My First Chemo Treatment
8/10/23: At my first chemotherapy treatment with my wife, Emma.
Hey.
It's been a little while since my last post, and I wanted to update you on what's been happening. Today, I completed my final radiation treatment, marking the end of five sessions over the past ten days. I’m happy it’s over, and hopeful it worked. But I’m also a bit anxious to find out the results in a couple of months. One day at a time.
In addition to my treatment, life has been incredibly hectic. My company recently finalized a merger, which has been demanding but a welcomed challenge. On top of that, the online store my wife and I started has been keeping both of us busy. Plus, our almost two-year-old is full of energy and constantly on the move.
With all of this going on, I've had to delay posting, but I'm excited to be back and ready to pick up where we left off. In this post, I'll share my experiences, thoughts, and emotions before, during, and after my first chemo treatment.
August 10, 2023
At this point, I was really sick of needles. It felt like every other day, I was being pricked in the arm for one reason or another. The newly implanted port, though more convenient for access, didn’t make getting poked in my chest feel any better than getting poked in my arm. It never got easier. To this day, I still get squeamish when someone is about to draw blood for labs or insert contrast for a scan.
However, the principal at the school where my wife teaches gave me some great advice. His wife is battling cancer, and they suggested I get a prescription for lidocaine cream, a topical anesthetic used to numb the surface of the skin. It wasn’t going to cure my cancer, but it was one small thing that would make this process a bit easier. And I would take any little win I could get.
Before leaving the house for my first appointment, I applied a tiny amount of the lidocaine cream over my port, covered it with a small piece of saran wrap, and used some scotch tape to secure it. On the drive to the treatment center, I was filled with a whirlwind of emotions: fear about the intense chemo regimen, nerves about whether it would work, anxiety about finally getting started, and annoyance about another needle.
Upon arrival, a nurse came to get me. She asked if I was experiencing any pain. Yes, I was. But I said “No” anyways. She had me stand on the scale to check my weight: 129 pounds. About 26 pounds less than my normal weight. She checked my heart rate and then led me to the room where I would spend the day receiving treatment. Another nurse came in. I peeled off the saran wrap covering my port. She cleaned the port with an alcohol wipe, while I turned my head to look away. A few seconds later, I looked back over wondering when she would get me accessed. I didn’t even know she had already placed the needle in my port, and was in the process of flushing it out with a saline solution. I didn’t feel a thing. The cream worked like a charm.
It was one of those small things that made a big difference. Thank you, Aaron’s wife! We are praying for your family regularly.
I had no idea what to expect with chemotherapy. My dad, a cancer survivor who underwent chemo about fifteen years ago, shared his experience with me. He told me what it was like sitting at the treatment center and how he managed his symptoms. However, none of this would be quite the same for me, as my cancer and chemo regimen were very different.
I had a lot concerns. How would I feel during and after treatment? How would it affect my appearance? Would I be able to work five days a week? Would my back ever feel better? My biggest fear was sitting in a hospital bed, just like I had done during my liver biopsy procedure the week before, in extreme discomfort. I thought there was no way I could endure seven hours without some serious pain medication.
My doctor was confident that the steroids I would be given would help me manage some of the pain. I, however, was skeptical. Even the prescribed oxycodone (that I only took one time) had failed to relieve my back pain. Plus, the steroids weren’t even for pain management. They were intended to strengthen my body against the effects of chemo. The steroids would provide me with energy to combat fatigue and help maintain my appetite, which often diminishes as treatment progresses. I was given three small tablets to take before starting treatment, followed by a smaller dosage to take at home the two days following treatment.
I swallowed the three pills, and by the grace of God, my back pain disappeared. Completely gone! The steroids gave me super human strength. Kidding. But they did act as a very strong anti-inflammatory, addressing the root cause of the back pain. I couldn’t believe it. For the first time in almost two years, I was pain-free. There might actually be hope, I thought.
This, what felt like a miracle, overshadowed every concern I had. Every anxiety-ridden thought about cancer and chemotherapy was gone with the pain. I felt I could endure anything that came my way.
When my oncologist prescribed the chemo regimen, he told me it would come with three side effects: Fatigue, neuropathy, and hair loss. Other than that, I had no idea what to expect when I went in for my first treatment. I avoided Googling anything because I feared I’d only find negative experiences and discouraging statistics.
