Chemo Don’t Kill My Vibe
I Feel Like Me, Pablo
It’s surprising to realize how much has happened in a week that was spent trapped on a single floor in a hospital, lacking even the freedom to step outside and breathe fresh air. Sedated and restless…
Port Setup
Let’s start with sedated. On Monday, I went in for surgery to get my port installed. A port is a medical device that’s implanted under your skin, near your collarbone. It provides direct access to your neck vein, making it easier to administer drugs (and more comfortable than having a needle attached to your arm throughout long chemo treatments). The surgeon informed me I was getting the ‘Cadillac’ of ports, the one with two access points, giving me the ability to double-fist IVs.
“Therapy”
Cadillac prepped and ready to go, Judy and I settled in for five days of continuous chemotherapy at UCSF Parnassus. It wasn’t exactly the experience you see portrayed in movies or on TV (not that that should be surprising). Thanks to the doctors and nurses, I experienced little nausea, which was quickly relieved with medication. I did suffer from a constant feeling of combined exhaustion and restlessness, which was not pleasant, but fairly normal given the drugs I was taking orally and intravenously.
The chemo will make you feel tired (but here are some uppers), the IV pump blares like a fire alarm whenever bubbles are detected in the tubing, the nurses check your vitals regularly (even in the middle of the night), and the incessant saline hydration means you barely have time to fall asleep before heading back to the restroom. I was constantly exhausted but unable to sleep, as if I’d binged on coffee right before bed time.
All things considered, though, I was lucky. I had my fiancée, a steady stream of friends visiting, and family that flew in just in time to fill an urgent prescription for jamón y queso. Thank you so much to everyone who sent us care packages and came to visit: Derrick, Kevin, Nicole, Kelly, Sinan, John, Mariko, Vik, and Antonio. Still more friends wanted to come see me, but I was (and still am) restricted from being in contact with people who have any cold symptoms. I can say unequivocally that we are unbelievably fortunate to have so many caring and compassionate people we can call our friends.
Homecomings Missed and Gained
It was a terrible coincidence that my first round of chemo conflicted with my 10-year reunion at Stanford. I sorely missed catching up with old friends, but the steady stream of support over text/FaceTime/Facebook/Instagram warmed my heart against the cold tubes of the chemo drugs. One thing I did NOT miss, however, was that terrible game at Stanford stadium.
On Sunday evening, the last drop of chemical finally entered my arteries, and it was time to come home. The chemo hangover that had been accumulating over the past five days was temporarily abated by Bailey Hugs and the incomparable feeling of coming home to my bed after a long separation.
If there be a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.
