losing my chemo virginity

Not that I ever sat around and dreamed of what taking my first chemo cocktail would be like, or how it would compare to taking a new lover, but getting through the momentousness of today really was sort of like a rite of passage as life-altering as the carnal sort of virginity.  Yes, I had too much time to myself to think about this.  But imagine the similarities:

• a few pokes
• a little blood
• relaxing background music
• an oxycontin with a parting good bye hug :/

And the actual parting conversation that went something like this:

Nurse:  "So how do you feel?"

Me:  "Well, pretty good, for right now"

Nurse:  "Well you know that you may not be okay in a couple days.  Don't hate me.  I'll call you later about your other visits.  Call me if you want."

The port below my neck conceptually freaked and grossed me out.  In a way worried me a little more than the chemicals going into it.  No, I'm not into needles.  I have a pretty high pain tolerance that seems to nosedive if I have to look close at something sharp being plunged into me.  And I'm not into anyone playing with open blood vessels in my neck Dracula-style.  And you have to put something inside there?  Took much longer than it should have, surgeon ran one hour late, x-rays took forever to process, and throw into the mix a nurse sticking herself with a needle that was used on me, and my kindness to consent to yet another blood draw to prove I am not HIV or hepatitis +, cost me an extra 2 hours.  In the end, it really wasn't terrible and not even visible to anyone just looking, even with an open shirt.  I walked into the cancer center at 2:00 pm for my 11:40 am appointment and was greeted with nothing but smiling "welcome"s from people who already knew who I was.  For what we have to endure, these people will soon become part of my support network and may become my friends.  The woman next to me had a terrific looking wig.  The woman on the other side of me had a gorgeous head wrap.  We chatted for a while and I quickly learned that I have joined an army of young, vibrant, funny, strong and resilient warriors.  We are all fighting for ourselves but also for each other too.  And for those who have yet to be diagnosed.  And for those who we pray will never be and most especially my sweet little girls.  There is some sort of cosmic justice to all of this.  None of us want to be there, but if you didn't know it, the sounds of laughter, music and happy activity mimics a hip bistro or cocktail lounge.  The way it should be.  The way it must be!

So with all this strength and resilience all around me, I had some thinking to do with the 4 hours of time I had with my six entree drug feast.  I am learning how to "fight like a girl".....

You simply cannot be mad at someone with cancer.  No one can do it, or else you really have no soul.  I will be tempted to use this to my advantage at some point ("but officer, I'm really late for my chemo appointment, they need me to be there on time or I may have to go on another day.  30 minute drive!  Stage 3 officer.  And yeah this is a wig")

There is no guilt in napping.  It is not indulgent.  I will drop and nap when the mood strikes.  I simply need to do this.  I may not answer the phone or door, oh well.  There's paper for notes and email and voice mails for this reason.  Some have to pull a George Costanza and sleep under their desk at work.  This is in my new job responsibility list. 

I will not be shy about being honest about my needs and wishes, even if that means that feelings may be hurt.  I do understand that some friendships may end over this.  I don't expect anyone who has never experienced cancer in any capacity to understand the emotions I have only begun to experience.  I don't expect myself or anyone else to expect to understand how I will change from my before cancer past, my current cancer status, and when I make it to the status of cancer survivor.  I have a very long way to go on this journey.

I may not care about the condition of my home.  Dirty laundry can get clean.  Dog fur will be swept up. I'm still going to be here.  I care instead about the condition of me and my family.  However the occasional free cleaning service for a family member undergoing chemo thanks to local ACS is certainly not off the table!

I will not dismiss anything in or on my body as unimportant or not worthy of someone else's attention.

I will ask for help.  I will try to be mindful of what people can be possibly capable of providing for us at this time.  I will be specific and not be hurt if someone cannot help out in this way.

I will consume as much silly movies and books and gossip rags that I can possibly stomach.  I will balance between the clinical and heavy with the stupid.

I will gladly accept all hugs, support, and the gracious and honorable gestures and donations in my name (which have already been made, you know who you are) to make progress in the name of this ridiculous condition no one should ever have to endure.  Also, indulgent presents to adorn the head, ears, neck and soul!

After too much thinking, I spent the last 30 minutes outside the hospital as the center had closed, waiting for Sean and the girls to pick me up.  Caught a bit of vitamin D on the park bench and tore through several levels of Tetris on my iPod.  Putting all the pieces in neat order.  Obliterating the full rows.  Just like the chemical cocktail on the squatter in my chest.  Success!  A new twist on active visualization of what's happening inside.  I've always loved Tetris marathons.

Sean and the girls pulled up, I hopped in the car, and out of Ella's mouth:  "Mommy, you look so pretty".    Once again, I fought back a few tears.  Geez, not quite three years old and she's already my little girl-fighting warrior-assistant.

Simply Blessed:)