Would chemo hurt? Would it make me feel sick? Would my hair start falling out right then and there?
To my surprise, I didn’t feel anything at all. The first few hours were actually quite a breeze. I spent most of the time lying there, feeling extremely relieved that I wasn't in pain. Although I wasn't very mobile due to being connected to an IV stand, I was comfortable.
I was in a private room, which was not what I had anticipated. Based on previous visits to the treatment center and my dad’s experience with chemo, I expected to be in a shared room with other patients. When I asked my nurse about getting a private room, she explained that patients whom were expected to be there for extended periods, like my 7-8 hour sessions, were given more comfortable accommodations whenever possible. Whether it was luck or something else, I appreciated this small win.
After a couple of months, I began regularly being put in what I jokingly referred to as "gen-pop" or General Population. A term that originated in the prison system. Not funny. But one nurse overheard me say it one time, and now I’m pretty sure every nurse at the hospital uses the term for the main treatment room. I didn’t mind being in "gen-pop," but my first experience there was pretty wild. More on that story another time.
One of the benefits of having my own room was the attached private bathroom, which was a blessing since I had to bring my IV stand with me whenever I needed to go. With all the fluids being pumped into me, I had to use the bathroom frequently, and the convenience of a private restroom was quite nice.
I had brought my favorite pillow and a new blanket from home. The pillow was one of those that you use once and then can’t sleep without again, only getting better with age. The blanket was part of a care package gifted to me by my wife’s Bible study group the night before. I had my laptop with me on a small dark brown wooden lap desk that my mother-in-law bought me about a decade ago. You know, to help prevent cancer. AirPods in my ears. Noise cancellation: On.
I was either doing work for my full-time job at a marketing agency or working on building an online baby and toddler clothing store with my wife, which we would officially launch about a month later. When I wasn’t working, I was listening to David Grohl’s The Storyteller, recommended by my mom, or listening to music. I like to listen to just about anything, from Hip-Hop to EDM to Country, depending on my mood.
By hour four of treatment, though, it hit me. I had no energy left. I was drained mentally and physically. I got up and walked around a bit to try to build up some energy, but a couple of laps around the treatment center felt like a couple of miles.
I took a call with an Eastern medicine doctor who specializes in naturopathic medicine, as well as fitness, diet, and herbs & supplements for cancer patients. My dad, who worked closely with this doctor for five years after achieving remission, joined Emma and I for the appointment. I valued the doctor's perspective, and having my dad there was incredibly helpful as we navigated the information being shared with us. We were learning as much as we could, but once you enter this world, it quickly becomes information overload.
After the incredibly informative call, I got back into the hospital bed, laid down, closed my eyes, and slept through the rest of the treatment.
When I woke up, I looked like a ghost. White, but with a green hue. My wife was concerned. I looked sicker than when I had arrived, but she knew it would pass. I didn’t realize how bad it was until the following week when I went to the bathroom before heading home and saw myself in the mirror. After two hours of fluids, two hours of chemo, and another three hours of fluids, I looked extremely puffy and pale. And I felt exhausted.
When I got home, I slowly climbed the stairs, quickly rinsed off in the shower, and collapsed into bed, sleeping until the next morning. I was completely drained. It felt like I had just run a marathon. And while I’ve never actually run a marathon (I can barely manage a mile), I imagine the comparison is fair.
When I finally woke up the next morning, I headed downstairs and devoured a massive breakfast. After a day of chemotherapy and about twelve hours of sleep, I was starving. I ate a LeBron James-sized breakfast, which consisted of eggs, bacon, breakfast sausages, and a protein shake. Then, I got into my wife’s car and headed back to the treatment center for another two hours of fluids.
None of this was easy, but I was hopeful. For the first time in two years, I felt I was on a path to recovery. I had seen countless doctors and specialists over the years, enrolling in various programs to address my back problems and fatigue, yet no one could pinpoint the cause. But now, I was finally heading in the right direction. With no back pain and the relief of not having to worry about needles anymore, I felt strong. I was optimistic. I could beat this.
Right now, I’m lying in a hotel bed with my wife and son in Anaheim, CA. Tomorrow, we’ll wake up early and head to Disneyland to celebrate his second birthday. Then, we are headed to visit my best friend in LA for the weekend.
More coming soon…
