Chemo 4

Today we're changing drugs. It's just normal procedure. I am told that the new drugs don't cause as much nausea, but can cause more tiredness. Win one, lose one.

So I am back with my angel nurse, in the special little enclosure with just four or five chairs. Near the consulting room. There's a good reason for this setup.

Oh my, she can't find the vein. I'm busy looking the other way, imaging I am floating gently in a pool on a hot summer's day. I don't think it's helping today. She undoes the compression strap, a break, then does it up again. I can feel her poking with the needle under my skin. Brain! we're just floating in that pool ok? The compression strap is undone again, another break, then it's done up again. "I've got it!" Phew!

She prepares the drugs, then arranges five or six secret vials on her table. They come in all colours, black, red, yellow, clear and something else. I can't remember. She sets up the blood pressure monitor, starts the infusion, then stands in front of me, staring at me.

You know what those vials are for? Each one is to counteract a different deadly reaction to the drug.

She stands in front of me for about half an hour. "Is everything alright?", she asks. "Seems to be", I answer. Except for the fact that I just cannot get comfortable in the chair, and feel like madly running around the place. That's not a reaction requiring one of the six vials.

The nurse goes for her morning tea, but when she returns, she paces in front of me every 20 minutes or so. Same question. Same answer.

Finally, it's all done and I go home. I grab a solid lunch, and wait for the nausea to set in. I can't belive that by 3pm I am still vertical.