🌀 Mood: Shocked, scared, exhausted, relieved

Walking into the clinic for my first chemo treatment, I couldn’t believe this was my life. I checked in and first met with my oncologist. Just a few days earlier, on Tuesday, he had explained a treatment plan that would follow an 8-week cycle for round 1, using injections instead of IV chemo. Injections typically cause fewer reactions, so even though I hate needles—especially ones in the stomach—I was relieved. Fewer reactions meant less risk.

But now, he sat me down with bad news: Kaiser hadn’t approved his plan. They wanted me on a different drug, given through IV. He was disappointed too, but tried to calm me, saying the two options weren’t that different. Still, I was frustrated. It felt like the system was making choices about my body based on money, not on me. At the same time, I didn’t feel like I had a choice.

The infusion room had about 20 gray chairs in one row — cushy-looking, which I guess is good since people would be sitting for hours. It was a Friday, so the room wasn’t full. I picked the second chair, right in front of the nurses’ station. I wanted to be where they could see me in case something went wrong.

The nurses were kind, reassuring me since it was my first time. Still, I was scared. Praying I wouldn’t react badly. They started with a bag each of Benadryl, Pepcid, and Tylenol to prep my system. The Benadryl hit hard and made me groggy. They then had to wait an hour for everything to kick in, then the chemo began.

The nurses had warned me that if I felt ANY reaction, I was to alert them right away.

Almost immediately, I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened, my breaths came fast and shallow. I started coughing. Suddenly it felt like an asthma attack — even though I don’t have asthma. Then chills, a fever, a stuffy nose, and nausea hit me all at once.

It wasn’t one symptom after another. It was everything, all at the same time.

I panicked. This is it, I thought. I’m going down.  Suddenly, the room started fading to black. I honestly thought my time was up — the reactions were so intense, and I couldn’t even communicate.

I raised my hand, and 3 nurses rushed over. The doctor appeared — I don’t even know where. They stopped the infusion right away. I made it about six minutes in.

The next thing I remember is hearing my husband’s voice. I didn’t know when he had arrived, but later I found out that I had sent him a selfie during the reactions. He dropped everything at work and came immediately.  I guess it was my way of trying to let him know things were not ok.

It took about an hour before they got me stable enough to try again. This time, it worked. The nurses stayed close, watching every move. The treatment itself took 3 hours and 20 minutes. By the end, I was exhausted. I’d been at the clinic from 9:15am to 4:15pm.

When I got home, I ate a little, then went straight to bed — too wiped out to do anything else.

But the next morning, I woke up feeling surprisingly good. Like my body had “slept it off.” I went about my day almost normally, thankful for the reprieve.

I just know one thing: I never want to have another day like that again.

I debated for a long time whether to share the selfie I sent my husband that day. It’s definitely not my best look. But I’m committed to being authentic and honest in this blog, and that means sharing the whole picture. To balance it out, I added a photo of me in happier times too — mostly to make myself feel better 😊.