Chemo round 2 starts in the morning. And I have nothing wise or eloquent to say about it.
This is 2 of 12, which makes it sound daunting. From the first round, at least less is unknown.
I know how the freeze spray feels to numb the port. Cold.
I know it doesn’t work so well so when the needle goes in, it hurts.
I know the Chemo Suite is not warm and cozy and comfortable like its name makes it seem. The nurses are nice but it’s a hospital. And I know if Jessica and I had our way with it, the walls would be warm and bright, sunflowers would welcome patients at the entrance and smiling massage therapists would offer head and foot rubs.
I know to bring a soft blanket to cover the rubbery chair with. (Thank you Mighty Yoga!)
I know sitting in the chair doesn’t hurt. But that watching intense chemical medicines drip slowly into my body aches in a different sort of emotional way. A way so foreign to the ‘all-natural’ lifestyle I have gotten used to.
I know on day 3, when the pump comes out, it will hurt like hell. And I’ll be nauseous and achy for a few days. And I know that the massage I’ve scheduled will ease my pain and help me sleep.
And I know days 3-14 will pass on by; a pattern hoping to emerge. Daily entries filling a journal with what I eat, if I feel pain, drugs taken, energy level, bowel movements, and sleep success.
And day 14 will come again. Round 3 will start. 14 more days. Then round 4. And one day, round 12 will come and go like the summer storms.