It is a blue start of the day —stomach cramps, lethargy and an overall feeling of emotional yuck. The day is finally here. Chemo round #1 is only a few hours away, and I realize I am at a crossroads. I can go down a gloomy path, or I can put a different spin on things.
I've decided to go with the latter.
I get out of bed and do my post-lumpectomy physical therapy —ten deep breaths, neck stretches, palm-up and palm-down lymphatic drainage massage... I wash my face, put on all my beauty creams and then go straight into my abs routine. The anxiety is still there, but I can feel the energy kicking in, and my mindset begins to shift.
I touch up the ends of my hair with the flattening iron one last time. Why not? My flat-ironing days will be put on hold for a few months. So, if I am going into this healing (yet, hair-threatening) journey, I may as well do it with great hair and style.
I get to Dr. K's office, I wait for a while and they finally call my name. I follow a nurse who takes my vitals and also points in the direction of the scale. Do I have to? —I ask. I mean, I am wearing thick pants and gym shoes, and I have a three-pound hair-cooling cap on my head. No way I am jumping on the scale... Isn't chemo enough? Just type in 120 —I tell the nurse— and she does.
With the scale issue behind us, I go into the chemo room. Now, it's real. I sit on my designated chair, I look up, and there it is: my chemo drip.
The nurses in charge are just what I need. Knowledgeable, but in a mainstream kind of way. Warm, without being too bubbly. Empathetic, without pitying me. They artfully break down what is about to happen in small digesteaable chunks —the anti-alergenic, the nausea pre-meds, chemo drug #1, then chemo drug #2, then the immunotherapy. Do you feel drowsy? Do you want a tea? You may feel the need to go the bathroom, which is normal given all the fluids we are giving you...
It makes such a difference when you know what to expect and the information is given to you in plain English and in manageable amounts —enough to take the edge off, without being overwhelming.
As I sit on my chair, I realize a lot of the anxiety of the last few days is gone, because a big part of the unknown is gone too. Just like with life in general (chemo and beyond).
The unknown is usually loaded with anxiety and a dose of fear —fear to lose the safety of our status quo. What we know. Yet, often times, our anxiety and fear operate in a vacuum and are not based on reality. Often times, our anxiety and fear are fueled by personal biases, the experience of others and social conventions which influence how we make sense of the world. That is what, throughout this chemo-journey, I will try to let go of.
Don't get me wrong, chemotherapy is no walk in the park and, if I could have it my way, I would not be walking this walk at all. But, since it was doctor's orders, I will try to cut back on the unnecessary anxiety. Chemo round #1: check. And, based on my own experience, it wasn't bad.
I still don’t know which side effects (if any) will kick in, or when, but I will find out soon. And that will be one more mystery solved, and one more myth I will put behind me.
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