The Next Step

Anna had her first chemotherapy treatment yesterday. I took the day off to be with her, and plan to do so each time she goes. I'm fairly sure I was more nervous than she-- She was a bit nervous the night before, but we had a great visitor come by, and I think that lightened her mood a bit.
It was really hard for me to see her plugged in to the chemo IV. I mean, it looked like any other normal IV, but I knew what was in it. The entire process takes about three hours. Drip, drip, drip. The way it works is, she sits down in a recliner seat, they plug into her port-a-cath, and I sit across from her in a chair. At least I can be there to talk to and support her. They have televisions, DVD players, and magazines. They offered us snacks, soda, and coffee. "Welcome to chemo, want a bag of Fritos?" Some seats are more private. I assume they are for those who aren't doing well with their treatments, or those that don't wish to fraternize with the other patients. Of course, Anna and I don't mind talking to, well, anyone, so we were seated next to a woman who was 60. She was there with her sister, who accompanies her for each treatment. They drive all the way from Packwood, Washington, specifically because she knows that Swedish Providence is the best place for cancer treatment, and she's right. She mentioned that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer four years ago, and subsequently underwent a lumpectomy, chemo, and radiation. Not long ago, they found a couple of suspect cells during a checkup, and sure enough, the cancer had returned. Unfortunately, to operate would disturb the cells and risk spreading, so she likely will have to endure chemotherapy for the rest of her life. She mentioned to each of us that our outlook and personalities are what will carry us through this ordeal. We've got plenty of both.
Anna was feeling well this morning, before I left for work. She had to go back to the cancer center today to get a shot that she will have to receive either the day of or day after each chemo session. It is administered through the belly, and can have painful side effects. It's role is to coerce the bones to kick out extra white blood cells from the marrow to the body, bolstering her health a bit. Apparently the side effect is fairly severe bone pain. The nurse told Anna it would feel like her muscles were aching, but it would actually be the bones. My thoughts on this? This is utter crap (I'm reeeeaaally editing myself here). I wish there was an actual guy out there that was responsible for giving people cancer (Dan Cancer would be his name), so I could pummel him. Daily.
I can only imagine that she will start feeling worse as the days continue, and I don't know how I'll respond to that. Probably my usual stoicism (not brave-- more of an incompetent thing) mixed with morbid and ridiculous humor. That's my thing. Fortunately, it's Anna's thing too. I'm not looking forward to seeing my wife sick, losing hair, and potentially feeling insecure and upset about both. I have to try and remain as strong as possible for her. I also need to pull more than my weight at home. Something I constantly need to remind myself of.
My sister-in-law, Allison, is here with us as well. She's 20, and had no real ties to South Carolina, so she came up on a one-way ticket for an indefinite stay. The more the merrier in our "charming" 600 square-foot apartment. At least the view is nice. She's been an enormous help around the house, helping with cooking, cleaning, and caring for the baby. I'm sure she's getting stir-crazy, and we need to remind ourselves that she needs to get out and explore.
So here we are, on to the next level. Scary stuff. I have no idea what to expect throughout these treatments-- everyone reacts differently. I know how I'll react though. I'll be beating up Dan Cancer if you need me.