A chemoversary to celebrate

Tomorrow is my one-year chemoversary.

On Oct. 12, 2016, I started four rounds of Adriamycin, aka The Red Devil.

When I arrived at the clinic that day, with a full head of hair, I went directly to the third floor Infusion Center. I sat patiently in the drab waiting room watching people go into nearby physical therapy sessions and talking to the older folks sitting beside me as they also waited for their turns in the Infusion Center. Then, Nurse Kara opened the door and summoned me to record my blood pressure, weight, and temperature and start the day’s treatment.

She introduced herself. (She didn’t remember being my nurse for a few infusions during Breast Cancer 1.0 three years earlier.) Then, she asked my birthdate.

I replied: ‘Oct. 13, 1970.’

She stopped writing in my chart and looked me in the eyes and said: ‘Ugh. Tomorrow’s your birthday? I’m so sorry!’

On Oct. 12, 2016, I started chemotherapy treatment for Breast Cancer 2.0. This is Nurse Kara being a good sport as she prepares to inject the first doses of Adriamycin, aka The Red Devil. Notice her paper gown and double-gloved hands. The Red Devil is a mean mofo.

We both laughed and acknowledged birthdays aren’t what they used to be when we were children.

However, I knew my 46th birthday was going to be different. Much like my 43rd birthday when I was at St. Joseph Hospital in Denver, recovering from the double mastectomy and reconstruction. These days usually reserved for cards, flowers, cake and decadent meals now involved pain, nausea and all-too-real reminders about this life with cancer.

I started chemo for Breast Cancer 2.0 knowing this course of drugs would be more intense and likely would bring on different, unwanted side effects.

Still, when Nurse Kara walked over to my chair in the Infusion Center that first day with three syringes of the red liquid -- thus the name Red Devil -- and covered herself in a paper gown and double gloved her hands, the potency of this drug started to sink in.

Nurse Kara handed me a cup filled with ice chips and encouraged me to chew on the ice while she injected the drug. Many patients treated with Adriamycin develop nasty mouth sores. So, I eagerly chomped on the ice as she started the injections.

Nurse Kara then carefully timed the rate the fluid was being pushed into the port in my chest, looking at her wristwatch and asking me often: ‘Are you feeling OK?’

Fortunately, I did fine with the first round of The Red Devil. I actually did pretty well with all of those treatments. Toward the end of that protocol, though, my white blood cell levels plummeted. We postponed one treatment for a week so my levels could bounce back. They did and my time with The Red Devil ended on Nov. 23, 2016.

During that course, I was cautioned to be careful around other people, especially The Weed, and even my dogs. I was encouraged to use a bathroom away from others. I was told to be sure my toothbrush did not brush up against The Weed’s. And, on that first day of treatment, Nurse Kara had to uncomfortably tell me to avoid all sexual activities. She was sheepish as she told me this. I responded: ‘I’m married. We’re fine in that department.’

Nurse Kara explained the toxicity of Adriamycin could be transferred to others through my fluids. So, I abided by these instructions. I even told people who planned to visit me in the Infusion Center or at my home to stay away. Knowing that I could make them sick was too much for me to shoulder.

With the end of Red Devil treatments, I rested and enjoyed Thanksgiving 2016 (Mostly enjoyed it. I ate pecan pie. That’s all that really mattered to me.) In mid-December, I started three months of weekly Taxol and Cytoxan treatments.

On Nov. 23, 2016, the last drops of The Red Devil were administered during my treatment for Breast Cancer 2.0. I sucked on and chewed ice chips throughout these sessions because the drug can cause nasty mouth sores in some people.

Those treatments were easier to stomach and I felt fine through most of them. My blood levels did plummet again, though. So, the oncologist had me inject myself with a blood-boosting drug called Neupogen for five days after each chemo session.

I had given myself these injections during treatment for Breast Cancer 1.0. Doing them this time was not a big deal. Or so I thought.

I did have a minor/MAJOR panic when I started the Neupogen injections again last year.

The syringes containing the medication were different this time. They had spring-loaded needles that easily depressed into my skin and then sprang back into the syringe and out of sight.

Without considering this, I completed the first injection and immediately freaked the F out. I ran from the bathroom and accosted The Weed as he sat on the couch: ‘We need to go to the ER. The needle just broke off in my skin. I can’t find it! I can’t find it! They’re going to have to cut open the skin! What if it lodges in my heart? Jesus!’

Drama. Drama. Pant. Drama. Drama. Pant.

The Weed looked at the syringe and in aerospace engineer fashion recognized the needle had retracted into it, beneath the springs, so no one could be hurt by it.

I can’t remember exactly how he explained this detailed process to me. I was still too freaked out to really understand. I heard: ‘Calm down, Swedish. You’re fine.’ He calls me Swedish. I’m not really of Swedish descent, though. Long story.

It’s funny what the brain can put behind closed curtains. I don’t remember terrible, sick days with chemotherapy for Breast Cancer 2.0.

For Breast Cancer 1.0, I do remember days of hours-long nose bleeds and bad nausea. Those days are still with me.

For Breast Cancer 2.0, I remember being completely relieved to be done with The Red Devil. I remember weeks later the oncologist’s assistant called to tell me my PET scan results. She said ‘remission’ and I started crying. I think I told her I loved her. I really did at that moment.

I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s chemoversary.

It’s milestones like this that make me realize how far I’ve come. They make me appreciate so much, really.

•••

Quick update: I met my new oncologist yesterday. (My previous oncologist moved to a clinic closer to his home in Denver.)

Dr. Sravanthi Ravulapati is lovely. She attended medical school in India and then moved to the United States. She completed her residency in New York City and eventually settled on oncology after working in St. Louis, Mo.

She’s now in Colorado with her family and has given me permission to bungle her name as often as I need to. (I asked to pronounce her name three times before her yesterday. I managed to spit it out OK by the third time.)

Dr. Ravulapati and I settled on monitoring any cancer in my body by having annual PET or CT scans. Likely in March or April.

She also completed a quick physical exam, feeling along the areas where my breast cancers have been diagnosed. Everything seemed fine. Normal. Thank you.

I also talked with Dr. Ravulapati about the strange intense itch I experienced a few nights ago. She said tissues beneath my arm and in my right breast are still healing from radiation. I likely will feel more itches and tingles. She said to let her know if it becomes too intense or I think we need to take a different look through an ultrasound.

With that, Dr. Ravulapati bid me farewell for another six months and showed me where in the clinic to get a flu shot.

I got the flu shot. I hate flu shot day! My left arm throbbed and hurt all afternoon. I told the Twitterverse: ‘My left arm feels like it stepped on a LEGO in the middle of the night!’

The Twitterverse did not find that funny. It really wasn’t.