The good news continues to roll in. Day 1 of chemo went off without a hitch. I was, however, hitched to an IV for around 4 hours via my chest port. During that time, I received saline fluid and various injections, beginning with an anti-nausea med that lasts 3 days, followed by a sequence of 4 chemo meds targeted at The Troll, ABVD. One of them is nicknamed “The Red Devil” (pictured above). Red for its color, Devil for its tendency to induce nausea, hair loss, mouth sores and other terrible things like extensive tissue damage if not inserted into a vein properly or if they give you too much in your lifetime. It’s also labeled as a vesicant, what’s that, Google? Something that causes blistering… fun. But for all the potential bad it can do, El Diablo Rojo is also an insidious, highly effective cancer warrior. It’s kind of like Michael Jackson — he was accused of sexually molesting a whole lotta kids, but he also wrote “Man in the Mirror.” The point is, you can’t have the remarkable without some bad. It’s a zero sum world.
Or is it? I have so much in the positive column, it’s hard not to feel lucky. My cough has already lessened, my eczema doesn’t feel as gnarly today. Medical advances forged over the past three decades, an excellent nursing staff, and an oncologist who is communicative, thoughtful, AND handsome have made it so The Troll doesn’t stand much of a chance. I kind of feel bad for it. Plus, yesterday, I had these two gals, Alyssa and my sister Rachael there to keep me company with various stand up routines, including a joke that The Troll would mistake El Diablo Rojo for alcoholic fruit punch and drink with impunity, and a notable speed skating physical bit from Rachael while wearing my Nike sweatshirt.
Alyssa in the Jumper providing chemo education, Rachael holding the tea.
Birkenstock Olympic Speed Skater, Rachael Charbonneau
After the treatment yesterday, I went home and immediately passed out for 2 hours. I was aggressively tired. But I’ve been so tired over the past 5ish months from the disease itself that the fatigue symptoms from the chemo are old news. Woke up mildly nauseous and still peeing red diablo out. Mmm, right? The nausea wasn’t fun, but it was nothing compared to coming down off Fentanyl last week after the port placement surgery while driving in 5pm LA rush hour traffic.
They tell me the chemo symptoms will be cumulative and get worse over days and months, but right now, I’d like to pass all the well-intended “kick cancer’s ass,” “positive vibes,” and “fight like hell” encouragements on over to the researchers, oncologists, nurses, insurance navigators, past patients, and friends and family members. They’re the real heroes in this saga. I’m just standing on their shoulders and calling myself nauseous, achey, short of breath, and aggressively sleepy.
Stay tuned for future posts, including a prescient creative drawing I made of a troll a few months back. And here’s a creepy sexy hair photo of me the night before chemo because I’m just as vain as the rest of you humans.
Note the cauliflower trapped under the clear bandage. Troll food spiked with poison shhhh.