Moms Don’t Get Sick

In these posts, I have been vulnerable with sharing my thoughts and experiences. I want people to know how cancer isn’t just a diagnosis. Cancer is a word that we hear in passing as we are running through life at full speed. Your high school friend’s father has cancer or the neighbor tells you her aunt was just diagnosed, you hear that information take it in for that conversation and then are able to walk away without that word affecting you any further. At least, that’s how I would interact with cancer before all of this. It’s completely human to push the unthinkable out of your minds, why sit and pick at the idea of cancer when you don’t have to. I want to make a public deep dive into my journey because I want the word cancer to hold all its meaning when people hear it. I don’t want cancer to be just a word. I want it to mean the fight, the heartbreak, the success stories, the memories, the symptoms, the loss, the love, etc.

If you are about to begin chemotherapy, I don’t recommend reading this until you know how you react to it. I don’t want to add any stress to your first time waiting for the symptoms to hit. The first time my body received chemo was a doozy. Originally when I would hear chemotherapy my first thought was always the hair loss. Which is probably what a lot of people think of because it’s the one thing we actually are able to see. It wasn’t until I attended my “chemo class” that I realized this was going to be a lot more than me losing my hair.

It only was a week between being told about my cancer and my first chemotherapy round, it felt like I was falling from the top of splash mountain in a constant loop. Scans, surgery, MRIs, phone calls, meeting doctor after doctor who would be handling my care was taking over my world when I still could count the amount of time I knew about my cancer in hours. The Friday before chemo I met with a woman at the cancer center who was going to break down everything I needed to know. She took me to her office where I sat across the desk from her as she slid a binder to me. A binder. I don’t know what I was expecting but it sure wasn’t a binder of information for medication. Commercials usually word vomited the symptoms of a prescription in under 30 seconds but this lady had a binder as thick as my hair used to be.

I would be receiving four different types of medication during my infusions. Now, I lucked out and married a man in medicine so when they say the big words to me I simply look his way and he gives me a small nod to let me know he understands and I don’t have to. Which means I couldn’t tell you the names of anything I would be receiving. Some of you are probably thinking how could you not know what is going into your body! To that I say, I went to college when FOUR Lokos were newly on the market. If I would drink that without batting an eye, trusting the extremely experienced and educated oncologist on what medicine was going to save my life was a no brainier.

My new 20 pound binder was filled with exactly what my treatment was made up of. It broke down each medication, how it worked, and the symptoms that would follow. For something that was going to save my life, it sure was looking to kick my ass in the process. Nausea, heart burn, vomiting, diarrhea, hair loss, sensation loss in hands and feet, acne, rash, mouth sores, dry skin, dizziness, dry mouth, weakness, insomnia, infertility and that was just the first paragraph in the binder.

After that abundance of information, she started to explain how the chemo could be spread from my body to other people. She told me for 48 hours after chemo, I should stick to one bathroom where I was to close the lid to the toilet, flush twice, and then make sure no one else was to use that bathroom until it was completely cleaned. My urine could go into the air after flushing and if kids or my husband were in the room they could ingest it and begin feeling the same effects I was. *enter say whaaaaaaat face*. I was told if I were to get sick outside of the bathroom, I was to be the one to clean it up or whoever helped needed a mask and gloves. If what I got sick on needed to be washed, it needed to be washed alone and then what it was washed in needed to be cleaned. This stuff was no joke and it was going in my body.

I can only imagine the face I was making as she explained all of this to me because she stopped and asked if I needed a break. I felt like saying I think I’m just gonna pass on this whole chemo thing but then I remembered the only real other option was to be a medical miracle or call it quits. After an hour, I left with my stupid overconfidence telling me that I was going to be one of the lucky few who was going to have zero chemotherapy symptoms. That’s when Keith Morrison once again would voice over this moment by saying “she would be terribly wrong”.

The day finally came for me to start my treatment. I was nervous but ready to start kicking cancer’s ass. Sam held my hand as we drove a little over an hour to the cancer center still waiting for the sun to rise. I had packed a large bag with books, snacks, games, journals, a large blanket, and a water bottle the size of my one year old. I had comfy clothes on and had curled my hair the night before. The steps to get to the infusion chair are a blur but I remember taking in the other rows of chairs and people. I was not the only person about to go through this and I unfortunately wouldn’t be the last. Some people around me still had hair, some were smiling with their support person, and others had their curtains closed waiting for this visit to come to an end. My nurses were explaining to me how this would be my longest infusion time because I had to wait in between bags to make sure I didn’t have an immediate reaction. I had my port newly placed in my chest and it was time for me to be all hooked up.

I sat in that chair for 9 hours. I watched as the nurses put on full body covers just to handle the bags of chemo that were to be pumped into my chest. This stuff really is no joke. Sam smiled at me throughout and made sure I didn’t have any questions. The only questions I couldn’t stop asking myself was is this really going to work…