Chemo Sucks

I love my oncologists. They care about me, they care about curing cancer, and their confidence I'll recover is unflappable. They even crack jokes from time to time. But there is something so dark, so draining, about chemo that a little part of me can't help feel like I might be being tricked. 

The first thing that made me want to rip the IV from my arm was the special robe and gloves the nurse has to wear while handling the chemo - because it's so dangerous, she explained, as she pumped it into me. I'm on a chemo regimen of 4 drugs combined, deceptively referred to as a "cocktail". Each drug has its own host of risks and side effects; one can damage your heart, one your lungs, one corrodes your veins, and one is nicknamed "the red devil". But they all kill cancer. 

Four days out from the first chemo I got violently ill, first thing in the morning, and to tell the truth it was a huge release. For all the nausea prevention medicine, all the back-up, anti-nausea pills provided, nothing alleviated my nausea like throwing up. Not to get too gross, but it's pretty cathartic knowing that whatever was poisoning you from the inside is now out, expelled, and, eyes watering, you can say to yourself, "the worst is over", for now.

The crazy thing is that as sick as it has made me, the chemo seems to work and work quickly. I no longer itch, I haven't been getting middle-of-the-night fevers, and the swellings by my collarbone, once the size of golf balls, have diminished to nothing. Probably my strict dietary regimen of ice cream and mac & cheese is also helping, though (just to give credit where credit is due).