Port placement yesterday went fine -- super easy, in the scheme of things. Nice drugs, nice people, A++. Highly recommended.
The port is a thick metal disc the size of about a quarter but more like 1/2 inch thick, with a flexible, 6-inch narrow tube coming out the side. The top of the disc is squishy. It's placed under my skin on my chest, just below my collarbone. The tube is fed into a vein, where it lives until it's removed, after I finish all my chemo in a couple months. To get blood or give drugs, a needle will be poked through my skin, into the squishy part on the top of the port. I'll report back on how this works in practice. How does the needle stay in there? Why did I agree to this without knowing how it works? I mean, I remember taking the vote on Facebook, which is how all medical decisions should be handled, but...
It was double digits below zero when it was time to go get the port, and Bob announced that neither car would start, so he'd ordered a Lyft. When it arrived, I couldn't help but notice that the snow was undisturbed on our primary car -- Bob hadn't actually opened the door and tried to start it, but stood some distance away (inside the house? In the bathroom?) and attempted a remote start. I had the whole ride to the hospital and an hour of pre-op to be irritated about that. When I was finally wheeled away, I told Bob that if I didn't make it, he should know I was disappointed. He responded "Buh-bye!"
Somehow I was able to hang on to this through the glorious fentanyl. I tried and succeeded in starting the car the moment we got home.
We had some frozen pipes that are now un-frozen, so that's great. And I start chemo tomorrow! I'm really doing fine. It's like planning for a flight to Bangkok. I know it will suck at times, I will be irritable, it will seemingly last forever, but I'll have snacks, comfortable pants, stuff to read, drugs, and nice ladies will be helping me. And of course Bob will be there, too, because he just can't get enough of his crabby wife. And, like a trip to Asia, I imagine in the coming weeks I'll feel sort of jet lagged, tired, and maybe experience gut issues. But on a real trip to Asia, my happiness at the destination more than makes up for the drawbacks of the trip. Not so much here. It's hard to generate excitement for simply staying alive when it's all I've ever known.
I show up at the cancer center just after noon tomorrow. There's approximately an hour's worth of labs and meeting with my oncologist, then the infusions start. They will take about an hour each (there are two). The whole thing will take about three hours. I'll be in my own little room, which looks sort of like a hospital room, but with a recliner instead of a bed. (I got to see the rooms before.) I'll be given steroids and anti-nausea medications to help mitigate side effects.
Friends who have gone through chemo have passed along tips. It seems that the poison isn't readily taken in to tissue that is cold -- which is why some people wear cold caps to prevent hair loss. My oncologist wasn't excited about those, and I didn't pursue it because I'm bald-curious. But I think I will keep ice in my mouth to prevent mouth sores. Still deciding on holding ice packs in my hands to prevent neuropathy (loss of sensation/tingling).
I can bring snacks, and there are no eating or drinking restrictions prior to the infusion, I don't think; I need to actually look through the large binder I was given called "Cancer: Try Not to Die." (It's not called that, but "Your Care Guide" is boring.)
I want to bring good snacks that I'm excited about, but I've also been cautioned to avoid my favorite things, because if I get sick, I might not ever enjoy them again. Second string snacks are what I'm aiming for. Hummus-level snacks.
I think I'm ready. Well, we have to get the snacks on the way. (Now that we know the fucking car starts.) I worry a bit that the drugs will change the way my mind works. Losing words and feeling fuzzy are normal chemo side effects. But what if I change, and it's noticeable? What if I become nicer, but dull? What if I become too weird even for you weirdos? What does it feel like to be poisoned, on purpose? What's poison-induced menopause like? Guess we'll find out...