One treatment down, twelve to go.  I was feeling pretty good after my first treatment.  I was supposed to be on a schedule to receive treatment every 14 days.  Hey, if every treatment was going to be like this, I would get through this A-OK.  I went to my next treatment solo.  I thought that I had it pretty much under wraps.  I report in at the front desk, go have blood-work, and head to the treatment area.  I had scheduled treatments on Thursday afternoons to cause the least interference with work and to allow me ample time to recover.  I would have the entire weekend to rest as I needed to.  I would just leave work on Thursday and head to treatment and back home afterward.  Friday could be my day to work from home if I was too tired to make the trip to the office, but I hadn't needed any real time off yet.

My second treatment went just as smoothly as the first.  Although my Oncologist was still on vacation in Normandy, I was getting along just fine.  I was managing my own care with the help of an extremely competent and caring nursing staff and facility.  I was being treated at St. Vincent's Comprehensive Cancer Center in Manhattan.  Boy was I fortunate to land here.  Another stroke of good fortune for me was that I had a friend working nearby.  Actually, he worked next door in the adjoining building at Google.  He and I had been friends for years and I could call him when I was there and he could keep my company during treatment.  I did call him and he came over the first time.  He came to my room and chatted with me for a bit before he had to rush back to work.  The visit was brief and sterile.  This would be the first and last time that he would visit me during treatment or otherwise.  I had different expectations of our friendship which turned out to be false.  I am not saying that he is a bad person, but just not the type of person to be around when things aren't going well.

This second treatment offered me the opportunity to meet Ginny.  Ginny would be come my regular nurse and she has a way about her that made me feel at home and at ease.  I felt that she genuinely cared for me instantly.   She talked to me about everything and we had some good conversation about food.  Ginny is about my mother's age or a bit older and a New Yorker, but not the TV "New Yawker" with the really thick accent.  Hers is just right and you hear it in her inflection at certain times.  Ginny was/is always put together so well.  She is so neat.  Her nails are manicured and natural.  Her haircut is so neat and perfectly shaped and her jewelry is appropriate for the workplace.  And I love the fact that she wears GOLD.  Gold just looks right on some people and it definitely works on Ginny.  Having Ginny around was like having my Mom with me and definitely put a different light on my treatment.  Ginny didn't just treat me well, but she shared information with me.  Remember, my Oncologist was not around nor was he a staff member at the treatment center.  I looked to Ginny and the nursing staff at St. Vincent's for answers to my questions. 

At my second treatment, Ginny reviewed my bloodwork and saw that my white blood cell count was low.  I had Neutropenia.  This is a condition where the body makes too few neutrophils.  Neutrophils are the most common type of white blood cells.  They are the first to arrive on the scene to fight infection and the chemotherapy was diminishing them.  This is a common side effect of chemotherapy and is treatable with Neupogen or Neulasta.  I asked what this meant and Ginny told me that I was going to need to give my white blood cells a boost.  To do this, I would have to come back for 3 consecutive days and get a shot of Neupogen. 

Although my Oncologist had another doctor covering for him, he didn't seem to have time for me which bothered me a lot, but bothered the nursing staff even more.  How could my Oncologist leave me, a first time cancer patient, to fend for myself.  I was, in essence, on my own.  Although I didn't readily admit it, the nurses could see that I was disturbed and a bit anxious.  They didn't like the way that I was being treated, but they could not voice their exact opinion because of their positions.  They did make it clear that I should do my research and ask as many questions as I wanted.  They also let me know, in the most subtle way, that I had options.  This sentiment was echoed throughout the treatment center.  They all felt that I deserved better and I wasn't getting the best treatment from my current doctor.  I listened, but felt that I could handle it that time and if I needed to do something I would.  That's as long as everything was going along smoothly.

Aside from all of my kicking and screaming, it was nice to have family with me for my first treatment.  My Mom was the Mom that she always is.  She took care, cooked, cleaned and anything else I needed.  Little did I know that we would be exterminating while she was visiting.  She didn't know either.  All of my on-the-scene reporting about the rodents that had invaded my space didn't compare to actually encountering one in-person.  This happened when we returned home from a trip to the grocery store.  We flicked on the lights in the kitchen and out ran a mouse, scurrying across my counter.  We were beside ourselves and I just pushed my Mom out of the way to get both of us out of the kitchen.  This happened in the blink of an eye before she even knew what happened. 

