Treatment: the BEFORE

Today marks the beginning of my treatment. I feel jittery, like this is my first time with cancer, since this treatment is completely different from what I received during my previous battle with cancer. Many people have voiced a desire be with me every step of the way, to encourage, support, and pray for me as needed. So that is exactly what we will do. Due to the fact that each one of my treatments this summer is going to last for three days (versus the 5-6 hours of my last treatment), I will have sufficient time to process and record my feelings and share them with all of my marvelous supporters.
I will be writing throughout my first treatment so that people can see what it is like to go through this step by step. I have chosen to break this up into three separate segments: the Before, the During, and the After.

BEFORE:

We are t-one hour until my treatment begins. I have such a wide mixture of very strong feelings that all want to be felt. First, there is love. I have gotten so many messages and well-wishes that my husband literally had to take my phone away (so if I didn't answer you, blame him!). Jeff did this because he fully understands my second emotional contender: denial. All day long, I have fought hard to be in a strong state of denial- I don't want to think about cancer. I don't want to talk about cancer. I don't want to think that this is my LAST HOUR to feel "normal" for the rest of this year (normal being subjective, since I still haven't fully recovered from my first battle with cancer. *Little known fact: the effects of chemotherapy can last YEARS*).

In many ways, I have viewed this last week as kind of my last days. My last days to run around rampant with my daughter, to chase her and fling her around until both of us are crying with laughter. These are my last days to have the energy to keep my house in a semi-organized, clean state on my own. I lacked the ability to do that for the better part of last year, though my mother would argue I have lacked that ability much longer! I took a strong level of pride in my work. Some moments, you couldn't even tell that the toddler/husband/cat/dog/ teacher-off-for-the-summer/ crafty tornado continually wrought havoc on my home. Most painfully, these are my last days to enjoy my husband as just my husband- not my caretaker/ nurse/ cook/ "single" father/ all-the-things-ever guy. I was an equal partner in what we call life for four glorious months. These were my last days to deny the fact that treatment is going to significantly effect my quality of life for quite some time.

Now, we are t-30 minutes and it's time to prepare. I have written an easy how-to guide for all the cancer newbies out there.

HOW TO GET READY FOR CHEMO IN 9 EASY STEPS:

Step 1. For 24 hours prior, transfigure yourself into a camel (not-so-subtle nod to all my Harry Potter peeps). For REAL, though. In the past twelve hours, I have drank 3 liters of water. This may not seem like a significant achievement to all you "healthy" people out there with "healthy diets", who regularly intake the perfect nutrition to keep your body primed for...things... I, however, am NOT one of these people, so for me, it is a big deal. I notoriously dehydrate myself,  *unintentionally.*  When you are a teacher of small children, and a mother of small children, and a cleaner-upper after small children, fitting 8 glasses of water in to a day can seem like a task akin to climbing Mt. Everest. I have no time to stand still and drink water, or even to think about standing still to drink water. "Healthy living" just isn't my thing- I'm lucky if I get two glasses of liquid in a day, including my morning cup of life, I mean, coffee.

Step 2. Wake up and realize it is Chemo Day. Cue nausea.

Step 3. Doggedly "forget" that it is Chemo Day by busying yourself  with an untold number of small projects that you can't take with you to the oncologist. This, of course, causes you to remember its Chemo Day- cue nausea.

Step 4. Completely bedeck yourself in your spouse's clothing. (Not highly recommended for males with female counterparts...unless that's your thing- no judgment here.) I suggest this, not only because they are the comfiest clothes imaginable, but also because chemo stinks. Literally. Upon completion of treatment, you will never be able to smell sharpies, cleaning supplies, or the oncologist's office ever again without feeling nauseous. Surrounding yourself in a scent that is ultimately comforting and relaxing will be doing the world a big favor. Or at least your neighbor in the chair next to you. No one likes the smell of vomit when they are receiving chemo.

5. Remember it's Chemo Day. Cue nausea. Throw an internal tantrum big enough to put your toddler to shame. Trust me, just get it out of your system: It's. Just. NOT. FAIR!

6. Numbing cream, numbing cream, numbing cream. Getting skewered in the port with a lance is not comfortable. Take my word for it- put on the numbing cream.

7. Pack up Happy Things to take with you. You are about to feel bad, and gross, and just plain yuck. Bring anything and everything that can get your mind off of it- a book, a movie, *ahem* your daughter's teeny tiny shoe (like I said before, no judgment). Make sure your phone is packed with photos of your loved ones. Videos are a Godsend too- not only for you, but also for your neighbor in the chair next to you. Few things lighten up a treatment room like the sound of infectious laughter of the small children who are not allowed in said treatment room. Videos and photos are great conversation starters that can help pass the hours and hours and hours that you will be sitting in that chair, hooked up like Professor X in Cerebro. Unless your neighbor is a grouchy pants, which is a thing, because they have CANCER, and its ok. Just turn down your phone volume or hook up some earbuds.

8. Watch the clock, while pretending to not watch the clock. Every second brings it closer. Pretend it doesn't.

9. Realize you can't put treatment off any longer. It is time to go. Suck it up and be a big kid about it. Or don't, because you have cancer and its ok. Cue  nausea.

Catch you on the flip side.