Highlights from Chemo #3

When Zach and I went to bed last night (later than usual, because I was hopped up on steroids), we knew that we had to be at the cancer center by 8AM this morning, so we planned to leave by 7:30AM—"a German 7:30AM," as I put it.

"Planned" is the operative word.

We woke up at 6AM, so I could take the first of my four pills of the morning. Then I headed to the shower, and Zach to the kitchen to concoct his wonderful cornmeal pancakes—some festooned with blueberries—and bake a bunch of extra-delicious Niman Ranch bacon.

I got dressed (starting with the orange panties, of course) and took my next pill at 6:30AM. We sat down to breakfast at 7AM, I took my last two pills, and then Zach hopped in the shower.

When he emerged at 7:25AM, we moved from the goal of "a German 7:30AM" departure to "an Italian 7:30AM" departure.

We finally had to come to terms with "a Jamaican 7:30AM" departure.

We made it, eventually, with the following items in tow:

• one laptop apiece, plus power cords


• my fabulous new iPod nano, pre-loaded with 550 fabulous songs


• one cell phone apiece, plus my charger


• Zach's digital camera, plus cable


• my Palm Pilot


• a lovely cashmere-covered pillow and beautiful hand-knitted throw to keep me comfortable and warm


• a bandana (i.e. back-up headgear)


• Thursday's and Friday's New York Times


• a nearly finished New Yorker


• a nearly finished Atlantic Monthly


• a new Atlantic Monthly


• a thumbed-through Metropolitan Home (for ideas on kitchen renovations and paint colors)


• three pads of assorted sizes, containing various notes and to-do lists


• my second-ever knitting project, which I started during radiation treatment 4-1/2 years ago


• stationery for writing thank-you notes

We had pretty much every contingency covered. (And I'm not even counting all the stuff I carry around in my bag on an average day.)

The treatment went like clockwork. I had my blood drawn, got weighed, and had my temperature, blood pressure, and pulse-ox reading taken. Everything looked good, so our delightful nurse, Donna (hi, Donna!) flushed and accessed my port (which I still loathe—more on that in a future post), and we were off and running.

Today's menu included, in order:

• 8:52AM: 2 Tylenol tablets (650mg total)


• 9:08AM: saline (500mg)


• 9:20AM: Decadron—the same steroid I'm taking at home (8mg)


• 9:41AM: Benadryl (25mg)


• 10:07AM: Herceptin—a monoclonal antibody, aka a targeted therapy (365mg) + normal saline (275ml)


• 11:58AM: Taxotere—the first chemo drug (125mg) + normal saline (275ml)


• 12:52PM: Carboplatin—the second chemo drug (850mg) + normal saline (550ml)

We finished at 2PM on the dot. Donna flushed and "heparinized" the port. (Heparin is an anti-coagulant. To keep the port from getting blocked with a blood clot, this is done at the end of every chemo session.)

The highlight of the day was a visit from Randi (hi, Randi!), who provided us with wonderful company for almost three hours. Randi, along with my Grandma Ida, taught me to knit 15(!) years ago, when I was a first-year law student aching for some kind of creative outlet amidst the cerebral confines of Civil Procedure, Contracts, and Torts. I made a sweater, then bought a bunch of black yarn for my next project and immediately proceeded not to use it for the next 10 years. (Mostly because I moved in with Zach and his four cats, whose hair didn't blend so well with the yarn.)

Then, in 2001, when I started radiation treatment, it looked like I was going to be spending a lot of time in the waiting room—every Monday through Friday for nearly six weeks—and I wanted to have something to show for it. So I dug out the black yarn, found a pattern for a nice scarf (winter was coming, so I figured the timing was perfect), and started knitting again.

About three days later, my appointment time was moved from mid-morning (translation: guaranteed delay) to first thing (translation: in and out, no waiting): great for me, not so great for the knitting. I put it away and didn't take it out again until about a week ago. Winter is going, not coming, this time around, but I still thought it would be a good project to finish, even if, for the life of me, I couldn't remember how to get started again.

Randi to the rescue!

She reminded me how to knit, how to purl, and how to read a pattern. And she made sure I was on the right track with the new rows I added to my Mock Cable-knit Scarf.


I really am knitting—it's just that the black yarn is hard to see against my black pants.

No, really!

See, I told you so. (Click on the picture to enlarge it if you don't believe me!)

All was well as long as she was sitting within two feet of me and my little project.

And then I came home and tried to continue on my own.

Bad, bad idea.

I have no idea what happened, except that I made all kinds of mistakes, and then somehow made them worse in the process of trying to correct them.

So I now, once again, need professional help. <sigh>

But someday, I have no doubt, I will finish the Mock Cable-knit Scarf. And when I do, you will get to see it, in all its homespun glory, right here.

Oh yeah, and here's the really great news of the day:

We are officially halfway through this round of chemo—three down, three to go! And, so far, with just one prophylactic Zofran on board, no nausea.

(And no, I didn't qualify for the special Merck program. But so far, Plan C seems to be working, and I still have Plan D in my back pocket. . . .)