Mom quickly gained her composure and I was just in awe...yet again.  What could I do?  My Aunt Ava was a little dazed and confused.  In her defense, it had just happened so quickly.  She didn't know what was going on.  The first order of business was to rodent proof my cabinets.  We weren't even thinking about the chemo treatment I just had.  We just had to get busy in the kitchen.  In hindsight, I think that it was a good distraction and gave us something to chuckle about and swtiched focus.  Aunt Ava left after the weekend and Mom stayed for the week.  She got my place in order so that everything was easily accessible to reduce any unnecessary work for me.  I worked from home during those first days and Mom was just as content to be here for whatever I needed, if I needed anything. 

So now I was gambling for a second time.  Actually, I shouldn't say gambling because that's not what I was doing at all.  I stepped out on faith.  God never let me down before so why should I start underestimating and second-guessing him now?  I knew early on that this was an experience that I was meant to have and a journey that I was to follow for the greater good.  If God didn't want me here, I wouldn't be here...Believe that!  I was now ready to begin my treatment.  I'd had all of the test results that I needed which reinforced what I already knew...I was healthy with the exception of this Cancer. 
I started treatment during the first week of September.  This is that "back to school" time that I just can't stand.  I have never been a fan of Autumn or Fall.  I don't like watching the leaves turn from a lush green to a brush fire brown and I don't like the fact that the sun decides to go to sleep earlier.  I am like a plant.  I need sunlight and warm weather to flourish, but in their absence, I substitute with good food and fun!  I was armed with two things going into treatment:  faith and family.  I had my Mom and Aunt with me.  I have nine aunts on my Mom's side and my youngest Aunt is more like my older sister, but I give her all of the respect due an aunt.  They wanted to be with me for my first treatment and although my first impulse was to go it alone, that really wasn't an option.  On that first day, I was more anxious than anything else.  I was determined to get the show on the road and attack this disease head-on.  I was so determined to treat it like a trip to the dentist, in and out...or so I thought.  I'm so used to being okay and taking care of others.  This was foreign territory to me, but it would be come familiar and a part of the routine of my life.
I got to the treatment center and checked in.  I had to have blood-work done first and then go for treatment.  After the blood-work, I picked up a pager that would alert me when the nurses were ready for me in the treatment area.  Yep, I was waiting to be called in just as I would if I were dining at The Outbackor one of our other favorite chain restaurants.  The pager went off and it was off to a private room.  We got situated in my "suite" and waited for the nurse.  The first treatment is the longest because you are new and the nurses and staff are running around trying to make sure that they get it right.  I had a very lovely nurse who took the time to explain the procedure and what types of medicine I would be receiving.  She also took the time to explain to my Mother as well.  After all of the formalities it was time for the treatment.  The very first thing the nurses do is clean the area of insertion.  In my case, they have to clean my mediport area before sticking the needle in it.  My port looks like a giant nowlater sitting under the skin of my chest.  It's actually a catheter into which they stick the needle which is then connected to the tubing of my medication.  It is funneled into my system through the port.  I opted to have the port inserted instead of enduring nurses looking for good veins each time.  Remember, I live in a big city and I don't want to be mistaken for a junkie.  I hate the cleaning of my port.  It under my skin, but still very sensitive.  After I made it through the cleaning they have to insert that needle and check the blood return.  The nurse told me to count to three and inhale deeply.  I counted, one-two-three and then inhaled like a true coke addict.  The needle was piercing, but the sting went away in a matter of seconds.  The nurse now had to pump me with saline to check the blood flow/return of the port.  It was good so then she started with my treatment regimen.  I receive pre-treatment meds to aid with nausea prior to the actual treatment.  Then I receive my actual meds.  I am basically pumped full of liquids for a 3-hour span of time.  I felt extremely bloated and had to use the bathroom repeatedly...when I was awake.  The medicine makes you very sleepy.  While I faded off my Mom and aunt went to grab something to eat.  I was happy for them to leave.  I felt bad that they would have to stay and just sit around while I was treated and I didn't want to have to talk.  By the time they returned, I was finished with the treatment.  One down, 11 more to go.  I felt ok, not much different at all.  After the treatment the nurse told me that my doctor had prescribed meds for me to have at home, but hadn't written the prescriptions.  They had to find another attending physician to write the prescription.  They couldn't contact my doctor because he was on vacation in France.  I know...he wasn't even there for my first treatment.  Nice!  I got the prescriptions and went about the business of getting them filled and heading home, family in tow.
When I got home, I just rested a bit and Mom cooked.  I started to feel tired a bit later so it was my job to rest.  Hey, if all the treatments went as smoothly as this, I would get through this chemo no problemo...or so I thought.