Each of my treatments lasts about 3 1/2 hours, but my rest period is relatively short.  Although I am laid up for the duration, being pumped full of meds takes it's toll.  The intravenous medication makes me feel like a bullfrog and I have to make repeated trips to the bathroom.  It's such an uncomfortable feeling being groggy and bloated.  Not to mention, I had to get used to the fact that the Adriamycin(Doxorubicin) or the "red devil" cause my urine to be red in color.  Not cool at all.

At the end of this treatment, I headed toward the subway to get home.  It had gotten pretty chilly out so I was sure to bundle up.  When I got to the station, I reached for my Metrocard and realized that I couldn't find it.  Damn, I thought to myself!  What could have happened to it.  I had it coming and I didn't make any detours.  I was upset about losing the card, but more upset because I had lost the card carrier that my cousin had given me when I first moved to the city.  I had managed to keep up with this thing for years even when I wasn't living in NY and now I had lost it just like that.  This was just what I didn't need especially not on the heels of losing that money!  I had to leave this subway entrance and go to another because you could only enter with the Metrocard.  I painfully shelled out the cash for another Metrocard and waited for my train.  I got on and slept my way home.  When I got home, I was sure to call my Mom and I got in the bed.  I would have to make the same trip the next day to get my shot of Neulasta.

I went ahead with my treatment that same day.  My dear sweet Ginny came to soothe me before the treatment.  Although I had been riled up, I had the opportunity to calm down.  I was a bit of a celebrity at this point in the treatment center.  Some might think that I had Irish blood pulsing through my veins because of my feisty spirit.  I was also the youngest person receiving treatment (that I knew of) so I did stand out.  Many of the nurses filed into my room to tell me just how bad they felt about the way I was being treated.  They gave me the skinny on the doctors and I found out that my Oncologist was an interim doctor with the center.  He was only filling in temporarily and his reputation preceded him.  One of the nurses gave me the names of other Oncologists that I might want to consider.

While I was having my meltdown earlier, the therapy manager came to sit with me.  Her name is Ooi Thye (wee-ty).  She manages the center's complimentary therapies program.  Ooi Thye saw my face and my demeanor and knew that something just wasn't right, other than the obvious.  She came to me and asked me what was wrong.  I wanted to break down right in front of her when she sat next to me.  I believe she may have touched me which always causes me to crumble.  At that point, I just wanted to be held.  I have never, ever said that before in my life, but that's what I needed.  You see, I was tired and frustrated and I had been holding everything in and just doing so much for myself.  I needed that moment to release and Ooi Thye, being the Zen master that she is, offered me the ability to do that safely.  She reassured me that it would be ok and reaffirmed my strength within.  She later came to my room to give me information about other Oncologists as well.  We briefly compared notes and she confirmed that the recommendations from the nurses would have been hers as well.  Ooi Thye was another great support for me and she always made me feel good about myself and my life. 

Ginny came back after reviewing my blood-work and let me know that my white cell counts had improved since my last treatment and that I could proceed with this next treatment.  She also confirmed that I would be getting the shot of Neulasta the next day.  She proceeded with the pre-treatment ritual which involves cleaning the skin covering my port.  That is done with a device that has a sponge on the end soaked in alcohol.  It's a very distinct smell.  After the area is cleaned they have to stick the needle in the port and test the blood return.  Ginny says, "Count to three."  On three, I take a deep breath in and they insert the needle with the line to a bag of saline to flush the port.  After I catch my breath they start pumping me with my pre-meds.  This is a cocktail of steroids for nausea.  Then I start with the chemo regimen.  The drugs make me sleepy and I just lay back and close my eyes.  It's nice to be able to drift off even if it is for a short period.

