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Round One

Monday morning bright and early the chemo nurse hooked my cyborg implant up to an array of machines with blinking lights via sets of tubing with all sorts of access ports.


She let them pump me full of careful doses of poison for four hours, then sent me home to await the delivery of another blinking machine with its own packet of poison, and another nurse to administer it.

That part would have gone much more smoothly if the delivery driver hadn’t been told 5pm, while I and the nurse were told 2:30.

Odd as it sounds, I felt better leaving the infusion center than I did going in: the week of antibiotics following the port surgery had left my guts a bit unsettled, and the IV antinausea meds cleared that right up. I’ve been diligent in taking the pill versions, and haven’t had any trouble at all.

By the time everything got straightened out and connected on Monday, I felt like I’d been run over by a herd of wildebeast, but that faded, and I even left the house for a couple hours on Tuesday, pump and all, to make an appearance at a conference.

I was unhooked this afternoon after my 46-hour extended dose, and feel not-too-bad. I shoveled some of the snow, in very short doses. My endurance is definitely subpar, but a bit at a time with lots of breaks went okay. And maybe an afternoon nap to smooth it out a bit.

The cold sensitivity, though, that’s something special. Almost immediately after getting the oxaliplaten Monday morning it hit. I can’t drink tap water, let alone ice water, wash my hands in cold water, or rummage for things in the refrigerator, without frostbite prickles or worse. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but I feel like I’m swallowing shards of ice. So I’m microwaving my tap water, and even my yogurt. This should fade over the next few days, I think.

I know that side effects sometimes don’t appear for a few days after chemo, and that the intensity can increase after multiple doses, but that’s not a horrible place to start.

The ultrasound test scheduled for today was moved to Monday, for various reasons including a whole lot of snow, and the Monday after that is my next round of chemo. Cyborg science experiment, that’s me.


  1. Sally says:

    I’m really glad that you’re not feeling too horrendous, and totally impressed with you going out and digging snow, you crazy girl!

  2. Laura says:

    What Sally said–shoveling snow, you crazy (cyborg) girl! Hugs, special warm ones. 🙂

  3. Carol Reed says:

    Shoveling snow???? Even *I* try to avoid that as much as I can, and I am supposedly healthy. If you are sensitive to cold now, I am amazed that you were able to manage any shoveling at all. (Especially if your snow was anything like what we got — several inches of snow topped by a 1/2 frozen layer that made any shoveling a challenge.)

    Take care of yourself, and keep as much energy in reserve as you can, right now. It will be a bit before you really get a feel for how much those poisons are going to affect you. Sending strength and energy your way…….

  4. Jessica says:

    Shoveling snow is what stuck with me out of this too. You are crazy strong!

  5. Denise says:

    What spirit!!!!

    Keep on keepin’ on…..

    I think of you everyday and send along my hope for you,
    hoping that you are …..

    beating the cancer with your brand of snark.

  6. Just wanted to let you know you’re constantly in my thoughts.