The red syringe of death

So the day has come, and I am unnaturally calm. Or natural for me, I guess. Evan is up early, as usual, and wakes up grinning from ear to ear.  He is so adorable, wearing his little sleepshirt.  He is happy and smiling, and I cannot help smiling back at him.  My mom arrives to watch Evan, and I remind her that Katie, our nanny, is due to arrive at 10:30.  I heat up a quiche that I made for Joe and my sister, and we head out to the hospital.

At least they gave me a private room and a nice chair...

The first chemo medication had to be administered by hand.

"This is toxic to your veins, and it will be painful going in," the nurse explains.

My eyes widen a bit, "What do you mean painful?" I think, seriously? What the heck does vein pain feel like?

"It is poison. Toxic," she says.  "It will burn."

Well, what choice do I have? "Ok," I say weakly.  She pulls out a large syringe filled with a vile, viscous-looking red liquid.

"It looks pretty bad, yes? I don't know why they make it red. I have to manually administer this slowly, to monitor the injection and your reaction. I will inject it along with a free flowing saline drip to try and dilute it as it goes in," the nurse says reassuringly.

Well, if I didn't know what vein pain felt like then, I sure as heck will know very soon.  She hooked up the large syringe to my IV. "Well, they dispense this medication according your body mass, and you only have half a syringe. Some larger body mass people have two syringes," the nurse said helpfully.

I laughed, "I guess that is good." She starts to push the medication in. 

Syringe of red death. Toxic stuff.

Wow. This stuff hurts. I now fully understand vein pain. It feels like someone is pumping hot molten lava into your veins. I feel dizzy and lightheaded. Somewhat nauseous.  My sister tried to distract me by showing me Evan's 1st birthday movie, which of course made me smile. If I just remember that I am trying to get well for him, I can get through anything. So I can give him a bath again, or sit him down on my lap without wincing in pain. It is worth it.

"Which medications make my hair fall out?" I ask. Of course I have to know.

"Doxorubicin and Vincristine," Joe responds. Vincritstine is the second medication after the syringe of red death.

Well. It is done then. My hair will fall out. I cautiously tug at my hair to see if it it falls out in my hand.  My sister laughs.

"Um, Unnee. It's not going to fall out right this second!" she crows. Unnee is the Korean word for big sister. My dad, Joe and I all laugh.

I turn to the nurse and say, "The next time you see me, I will have no hair."

"You will probably be wearing a wig," she says with a smile.

"Unnee, you will be seeing her tomorrow for your second day of chemo. You are so melodramatic!" she teases.  We all laugh again.

"That's true," I say sheepishly with a grin. Leave it to my sister to bring everything down to level.  She once introduced herself to my friends as the "Costco" version of me. One of the reasons why I love her so much.

The other medications, three more, are administered. Some create a burning sensation in my nose and throat, and others have little sensation. I feel my veins getting fatigued, which is difficult to describe, but I feel it. It feels almost sore. 

Meanwhile, Joe is writing down all my reactions to each medication and corresponding them with known reactions and side effects.  He is so supportive. He was really worried, and cancelled two surgeries today to be here with me.

My dad just decided to show up at the hospital. "How can I go to work when you are getting chemotherapy? I cannot do that. I will stay here with you," he says. Make note: If you show up to chemotherapy with a ton of people, you get a private room.

It is so nice to have such support. The last bag, Etopicide, is given, and I an due to go home in about half an hour. All in all, day one was not too bad. Better than my bone marrow biopsy for sure.