Katy drove me today, took photos, and stayed a bit before heading to Madison to visit her friends with a new baby boy.
I stayed on to learn that, indeed, no 2 chemo days are the same, despite the same IV drugs. Today's visit slated for 4 hrs ended up taking 6. All the pre-chemo "bags" went well (2 different antiemetics, steroids, and again 50 units of Benadryl to prevent reactions and make me incredibly stupid) -- and then they started Taxotere. A few minutes into it, I noticed my sight darkening and felt a roaring heat creep from my upper chest to the top of my head. Rapidly. I was about to summon a nurse when I felt my throat close. I summoned more earnestly and was immediately attended by 4 nurses eager to kick into action: Disconnect IV, set up oxygen just in case, and call my oncologist. They said my face was bright red. The panic was over in minutes and I started to feel normal (as normal as one is on 4 pre-chemo drugs). No oxygen required.
My oncologist arrived posthaste and ordered a shot of cortisone (MORE steroids) and another 50 units of Benadryl (I became even stupid-er). They restarted Taxotere, but at a slower drip rate. I tolerated Taxotere just fine 2 weeks ago, but at a much slower rate. So they started slow and titrated every 20 minutes until reaching the level it had been when I went into shock. Every time they upped it, of course I waited for my throat to close again. It didn't.
A sweet old lady in the next chair wearing black orthopaedic "Mary Janes" and white anklets had been sleeping before the flurry of activity at my chair. When things settled down she asked to have her chair back uprighted. She later told me she sat up in order to keep an eye on me (thus earning the adjective "sweet"). She has colon cancer. She was 75, but I would have put her at 85. She'd been living alone until May, but now is in a nursing home on a waiting list for St. Paul's assisted living. She was happy and resigned. I contend she is wasting her time at the cancer center.
Paul Van Wyk stopped by during treatment, just before Greg arrived to pick me up. That was SO nice. (Next time, frozen yogurt.)
Feeling well this eve and don't expect to sleep (double steroids). Tomorrow marks 2 weeks from start of chemo -- when my hair is predicted to eject. I don't care, and glad I grizzed my head (sorry G) because going through this hoo-hah while trying to make my previous "do" presentable would be unbearable, to be sure.
Pray for Benda and Josh as they took Sam to Marshfield Clinic today to give THEM a chance at helping Sam.