When I was back home I had to occupy myself and keep things in order.  I also had to finish unpacking from my trip.  I am notorious for letting filled suitcases, laundry bags, and anything else that requires being put in its proper place linger.  I was cleaning out my purse and looking for some money that my aunt had given me.  My aunt had given me $180 and I knew I had it at the airport on my way back, but now I couldn't find it.  Great!  I had already lost my Metrocard that was full for the month and now I had lost a large sum of money.  I wasn't as upset about losing the Metrocard as I was about losing the case that I kept it in.  My cousin had given me a sleeve to keep the card in when I first got to New York and I had managed to hold onto it for almost 7 years.  I had to admit that since beginning my chemo regimen, I was becoming a little more forgetful.  In addition to losing my memory, I was also starting to lose my hair.
When I returned from Oklahoma, I went to my hair dresser to have my hair straightened and to give it a blunt cut.  My long hair strands were shedding much more than usual and more was coming out as I combed the hair.  I made sure to keep my routine hair appointments so that my stylist could work with me and gradually cut my hair.  My Oncologist had gone to great lengths to make me aware of my impending hair loss so I wasn't blindsided.  Even though my white blood cell counts were low, I wasn't really feeling the side effects associated with this condition.  That was because I didn't know that the forgetfulness was a notable side effect. 
I went back for treatment about a week later.  I followed my usual routine and waited to be called in for treatment.  I was happy to be getting back on track.  I waited for the nurses to call meand when they didn't I went back in to ask about my appointment.  It was then that I was told that I didn't have an appointment scheduled.  The nurses said that my doctor had not submitted the orders for my treatment.  I was completely caught off guard and blew a gasket.  I was livid and could not believe that this was happening.  I had my mind made up that I was going to get treatment on this day.  A big part of my progress had to do with being mentally prepared.  Everyone knew that I was mad.  When one of the center administrators approached me I just crumbled.  My primary Oncologist had not been there for me since my treatment began and the "substitute" wasn't doing his job.  He wasn't the least bit concerned about me and I let everyone know how I felt.  The administrator didn't really try to console me and I appreciated that.  She knew that I wanted action and she said that she was going to call him right away.  I told her to make sure that he knew how mad I was.  I got myself together and waited for information.  The administrator came back and told me that they had received permission to have another doctor on staff to write the orders for my treatment.   She told me that they would take care of me and maybe I should have felt relief, but I didn't.  I didn't feel anything because I was too angry and this was not good for me.

Believe it or not I continued working as I was undergoing treatment.  My treatment regimen was supposed to be every fourteen days.  I had a bit of time to recover before being hit with another dose of chemotherapy.  I didn't talk to too many people about my situation during this time.  I had reached out to friends and hoped that they would respond, but for some reason they didn't...and it wasn't ok.  I just continued to go about the business of my life.  Now I was in between my second and third treatment and starting to feel some of the effects.  Luckily, the nausea hadn't set in yet and I was able to pick myself up and keep it moving. 
During this period of my initial treatments my family was hit with another whammy.  My dear Aunt Elsie passed away on September 20, 2007.  She had been dealing with some serious health concerns and was supposed to begin chemotherapy for lung cancer.  We all agreed that her body probably couldn't have handled the chemo on top of everything else.  Aunt Elsie was always kind and full of life and saw the endless possibilities life has to offer.  She always had a kind word for anyone in her presence.  She loved to talk, laugh, dance, sing and everything in between!  I wasn't sure that I was going to be able to attend her funeral service in Oklahoma because I was having an issue with my white blood cell counts being low.  I required rest and my Mom was not in favor of me traveling.  I would have to travel and basically stay for two nights and return to New York to receive my next treatment.  I knew that there was a chance that it would be taxing on my system, but I couldn't NOT be there. 
I was feeling pretty bloated from the meds and the steroids the doctors had prescribed were doing their job.  I had a pretty significant weight gain during that initial intake of steroids.  When I got to Oklahoma, my aunts were very protective.  There were only a few who knew what was going on with me and I purposely withheld that information from the rest of the family.  I didn't want the attention and all of the questions.  This was Aunt Elsie's time and I was there to celebrate her life and that's what I did.  I had just had my metaport inserted a few weeks earlier so I was sure to wear clothes that would mask it.  For some reason, people were drawn to my left side and zeroed in that area when they came in for the hug...And my family loves to hug.  I winced my way through it as my Mom and aunts tried to shield me, but it didn't work.  The time with family was priceless and I was happy that I was able to make the trip, but I had to return.
I was a bit tired upon my return and although I had taken a cab to Newark's Liberty Airport on the outbound, I thought that I would be economic and catch the air shuttle from the airport back to New York's Penn Station.  This would be a breeze...or so I thought.  Little did I know that there was a schedule for this shuttle and I was on the tail end.  I had to wait over an hour for the next train and it was burning up outside.  Three hours later, I arrived at home and just crashed.  I was scheduled for treatment the next morning. 
The next morning I arrived at the treatment center and headed straight to the lab for blood-work.  After that I proceeded to the treatment area where I had a private room.  I got myself set-up in the room and waited for my sweet Ginny.  Ginny had to review my lab results before I could be treated.  She came in and told me not to get undressed because my white cell count was low and she wasn't sure she could treat me.  She said that I should really be getting the shot of Neulasta as opposed to the Neupogen.  The Neulasta was much stronger, but she would need my doctor's approval.  My doctor was still on vacation so she had to get in touch with the interim Oncologist.  He agreed that I should not be treated and should give my cells time to regenerate.  He did, however, approve the Neulasta.  I would get this after my next treatment.  I had to receive the Neulasta shot 24 hours after treatment which meant that I had to come two consecutive days.  I wasn't happy about this as it meant a delay in treatment for me.  I got myself together and with a hug from Ginny I was on my way back home.