Chemo day one: Life is Just a Bowl of Steroids 
Chemo round two - The King and I 

The old adage about patience being a virtue managed to escape me for 
some 56 years. But recent events, the third round of chemo in six weeks 
and the resulting, begrudgingly similar hangover of six days or so, finds me in
a willingness to grab that pillow, watch that DVD, embrace that nap. 

There’s no beating this monster. Surrendering is acquired wisdom.

But first, let me boast about a near-perfect session at the Barcalounger 
Lounge where my medicine is absorbed. After two of the clumsiest 6-8 hour
sessions ever witnessed at the site, shared with a dozen or so others, I came
up with a gem. Out if there by 1:30 p.m., no cascading avalanches of IV’s or disc-players, no veins in my hand spitting out the IV or the $7,500 
solution being fed me …..just a damn fine session. In my round of chemo 
"golf" which had yielded a triple bogey and a bogey thus far, I’d say I just 
barely lipped out an eagle, settling for a nice birdie which was needed.

Of course, the day before, thinking the installation of a port (a place in my
chest for easier IV access) was little more than an "in-and-out," only to find 
I’d be sedated with "joy juice" and not allowed to leave for five hours if I 
was without a ride home….well, I had to leave my car and call my nephew to rescue me. Thanks to family care, my sister had me back in the morning, 
by my side for the process the next day.

Not only was the chemo session clean, I was handed a batch of flowers by
a late-day arriving old friend who had also sent me a chemo hat reflecting 
my affection for third world music. (I also got a trio of hats in the mail from
another sister with a keen instinct for variety.)

But, for those of you who will have to endure this slow-moving, debilitating
process we call chemo, the acceptance of the hangover, once and for all, is 
the key to my kingdom at this time. Always good for about 36 hours due to
the bowl of steroids we receive during treatment, the crash in my case 
comes Friday late. Until now, I had resisted the pain of Monday and 
assembling a newspaper here at the Oregon Coast by stumbling into writing
six or seven stories on Sunday with phone work and careening into the 
office on Monday mornings to help go to press.

Huh-Uh. Not this time. I loaded up on home entertainment, ate my medicine
for pain and discomfort and stayed close to the pillows for nearly four days.
Got some help with meals from caring neighbors and friends and generally
embraced being "sick." The results were a quicker overall rebound and a 
shrug instead of a battle. Let me just say being the sick guy isn’t such a bad 
thing when you buy the deal and just allow it to pass.

Use the first 36 hours to set the house up, do the dishes, do the shopping 
and cleaning and put some fresh bedding down. Get the dog out for some
form of exercise and grab some new music and video fare for the impending
plunge. Applaud the invention of pain-lessening herbs and pills and settle in
for the ride. That, for this soldier, was the ticket. It will remain in place for 
the next six weeks, as estimated, in this round of chemo golf I’m hacking at.

Generally, and I apologize to my fellow "fire in the belly men" for saying it, 
us men are not as pain tolerant as the fairer sex, from my experience. I’ve 
always had a low threshold and whined with the best. This acceptance of 
what was coming was a key turning point. As part of my passive attack on the cancer, I have kept myself away from any information other than that 
which comes from my medical team. Fear and folly lurk on the internet, or in
health books, when it comes to this disease.

If I really knew what was happening inside me, I’d probably keel over from 
fright. So I’ve adopted an "ignorance is bliss" form of attack. Told myself 
that what happened to other people has little effect on what is happening to
me. Well, after three sessions and three recoveries, it seems I’ve shed some
of the ignorance and been forced to deal with what is real, and nasty. Letting
it happen instead of being pissed off about feeling uncomfortable for days is 
a turning point. That and the opinion of my head oncologist that I’m doing 
"great" (could have fooled me) in terms of cell counts and things of the like, 
got me feeling nearly normal after five days, a day earlier than either 
previous outing. Nearly normal while peach bald, what a switch. Ain’t 
saying it’s a picnic, but it is definitely a step in the right direction. 

MOB

© 2006 Michael O'Brien, who works for the Tillamook Headlight Herald