One Down—Nine to Go

Frank and I checked in at the Alta Bates Comprehensive Cancer Center (ABCCC hereafter) around 8:30 this morning. Around 9, they took me to the VAD Draw room where I was swabbed and then they put the totally cool little hooked needle/catheter into the port. They drew blood for testing and then sent me back out to the lobby. I took the first of the Emend 3-day anti-nausea treatment pills and prepared to wait.

Typically, we're told, it takes them about 20 minutes to do the blood testing and then they start to gather your chemo meds, but they had some issues this morning and I didn't go back to the treatment room until about 10. No biggie, really. As Frank reminded me, this is the beginning of a marathon--there's no need for sprinting right now (i.e., chill).

I neglected to take my camera with me this morning (maybe next time?) so I shall endeavour to describe the treatment room. Imagine a large room, maybe half the size of a basketball court. In the middle of the room is a nurse station/counter. Lots of carts, and monitoring equipment, etc. scattered about. (Probably not "scattered". Probably placed. But to my untrained eye--scattered. I don't judge. I merely observe and report.)

Around the perimeter of the large room is a succession of glass door cubicles. There must be 20 or so of these little cubicles. In each cubicle are two easy chairs, a TV, a visitor chair, a bathroom, and cabinetry with supplies, etc. Also, primarily, of course, the automated IV machines that let them administer multiple fluids simultaneously.

I was seated and they took my vitals (again. Three times today I had my vitals checked. They are nothing if not thorough.) Jessica, the nurse, explained that first, they'd give me some anti-nausea meds with the saline IV. When that was done, she had to "push" the nasty Adriamycin (also known as Doxorubicin) through a syringe into the IV. It was the color of Kool-Aid or Hawaiian punch and it triggered my asthma. Just a bit of a drag, and Frank retrieved my albuterol inhaler from the car, just in case, but my body sort of picked up the slack and the asthma started to dissipate on its own, so I was fine.

It took about 20 minutes to finish up the two fat syringes (looked like about 25 cc's each) into the IV, and then Jessica put the bag of Cytoxan on the IV rack.

While we were patiently waiting (me with my fabulous elasto-gel therapeutic cold gloves, to try to minimize the effect of chemo on my hands and fingernails), the pharmacist dropped in to see if I had any questions about the meds they'd prescribed for me (three anti-nausea meds, in addition to the Emend I take the first three days of the infusion, and an antibiotic for if/when I spike a fever) and to make a list of everything I'm taking (including my asthma control meds).

He was pretty young and cute and very earnest and he typed up the list and printed a copy for me, so when I see a different physician for any reason, I can just whip out my list of meds for them. Most excellent.

When he was done, the nutritionist stopped in to talk about my chemo diet. First week is to "dextox" and to make sure I'm not taxing my system but ensuring I get what I need. Second week is the building week--lots of legumes and other non-heavy proteins (sardines, wild salmon, cottage cheese, eggs). She also recommended Glutamine powder the first week (yum!) and ground flaxseed. Oh! and the good/interesting news: she'd prefer I drink green tea, but that it not be decaffeinated. She doesn't like to have the tea any more processed than it need be. So, there you go. I *can* have a cup of tea in the morning.

When the Cytoxan was done, about an hour after it started, the nurse "flushed" the catheter with saline and then shot me up with Heperin (anti-coagulant, to prevent clots). She removed the needle and catheter and Frank and I were on our way home by about 12:15. One treatment done. Yay!

With all the anti-nausea meds, I'm being cautiously optimistic, and thinking I'll be fine tomorrow. But, we've been told that, if it's coming, tomorrow is when the nausea will hit. So, keep your fingers crossed.