Chemo... Sucks.

By TEAM ANISSA

November 21^st, 2014

WEEK 18

November 21, 2014

“It‘s like they say about soldiers coming back from war. People all around you are dying. Really dying, Eric. You go in for a week‘s chemotherapy and you‘re in a ward with people who are really, actually dying, there and then and doing their best to come to terms with it. When the week‘s up, you go home and you see your family and your friends and everything‘s normal and familiar. It‘s too much. You think - one world can‘t possibly hold both these lives and you feel like you‘re going to go crazy when you realise the world is that big and it can fill with the most terrible things whenever it wants to.” ― Steven Hall, The Raw Shark Texts

Anissa had her first chemo treatment on Friday, November 14th. This was the first of six scheduled over the course of the next 18 weeks. So every three weeks you’ll find her on the 3rd floor of the Roy and Patricia Disney Cancer Center building.

Similar to a kid on the first day of school, Anissa was scared of the unknown and simply did not want to go. Her appointment was 10:45am. Shaking, distracted and unable to hold focus – Anissa arrived at 11am. I suppose I’m to blame for that, I was driving. Once on the other side of the waiting room door to her oncologist’s office I turned left towards the exam room and Anissa turned right toward anywhere but the exam room, saying, “I’ll be right there.”

I guessed with a small percentage of accuracy at what Anissa was feeling at that moment. When I was 10 years old, I was taken to the hospital directly from a doctor’s office for what would turn out to be an ulcer. I didn’t want to go and I remember begging and pleading from the back seat of the car to take me home so I could “get a few things”… As if my 10 year old self had so many loose ends to tie up before spending some time in the hospital. I just remember that feeling of not wanting to go and the lack of control over the situation – I remember even contemplating jumping from the car while it was going about 40mph.

In this case it was Anissa not wanting to face both the known and unknown – unfiltered fear is what that was and it sucked to witness this. Somehow, like she usually does, she quickly pulled it together, turned 180º and walked back down the hall towards me and her doctor, while wiping away the tears. Once in the exam room, Anissa expressed her concerns and she and I ran through a laundry list of questions regarding chemo that we had compiled the night before. True to form, Dr. B. patiently listened and answered each and every question – putting Anissa (somewhat) more at ease with every answer he gave.

Once the vitals and blood were taken, we were sent back to the waiting room. The infusion room is across the hall and in its own separate area all-together. Anissa got “banded” and we were told to wait. Anissa sat down – still nervous, but with a confidence similar to when we sat waiting in Maddie’s room at UCLA the morning of her double mastectomy. I stood in the waiting area, thinking we wouldn’t be waiting too long since it was now close to 12noon. Yes, we took close to an hour of the doctor’s time with questions and getting vitals. In the image below – both Anissa and the man across the way from her are waiting to be called upon. Both have similar, yet opposing posture. I mentioned to Anissa that “as soon as I sit down, they’ll call your name”. She joked and said, “keep standing!” I was right – within 30seconds of sitting, the nurse opened the infusion treatment room door and called her name. This is it.

We prepped a “chemo bag” – similar to what we had when we were having Isabella. Filled with all the things we thought Anissa might want or need during chemo treatment… from iPads, headphones and magazines to a few snacks and lip balm. Let me ruin it for you now… she didn’t dip into that bag once. Mostly because this was truly an eye opened experience for all of the 5 hours we were there. Nica was Anissa’s treatment nurse this day. She was simply amazing. Since this was Anissa’s first treatment, Nica took the time to explain everything that was happening, or going to happen.

First, they accessed Anissa’s port – one single 90º needle that goes in pretty much like a pin on a cushion. It was only 3 days since her surgery when she had it installed - amazingly, it was practically all healed up. While they waited for the blood work results, they hydrated Anissa. After that, it was a new bag. This time, anti-nausea medicine – then a few more “pre-meds” which help in reducing nausea and also reduce the chance of any possible allergic reaction to the chemo meds.

Each time the nurse came to hang a new bag Anissa got uptight. Nica made Anissa aware that she would know when it was time for the chemo. She explained that they would be wearing a blue gown and her hands would be double gloved. If the nurses are exposed to the chemo, they would also be subject to the side effects Anissa would experience.

It was finally time for the blue gown brigade. Nica leaned over with a upc scanner in hand, scanned Anissa wrist band, then the medication. All of this was done after they asked Anissa’s name and date of birth… again. You know this is all because someone, somewhere, at sometime was given wrong medication. I’m sure a rather large lawsuit followed.

Up first was the taxotere. Sheathed in a brown UV blocking bag was an IV of taxotere, 1 liter or 2.2 lbs of liquid which would be administered over the course of the next hour. Once it started there was no going back. Once this was in her body the side effects would ultimately begin – and while the doctor did a great job of prepping us – no one, not even Anissa would know when it would kick in, how long it would last, and the severity of any pain or discomfort.

We sat there discussing this very strange feeling of knowing that a toxic liquid was willingly being pumped into her body. It didn’t feel different – and there were no immediate side affects. Bring on the Cytoxan. This would only hang for 30 minutes, then Anissa would be done with her first session.

After five hours and about six lbs. of liquid we were packed up and leaving the infusion room. Looking back – it is very much a blur. It happened and she was done. Now what? We turned our focus on the upcoming side affects. The doctor said Anissa might feel something as early as Sunday and possibly even the next day, Saturday. Well – it turned out Anissa’s “down days” begin the 2nd day following chemo in the evening – in this case, Sunday night. She began to feel tired that night. The worst part of this first session is not knowing how and when you body will react. So for 48 hours we kept a constant watch for changes. It was consuming… you questioned every itch, scratch, pang of pain and ache. Fortunately, we stayed ahead of the nausea with medication and that didn’t come into play all that much. Monday morning arrived and it was clear the chemo kicked in.

Monday and Tuesday are her worst days – headaches, slight nausea, and general fatigue… all multiplied by 10x. Imagine your worst hangover… now quadruple that. Take your worst case of the flu you’ve ever experienced – double that. What she experiences is, on average, somewhere in between those to analogies.

On Tuesday, the Doctor called and asked us to come in for her shot of Neulasta. This shot causes an over the top increase of white blood cells. White blood cels are produced in the bone marrow – so while Barry White plays the white blood cels are reproducing at rabbit like speed. This, of course, comes with a side effect: bone ache. Much like growing pains since the long bones actually do swell a bit while the white blood cels are produced. Claritin-D helps offset the aches and pain.

By Wednesday Anissa began to come out of it, except for the ache in the long bones. Feeling a little better and stronger each day. Thursday was better than Wednesday and Friday was better than the two days combined.