Part Twelve:
Full Speed Ahead
Waiting,
with Holy Spirit peace surrounding and filling the time, is more serene than
anxious. For two months I have been
waiting for the next doctor’s appointment, the next test, the next set of
results. Suddenly time gets ramped up: I’m at the starting gate, and I’m not
ready. Chemo begins today.
My
port hurts. Rather, the port site
hurts. It is closer to my neck than I
had imagined. When I move my neck, turn
my head, or even chew, stabbing pain results.
Last night I blocked myself into bed with pillows. The port is on the right, so I slept on my
left—fortunately, that is my preferred sleeping position. Memory foam pillow under my head, body pillow
tucked between my knees, bed pillow elevating my right arm those few inches
above my side to minimize the port pain.
It
was Monday that I saw Dr. Moussa, my medical oncologist, who first explained
the chemo schedule to me. It is an
intense schedule, different from what I expected, and the reason for it is that
clinical studies have shown it yields the best final result. The first four infusions (which start today)
will be given in two-week intervals through the BARD power port installed
yesterday: anti-nausea meds and immune system support followed by the three-hour drip.
That takes me to August 10. From
thence we go to a weekly schedule of a different drug cocktail for another
twelve infusions. Looks like I’ll be
done with chemo, the first leg of this cancer journey, before Thanksgiving.
I
am most afraid of nausea and vomiting.
Besides the medication given through my port, I have two prescriptions
to use on an as-needed basis. Oh, how I
hope I will not need them. I wonder if
the fatigue will feel different than the fibro fatigue I am so used to and if
the chemo brain will surpass the fibro fog.
One thing is certain: hair loss
occurs around day 21 of treatment.
Dana
tells me that before every chemo treatment, she plans to pray with me. I’m glad because I will likely forget. We will be praying that the medications do
their job of attacking and killing the cancer cells with as few side effects as
possible.
Admittedly,
I’ve allowed fear some entrance this week.
The road ahead seems long and impossibly hard. But when I shift my focus to the One who
loves me beyond my comprehension, peace returns. Paul,
in Galatians 6, reminds me that I am not alone in this journey:
Be prepared. You’re up against far more than
you can handle on your own. Take all the
help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but
the shouting you’ll still be on your feet.
Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than
words. Learn how to apply them.
I hit sign out before publish. Oops. I wrote that I understand your fears and concerns about tolerating the chemo. One thing that really helped Loyde (but his was directed to gastro-intestinal chemo) was one or two 4-ounce bottles of human donor milk from a milk bank to re-establish mucous membranes and to quell his stomach issues. It also helps re-establish a healthy intestinal biome. I think you might know a source of safe human milk.��
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