Hi, dear people!
How are each of you? I am amazingly well, having had my first chemo treatment yesterday. In fact, the word I keep using for the whole experience yesterday is “amazing.” More about that in a minute!
When I discovered that I couldn’t explain my chemo choice when a friend asked me about it, I took an extra week to get more information. I wanted to make sure I was really on board and that I wasn’t choosing a lighter course just so it would be easier for me (a short-term benefit). I also wanted the week to build up my immune system with more vitamins—and to hold a two-day yard sale for Haiti in 95-degree temperature.J (It went well, and lots of people helped us.)
The treatment I had initially chosen (TC) is relatively new and is not as aggressive as the other option (TAC). The studies I found on TC were impressive, but it seemed that the women who had been treated successfully were in lower-risk categories and that the jury was still out among oncologists about using it for women with my risk factors. I prayed for guidance and then took my questions back to the oncologist. I knew what information I was hoping to find, and she was very helpful. She used a computerized program to compare risks and also gave me more studies in which TC and TAC were compared—unfortunately, not to each other, but to two different recipes—but it helped. I made my own little chart. A statistics teacher would flunk me, but I am comfortable with it. I can now explain the choice. I stuck with TC over TAC because—though it has 2% greater risk of cancer reoccurrence/death—it has 2% less risk of causing heart problems. I want to take care of my heart, too!
Another neat thing helped, too. I went to a Look Good…Feel Better class sponsored by the American Cancer Society. (They give makeup kits and advice to women going through chemo.) There, I met a lady in her 30s who had just had her second TC treatment. She has my exact same risk factors and was given the same two choices by her oncologist, who is mentored by a renowned oncologist. In fact, she went to three oncologists and compared them all. The free makeup was great, but finding someone in my shoes, making the same decision, was a greater gift! I learned that I wasn’t signing up for something so new that nobody else was choosing it for their patients with my risk factors. Marvelous!
Finally, I was ready. I shopped for bland food and gentle shampoo and packed a bag with soothing CDs. There is so much advice about what to take—I couldn’t fathom what this experience was going to be like. Would I feel out-of-body? Was it like having the flu? I knew that I could have side effects after the chemo treatment time (a total of 4 treatments, with 3 weeks in between), but I didn’t know what to expect during the actual time, sitting in a recliner in a glass-enclosed room with other patients, each with IVs. I was told my initial chemo time would take 2 or 3 hours. I asked the oncologist what it’s like in there. “It’s boring!” she replied, so I took my laptop to reorganize files in my hard drive—a task suited for boredom.
The time on Monday in the little glass room was actually rather wonderful! Let me go back another day and start with Sunday. After church, 80-year-old (?) Alice came up to me in the lobby. She took a bottle of oil out of purse, shooed her husband away (“Go away, George!”), anointed me, and prayed. She confirmed with great joy that God would be going with me every step of the way into the chemo room. I said, “Yes, God is good.” She said, “I like Him,” smiled, and trotted away in her walker. She made me smile inside and out. How reassuring! Early Monday morning, my friend Char called while driving and said the same thing. “Karla, it’s like someone’s telling me this from the back seat of my car!” I have felt safe and protected by God in this journey so it didn’t surprise me, but it was very special to have it declared.
They were right. God was there…but not only for me. The only other patient in there was Richard, who was also starting chemo that day. His wife, Jenny, was sitting next to him. They have a battle ahead of them. He and I started to discuss our cancer journeys, our families, and our lives. His wife left the room after awhile and returned with his brother Robert and sister-in-law Aurora, newly arrived from California. As the four of them chatted with each other, I moved around a few files on my hard drive and took a little trip to the ladies’ room, IV in tow. When I returned, one of them said something about prayer support, and I just couldn’t stay out of their conversation. I said that the prayer support I have received has been phenomenal and effective. Suddenly, life came in the room—and encouragement.
I quickly learned that Robert and Aurora are Salvation Army officers in California and had also served in Pueblo, Colorado for 7 years in the early 1990s. We lived in Pueblo for 12 years, leaving in 1983. Jack had been on the Salvation Army Advisory Board, and Robert and Aurora had replaced the replacements for the people we knew, Ernie and Mary. In fact, Ernie and Mary had lived just a few blocks from us in a home owned by the Salvation Army, and we babysat their kids, wrapped hundreds of Christmas gifts, rang bells at K-Mart, loaned them a car, preached and played music in their church, and benefited from their hospitality. Robert, Aurora, and I were soon talking about the neighborhood K-Mart, Wal-Mart, King Soopers, Safeway, and other neighborhood landmarks. At that point, Jack came back in to the room. He kept getting phone calls and was out of the room most of the first hour. I quickly caught him up, and he came alive. He really hadn’t wanted to be in the chemo room, but suddenly he was standing up, regaling us all with fond stories of our time in Pueblo—especially about God’s provision in some amazing ways. By the time the nurse came in to take away my IV, nobody wanted to quit talking. We didn’t even leave right away. I was getting sleepy, and I think Richard was, too, but it was a wonderful time. We circled together and prayed for one another, and Jack sang a quiet song. Richard said he had been distressed about starting chemo, but this was a time of great encouragement for him. I agreed. The whole experience was rich! I gave them our home phone number, and Jenny and I compared notes and realized we would be there together again in three weeks. We hugged and left our new friends. … God, indeed, had come to the chemo room.
What were my side effects? Not much, yet! The nurse gave me a dose of steroids to counteract side effects, so I can no longer play professional baseball. Times 2, 3, and 4 are expected to build in intensity. I’m not expecting the worst, but I’m trying to be ready, too. My younger cohort who is using the same TC recipe lost her hair and healthy blood count between her first and second treatments. Yesterday, I felt like an amoeba, or maybe like jello. I couldn’t sleep, but just flopped from one end of the couch to another. Amoeba is a great description—or perhaps a really flexible teenager. That’s not all bad. Although Jack made sure I had a good-sized bucket, I didn’t need it, but I did take a precautionary anti-nausea pill before turning in for the night. Today, Tuesday, I awoke at 6 AM, mopped the floors, and cleaned the baseboards in the entryway. I don’t think I have ever done that! Maybe this chemo stuff will be good for me. To be honest, I did run out of steam in a few hours, read, rested, did some Harvest work, and am now writing y’all.
Everyone has a unique way of caring. Some of you phone; some write; some cook; some pray quietly; some think of us from time to time; some cut out articles; some send gifts. I want you to know—whatever you do is appreciated and gratefully accepted. We sense your care and love you. (Please remember Richard and Jenny, too!)
Amazed and thankful,
Karla
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment