Toxic Makeover

Try to relax, this won't hurt a bit. It’s going to hurt me more than it hurts you. It’s also going to help me more than it helps you.

Nothing is normal anymore. I've put my trust in an oncologist to infuse me with the maximum dose my shrinking body can handle of toxic drugs every three weeks. After the IV goes in and I’ve had the pre-med bags containing powerful anti-nausea and steroid drugs, the first bag of chemo drugs is hung and begins to drip. My fears creep up and interrupt the soothing music in my headphones. What if they made a mistake in calculating the dose this time? Will my chest tighten up and inflammation within my nasal passages make it difficult to breathe like last time the cytoxin went in? Can I again suppress the foreboding that my brain invokes, desperately trying to motivate me to stop whatever is allowing my bloodstream to be infiltrated with caustic chemicals?

Who will sit down next to me this time? Will it be cheery Pat? I just love her and her spunky attitude. She’s on her third recurrence and has integrated her infusions into her life as if she’s in for her 3 month perm. Will I see Toni again? I met her the first and only time at chemo number two. The young, bald, 31 year old walked in and John gave up the lazy boy recliner next to me so Toni could settle in for her infusion. She was quieter than most chemo patients. I tried to make eye contact and smile at her but she stared straight ahead. A nurse drew blood from the port near her collar bone. Then Joni, my oncologist’s partner came and sat with her. The typical “head to toe” interview began. During the interview we are asked questions about new side effects we’re suffering from and about every bodily function we have. Vitamin and drug doses are reviewed. When Toni explained about the abdominal pain she experienced over the past weekend, Joni calmly explained that when the liver has been overtaken by tumor it expands. The liver is encased (much like a sausage) and the massive growth was stretching the casing causing Toni’s excruciating pain. Toni was warned to do the best she could not to overdose on the Percocet that only took the edge off of her pain in typical doses. I turned the sound off in my headphones. Joni held Toni’s hand and said “It’s time to talk to your daughter. I know it will be difficult but it’s important to give her the chance to take care of you and to have the conversations with you that sometimes only happen at this time”. Toni nodded. Her eyes were brimmed in red but she was holding in her voice and tears. Joni continued to sit and hold Toni’s hand for several minutes and then quietly got up and went to the next patient on her schedule. My heart was broken for the stranger next to me. I moved my left hand over to her and held her hand. Then the tears came down, hard, for both of us.

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