Chemo Day 1: the afternoon
I’m undergoing my first chemotherapy session and it’s been a very busy morning. Patients have been coming and going all the time, some being treated for only an hour. My treatment will take over six hours! And note: I’ve already had my hair cut short by my hairdresser, Sharon, in anticipation of going bald. (See photo.)
This morning I was given steroids and anti-nausea drugs followed by two chemotherapy infusions, the first of which took three hours! Fortunately, everything seemed to go well. In the beginning, the drip was made to run extremely slowly and I had nurses checking me every five minutes to make sure I was not having any kind of adverse reaction. When it became apparent that things were going OK, the speed of the drip was increased. This was good news because it meant that the second infusion of chemotherapy drugs would go much quicker.
In my case, the cannula for the intravenous drip was placed in the crook of my elbow because the doctor couldn’t find a vein in my forearm. This location is awkward because it means my arm has to remain outstretched all the time, which is uncomfortable. Also, the drip is connected to a monitor so every time I move my arm, a beeper goes off and a nurse comes running. And going to the toilet is also a trial because you have to take the drip - and the frame it hangs from - with you whenever you go anywhere. (Believe me, undressing and squatting to pee using only one hand is an acrobatic feat worthy of the Cirque du Soleil. Ah, the joys of being a woman!)
The glamorous lady in the next bed completes her treatment before me and leaves and I am sad to see her go, but we exchange phone numbers and email addresses and promise to stay in touch. She tells me that she is saving up for her 50th birthday in two years’ time and, in my dark thoughts, I wonder if I will be around at the time to celebrate with her. How happy that would make me.
Eventually, I’m the last patient in the ward and the three nurses crowd around my bed to ask questions about the different places I’ve lived – remote Nchelenge in Zambia, beautiful Cape Town and frenetic Johannesburg in South Africa, chaotic Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam, and, of course, sunny Malta.
We talked about relationships. The Head Staff nurse has been with his partner for many years, the other male nurse has a girlfriend and the third nurse is unattached. We agreed that in many societies there is the ideal that you get married, have children and live happily ever after, but the reality is often quite different. Rob and I, for example, decided long ago that we didn’t need children and have not regretted that decision.
I enjoyed talking with the nurses and it was good to think about something other than the cancer monster I’m living with at the moment. I hope to see them all again when I come for my second round of chemotherapy in three weeks’ time.
At four o’clock my treatment is finally finished and it’s time to go home. I collect my things, look around the empty ward then walk down the corridor to meet my darling Rob. I had expected to feel dreadfully sick after being given chemo, but this isn’t the case. Physically, I don’t feel that much different from when I came in, except I’m very tired, which, I guess, is only to be expected. The fact that the medical team has been absolutely magnificent has made all the difference. I’m certainly not saying I shall look forward to my next chemo treatment, but I won’t be terrified either…
This blog is a joint effort and could not happen without my husband’s help. Rob is highly qualified, teaches English online and is the author of over 30 published books. If you’d like to learn a little more about him, visit his website: https://rob-marsh.com
Photograph by Marija Grech
