Some things I'd forgotten about chemo

     Went in yesterday, after a nice, calming cranial-sacral massage from my friend Julia. Just walking into her studio makes me feel like I'm being taken care of: she always has yummy-smelling oils going, and puts on my favorite music without asking. It's very soothing and centering. Julia and Amy are part of my ad hoc E-Team; without them, I know things would be very different, probably intolerable. Their presence in our lives and in our home when we'd fallen into the darkest trenches last year -- it was a light, a dependable rhythm. I wouldn't be here without them.

     So then, it was off to the infusion center, where our favorite nurse (and friend) Elaine took good care of me. All the nurses came in to give hugs and say, awkwardly but plainly, that they were glad to see us, though were sorry I was back. Everyone asked about A and we will be kicked out of the place next week if we fail to bring pictures.

     It was a little disconcerting to be such an oldtimer that I knew the routine; it was almost like I hadn't gotten a ten month break. Everything was familiar and expected. Tapping the port, hoping for a decent blood return to indicate it's not clotted, and to draw blood for the CBC. After the numbers come back, it's showtime, with premeds: Zofran for nausea, Dekadron for I don't know what (it's a steroid). The Zofran makes me lose my mind, which manifests later in the day... I had forgotten what a crazy-making drug that is for me. After some hydration, the tiny packet of topotecan is hung above my head and drips for thirty minutes. No allergic reaction, thank God (was allergic to Taxol my first time out -- nurses were calling for the crash cart before someone yanked the line out of my arm -- yikes!). Then we were done. In and out in less than three hours. Not bad. My friend Amy brought me home, and I slept until about 7:00. 

     That's when the fun began. I woke up with a horrendous headache, weeping uncontrollably, over nothin'. M sent my sister upstairs and, as always, she soothed me and reminded me it was the medicine. She rubbed my head and nerve pilled me and we watched Chris Matthews screeching at anyone who could a word in edgewise, and I started to feel better by the time A came up to get ready for bed. She reeeeeally wanted to sleep in our bed again (second night; Amy says a second round of separation anxiety is typical when they start kindergarten and are staring down the barrel of being six) but M got her into her room and read her a story, Don't Let The Chicken Ride The Bus!, and they were done: heavy breathing, not a peep, weeee! She's still, Saturday morning, wearing the giant Mama sleep-shirt I loaned her so she could feel like I was in the room with her. I adore her, and often consider eating her.

     Today I'm planning to be quiet and listen for side effects. That, or go to brunch with my sister and some friends followed by a political rally. That sounds reasonable, right?