Fighting Breast Cancer

My last four doses of chemotherapy are going to consist of a drug called Taxol.  The good news about Taxol is that it is a lot easier to tolerate than the Red Devil and it won’t make me nauseous.  The bad news is that it will make the tips of my fingers and toes numb, possibly permenantly numb. 

When my chemo was ready, I was paged from the waiting area and found my usual chair.  The nurse prepped me by first flushing my catheter.  She attached a syringe of saline and pushed it through.  (The moment she did this, I could tast the saltiness of the saline in the back of my throat.)  Then she pulled on the syringe (ooooohh!  I hate that suction feeling in my chest!) and drew some blood to make sure that it was open and functioning properly, before she depressed the syringe again.   

Satisfied that my catheter was flushed and in working order, the nurse started me on my pre-meds.  My pre-meds for the Taxol are the same except they add a dose of Benadryl to the mix.  Benadryl will make most people very sleepy.  It puts me in a deep coma.  When I wake up after taking a dose of Benadryl, I can barely remember my name.

I made it through the premeds still conscious.  The nurse connected a large chemo bag to my IV tube and I settled back and waited for the Benadryl to kick in.  Within a few minutes, I was asleep.

From the dark recesses of my mind, came this nagging voice in my head, telling me to wake up.  I didn’t want to wake up.  I wanted to sleep.  Forever.  The voice wouldn’t stop.  It became louder and more urgent.  “GET UP NOW!  YOU HAVE TO GO!!!”

I opened my eyes.  Oh my God, I have pee so badly right now, I don’t know if I’m going to make it to the bathroom.  I stand up and try to get my rubbery legs to work.  I drag the IV with me towards the restroom, but I’m still in a dreamlike state.  Every step makes me feel like the door to the bathroom is getting farther away, not closer.  I finally reach the handle and hurl it open with more force than necessary.  I clumsily drag the IV into the stall as a nurse finally notices me and rushes over to help.  Too late.  I lock the door with one hand and disrobe with the other.  Finally, relief.

I must have dozed off for a few minutes, because the next thing I know, there is a knock at the door and the nurse is worriedly asking me if I’m OK.  I drowsily answer that everything is fine and finish up.  When I open the door, she helps me meander my way back to my chair where I ease back into my coma.

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