurse Pain Free was my new
best friend!
My family and I reported seven floors up for
the appointment with Dr. Makhoul. When we exited the elevator, it was evident a
long wait was in front of us. Approximately
an hour later, my name was called. Don and I maneuvered our way to one of Dr.
Mak’s exam rooms. Thirty minutes had
passed when my wizard of an oncologist hurriedly entered the room. He asked if I had experienced any new side
effects. “Yes,” I replied, “diarrhea.” It took three treatments but one of the more
common chemotherapy side effects had decided to make itself known during the
past two weeks. It was annoying and
inconvenient but only temporary. Other
than the usual things – night sweats, insomnia and rapid heart rate – I was
responding to the chemo pretty well.
Before Dr. Makhoul examined me, he checked my blood work and
declared it perfect, which he said was a little unusual for someone who had
undergone three chemo infusions. He
called me his “A+” patient. When he
checked the tumor, he announced that it had reduced in size to 3.3 centimeters
from 3.6 two weeks earlier. I was
disappointed that there had only been a slight change. He said it wasn’t
unusual for the adriamycin/cytoxan cocktail to slow its attack on the
mass. That’s why the chemo drugs are
changed during the course of the therapy – to trick the cancer cells and catch
them off guard. It sounded like a reasonable explanation to me.
After I redressed, Dr. Mak alerted me that he would be
attending an oncology conference when I returned for treatment five in two
weeks. His nurse practitioner would be on hand to check my blood work and sign
the prescription for the new chemo drugs.
I tried not to show my disappointment that I wouldn’t have the
opportunity to interact and ask questions of my genius doctor. He could read my apprehension well. Dr. Mak
gave me a quick hug before he left the room.
It was mid-afternoon when the Crider entourage returned to
the infusion center. The waiting room was almost empty, an
indication that I would be called quickly and I was. My sister-in-law, Barb, accompanied me to the
recliner where I would receive my fourth treatment. It was her first time to be an observer. Yet another new nurse approached and
introduced herself as my assigned RN. I
could hear Mr. Nurse Ratched bellowing orders at the patient across from
me. He made his way to my chair to say
hell-o and deliver the message that a new challenge faced me in two weeks when
the new drug regimen began (Mr. Nurse
Ratched, always the bearer of joy and optimism). I was confused by his
statement but my RN soon explained.
After she started the adriamycin drip, my nurse informed me
that the next chemo drug would be Taxol, a powerful poison known for
interfering with cancer cell growth and promoting tumor shrinkage. I learned that the thick and sticky drug would
require three hours to be injected into my system, and due to the possibility
of an allergic reaction, I would receive liquid Benadryl intravenously along
with the Taxol. Based on what my RN had just told me, I was quickly becoming
anxious about the next phase of my treatment plan. According
to the nurse, possible drug consequences were hives, difficulty breathing, low blood pressure and/or fainting, and swelling of the face, lips, tongue, or throat. My mind was whirling with “what ifs.”
When I was
diagnosed with cancer, never once did I dread the idea of chemotherapy. In fact, I embraced it and was ready to get
started because I knew it was necessary to rid my body of cancer. But, for the first time, I was nervous and
even scared to begin the next phase of Dr. Makhoul’s prescribed treatment plan.
“Oh, my” was the only response I could manage.
My concern deepened when the nurse elaborated about the side effects of Taxol, which
include severe fatigue, flu-like symptoms and temporary neuropathy, i.e.,
tingling and numbness of the hands and feet.
Well, this just keeps getting better and better, I thought. The RN cautioned that I would need someone
with me during and after the Taxol treatment to help monitor my reactions.
After hearing all the negatives about Taxol, it made me regret talking so badly
about the adriamycin and cytoxan drugs throughout the first four treatments. It reminded me of the saying, “Be careful what
you wish for.”
After the last of
the cytoxan had made its way into my vein, the RN removed the needle from my
port and handed me the usual pill bottles containing the anti-nausea steroids that
would no doubt traumatize my diabetes over the next five days. She then handed
one additional bottle to me with instructions to take two pills on July 25, the
night before the scheduled Taxol treatment, and two more the following
morning. She identified the new
prescription as more anti-nausea steroids that would start working in advance
of my introduction to Taxol.
I left the
infusion center with lots on my mind but refused to think ahead to the
Taxol. I had to deal with the present
and the drugs currently circulating throughout my system. There could and probably would be
ramifications from the most recent infusion.
It was a “wait and see” situation.
The first few days
after treatment four I felt pretty good but was more tired than usual. Dr. Makhoul warned me to expect the fatigue
to intensify as the drug regimen progressed, and once again, his timing was
“right on.” I felt well enough to attend
an out-of-town meeting mid-week but physically paid for it upon my return. It
was as if the side effects had been waiting for just the right time to slap me
with a great big dose of chemotherapy reality.
I awoke on day
seven with bone pain from the Neulasta shot (white blood cell stimulant), a
serious case of diarrhea and a mouthful of raw sores. I kept telling myself that these were merely minor
inconveniences and a temporary, but necessary, part of my journey to wellness. Throughout this process, I have made a sincere
effort to keep an upbeat attitude; however, when you feel like a bus just ran
over you – twice – it’s best to stay in bed and rest, which I did. Dr. Makhoul
has repeatedly told me to give in to the symptoms and not use precious energy
to fight them. I now understand what he
meant. With chemotherapy, there is no rhyme or reason for how (or when) it affects
the body. It’s merely a situation of
rolling with the punches and continuing the good fight…no matter how bad you
might feel.
You are one strong lady.You are fighting against this beast.You will soon be alright completely.May Allah bless you and every body.More power to you.
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