Chemotherapy is Weird

I knew chemotherapy would not be fun. Everybody knows that. 

But I didn't know how bizarre it would be. Until my first treatment. 

First, a few stats: 

    Total time for treatment #1: 10.5 hours

    Total medications put into my body: 12

    Total allergic reactions: 1 

    Total percentage of time feeling terrified: 100% 

I arrived at the Colorado Blood Cancer Institute early in the morning, prepped for ... well, for what? 

I knew there would be nausea. I knew there would be needles and infusion machines and syringes. I knew there would be fatigue.  

I didn't know I'd get a bright, red drug with the name "Red Devil." I didn't know I would shake violently when one of the drugs dripped into my veins. I didn't know I would freeze, unable to be warmed - on a 90-degree August day - by four heated blankets. I didn't know there would be a medication that has to be carefully measured because a person can only receive a lifetime maximum dosage. 

I didn't know there would be warning labels with words like "cytotoxic" and "danger." Nor did I know  nurses would dress in the medical equivalent of HAZMAT suits, triple-gloved, double-masked, and gowned from head to toe. They explained they had to be careful in case any of the drugs got on their skin. I said, "You mean these drugs you are pumping into my body?" 

The kind, reassuring nurse laughed and said, "Yes. It's basically poison." 

Okey-dokey. 

Weirdly, I was okay with that, reasoning that poison is needed to kill cancer cells.   Of course, it kills other cells too. But like Scarlett O'Hara, I'll think about that tomorrow.