What's chemo like to me?

It's a day I look forward to with ambivalence. I need the chemo, and I'm in good hands. But then I have to face the fallout.

I get my treatments at Clearview Cancer Institute. CCI is a beautiful, welcoming facility inside and out. I'd say about half of the parking spots are marked handicapped. You walk past a nice water feature to enter the spacious open lobby. First, you go to the lab. That's where they stick you and draw 5 small vials of blood. Within 10 minutes, they've run the numbers to see if you qualify for taking chemo that day. If any of your numbers are out of whack (too few red blood cells, etc), then your treatment goes on pause for a week.

BTW, at CCI, they have really good phlebotomists (people who stick you and draw blood). When they stick you, you barely even feel it. They've had a lot of practice. One guy, Patrick, has this technique that he says "is just like throwing darts." And that's how it looks. He rests the butt of his hand on my arm, holds the needle like a pencil, and sort of "throws" it into the vein. No fuss. No muss. If you ever need blood drawn, go to CCI for it. As good as they are, I think I'll use that service every time.

After labs, you sit in the lobby in one of the many couches or soft chairs near the entrance to you doctor's area. (There's Purell on every end table and coffee table.) When she's ready, the vitals nurse calls you back and weighs you and takes your temperature and blood pressure. Then you and whatever family you have with you go back to an exam room to consult with the oncologist.

I'm participating in a research study, helping advance the science of oncology. In my case, the study is to establish the fact that they can deliver the full dose of Rituxan to lymphoma patients in 90 minutes, instead of the standard 4 hours. Not very whizz-bang, but still very helpful. As a result of being on this study, I have a research nurse assigned to me who asks me additional questions and provides guidance about chemo.

Then, Dr. McGee came in and pulled up my shirt and felt around my belly to see if he could feel any lymphoma lumps in there. Since he can't, he feels we're pursuing a good course of treatment. I really like and trust Dr. McGee. He's a godsend.

After I'm OK'ed for treatment, I go to scheduling. That's where they set up your appointments for the next three weeks. Blood tests every week, and treatment on the third. (That's for lymphoma. Your mileage may vary.)

Scheduling gives me one of those square flashing buzzer beepers like restaurants have. They send you to the treatment waiting area, which is just a couple of padded benches in the hallway leading to the treatment area. When the buzzer goes off, you meet a nurse who's the equivalent of a hostess, who offers you a seating assignment.

The treatment area at CCI is a collection of about 5 pods, with six stations each. The center of each station is a power la-z-boy recliner with built in heat. My home for the next 5 hours. Next to that is an IV pole, and in back are cabinets holding nurses supplies. Within a pod, there are three of these stations on a side, and the two sides face each other. All the stations have a great view of the full-glass wall and doors that are in back of CCI. There's a fountain and woods outside. If you bring your own things (like a laptop or a cooler of goodies, etc), you put your things on one side, and leave the other side for the nurse and the IV pole. They have fast, free, open WIFI at CCI, so you can go online to do things like work or do facebook, or watch the Alabama-Auburn game, etc.

After you get set up and comfortable, the nurse asks you your name and date of birth. Both data are on everything they give you. Good thing, too. They would've given me something labeled for someone else today. (Right drug, wrong dose.)

My strategy is to use alternate arms each time. Today they put the drugs in my right arm. They usually use lots of tape to hold things together. I mentioned that it pulls the hair in my arm, so this time I had just one piece of tape and a wrap of that stretchy band stuff they give you after you donate blood. (It still pulled hair when we took it off.)

First drugs: prednezone, benadryl, tylenol, all taken orally. Those have to be on board at least 15 minutes before they begin the first big chemo drug. These pre-drugs help to reduce any allergic reactions to the irritating chemo.

Then the actual chemotherapy itself. If you want to know what I'm getting, it's called R-CHOP. Visit http://www.lymphomainfo.net/blog/general-lymphoma-blogs/chemotherapy-drugs-101-the-r-chop-regimen. That describes it pretty well.

They use these syringes of saline to flush the line between drugs. As soon as the saline starts going in, I get this medicine taste in my mouth. They say it's the preservative in the saline. That got me thinking. Maybe we could invent a saline preservative that causes a pleasant taste in your mouth! Nurse: What flavor would you like: fresh bread, chocolate, or banana?

The IV pole is on wheels, so I take it with me whenever I have to go.

Once all the drugs are in, they take vitals one more time to see if they've killed me and then Leilani drives me home.

Hint: don't eat leftover taco salad with spicy salsa on chemo day. The nausea meds are working hard to keep my system calm, but spicy foods irritate the body (usually in a good way, but not on chemo day). Next time, chicken noodle soup. And ginger snaps.