MUCH ADO ABOUT EVERYTHING

AFTER my meeting with Devika, I obtained my chemo schedule from my Oncologist, as well as a referral to the Oncology Unit of the Georgetown Public Hospital to facilitate my chemo treatments. My chemo schedule was calculated based on my body mass index (an approximate measure of whether someone is over- or underweight, calculated by dividing their weight in kilograms by the square of their height in metres).My chemo schedule consisted of four cycles or rounds of Adriamycin Cytoxan (a/c) and four cycles/rounds of Taxol, along with a pre-nausea injection and a small dose of steroids. The steroids are used in conjunction with the chemo to treat the cancer, as well as relieve sickness after chemo and boost the appetite.

My referral was accepted by the GPHC; however, this time I went straight to the Oncology Unit to visit with the doctor, and not the Surgical Clinic, where I had been pushed around by the nurses there before.

I met a pleasant doctor, who discussed my treatment as outlined by my referral once again with me, ensuring that I understood the changes my body would go through under the chemotherapy, as well as indicating to me that with my cancer being genetic (that BRCA gene again) it was likely that the chemo may not successfully treat the cancer. I understood this.
From my research, I learned that it takes at least five years of monitoring after chemo to determine whether the cancer returns or goes into remission.

We also discussed fertility, something I was not prepared to think about, as I had never been desirous of having children before. But, alas, the human condition is so complex that we sometimes don’t realize how badly we want something until it’s no longer an option. This is probably an inherent disease dating back to that apple Eve consumed in the Garden of Eden (if you believe in that stuff). If it were a coin toss, I knew now which side I wanted the coin to land on.

Unfortunately, chemo can cause infertility. This depends on the person involved, as no two chemo patients have the same reaction. Aside from the infertility, my doctor explained that I should not try to conceive until at least five years after my treatment, since the chemo drugs can also cause birth defects. Oh boy! So the cure is also the poison!

I was asked why I opted to do treatment at the GPHC, when I had done everything else privately. I mentioned my meeting with Devika, as well as the fact that treatment is free, to which my doctor replied, “So you want to take advantage of the Public Hospital and the Ministry of Health?”

“Of course! Why shouldn’t I? That’s why I pay taxes. I think it’s time my tax money benefits me directly,” I responded, all ready for what I expected might turn into a heated discussion; but I looked up and saw a twinkle in the doctor’s eyes. Immediately we established a rapport — a warm connection I had never felt with any doctor before.

It should be noted that GPHC has the best doctors who work under stressful and strenuous circumstances. I still was worried about the nurses who would interact with me, though.

My date had been set: one week from the day I had met with the doctor. After what seemed like lifetimes of standing still, everything finally sped up. It wasn’t the time that moved faster, it was me. I was now sporting my second and shortest pixie haircut, the upside of impending hair loss was being able to play around with different haircuts that I would have been too scared to try before. Funny to think about being scared of having a bad haircut, now I was scared of just not having hair. But I wouldn’t go bald until halfway in my treatment, I thought.

My first treatment started at 7:30 am. Not being a breakfast person (yeah, yeah I know, it’s the most important meal), I had a cup of coffee and nibbled on a sandwich. When I got to the Oncology Unit, I was taken into the chemotheraphy treatment room – reasonably sized area with about twelve comfortable reclining chairs. Nurse Benny took my pressure while Nurse Griffith prepared the cocktail of drugs for each patient there. There was no doubt that these nurses were different that the others I had encountered in the other clinics before. Were they trained differently? Whatever it was, I was thankful to be in kind hands.

I was as nervous as you would expect. I just wanted my IV to be set the first time. I had heard stories of patients having to be pricked a few times (not at the GPHC, but generally) before successfully ‘setting a line’, as I’ve heard it being referred to by medical professionals.

There was no need to worry. Nurse Benny, as gently as she probably could, successfully set a line in my left hand on the first attempt. All IVs, injections and blood work are done only on my left hand. Since my surgery was on the right side, it was advised that these procedures should all be carried out on the opposite side. I suspect it puts less pressure on an area that is healing. One of the Oncologists I had consulted with when I was deciding on the best treatment options indicated to me that the GPHC does not provide anti-nausea medication, and that more than likely I would start throwing up as soon as the drug entered my system. This was absolutely false.

I was given everything as per my chemo schedule. There were two bags on my drip stand, one was saline and the other was a red liquid — the a/c or ‘red devil’ as it’s known among chemo patients, because of its nasty side effects.

I lay in the recliner and watched as the Kool-Aid-coloured liquid flowed into my iv tube. Within the first ten minutes, I developed a metallic taste in my mouth, which got worse. I didn’t want to throw up, but I also didn’t want to close my mouth.

The husband of one of the patients next to me walked around the room sharing mints to everyone. There were about seven of us there, me being the youngest. Any of the women there could have been my mother and then some. The mint helped with the taste in my mouth. I made about three trips to the toilet; the treatment makes a recipient urinate a lot (that and being nervous), but the other patients helped to keep me in good spirits.

The people I shared my first chemo session with were jovial and pleasant. The nurses also kept us upbeat by cracking jokes as they checked on the progress of our drip bags.

My first session lasted three hours. I returned home feeling a little tired, but not upset or sick. I had a light lunch (soup), and relaxed, waiting for the sickness to start. About three hours later, I started to develop a headache, and by evening I felt very tired. I went to sleep early, not taking the Gravol prescribed to me for treating the nausea I still did not feel. Ok, this isn’t so bad, I thought as I drifted off to sleep, totally unaware of what the morning would bring.

Next week: The week after chemo and all its side effects.