1/16….

January 16th… another date that will always be ingrained in my mind. 5 years ago, January 16, 2019 was the first day that I sat in a chemotherapy chair, as ready as I ever could be for the fight of my life.

I had to be out of the house early that morning because before my chemo session, I needed my port put in. A quick in and out procedure, but it was still surgery. So that morning my parents took Matthew to school and Jason took me to the hospital for my procedure. My chemo session wasn’t until later that afternoon, so we had some time after I was done with that part. So, we went to grab some food. Even though I wasn’t extremely hungry, I was given advice to eat and to indulge in some of my favorite foods whenever I could… before my appetite was no more, before my taste buds disappeared and my mouth was the driest it could ever be, and before everything tasted like metal. So I did. I ordered pancakes and tried to eat as much as I could, pretending it was just a normal day and I was out to brunch with my husband. Except I wasn’t. It was a Wednesday late morning and while everyone else my age was at work or at home with their kids, I was getting ready for chemo. And after my chemo I would have to go home to my kids…to my 4 year old boy and my 8 month old baby. Chemo is gut wrenching at any age, but to have to come home and take care of your kids afterwards, instead of being able to sit calmly and rest, is just a whole different ballgame.

That afternoon I walked into that infusion room for the first time, and needless to say it was pretty overwhelming. All these people just sitting, hooked up to IVs. Of course I was the youngest one there too, which in itself was pretty daunting. I put my pink #teammichele bag (that some pretty awesome friends gave me) down, took all my items out that I’d need - tissues, phone, chapstick, water, granola bar, peppermint candy (for when they flushed my port because you can actually taste the rubbing alcohol) - sat in my chair and got comfy, with my shoes off, feet up and my fuzzy socks and my cozy blanket. The nurse came over and explained what was going to happen and about the process. My infusion would take about 3-4hrs which wasn’t too bad. The first hour was all the pre meds and hydration. I liked the premeds. The Ativan was the best part. Each week they’d asked me if I wanted the Ativan, and I looked at them like, do you really have to ask? Give it to me! Lol. As soon as that Ativan kicked in, I was golden as I floated in and out of a calm sleep over the next 3 hours. When I would wake up, still in that chair, I’d have a nurse next to me putting the next part of my chemotherapy called the “red devil”. It was red. And it’s one of the most aggressive chemotherapy infusions out there. So much so, that the nurse has a slow, specific way of injecting and sits there with you while administering it and you need an additional injection the very next day to help keep your white blood cell count up. Because the red devil is the chemo that will kill everything. Everything. It’s the chemo that you hate because it takes everything out of you but the more it takes from you and the worse you feel, you begin to love it because that means it could be working. The white blood cell injection was a patch placed on my abdomen, after my infusion session was finished for the day. The patch was set to self inject after a certain amount of hours. The injection itself would take 45 min so I’d have to sit still, which wasn’t so bad. Matthew would sit with me and hold my hand. It was the aftermath of the chemo combined with this Neulasta injection that would do me in. I called it “my cloud”. I’d have a few hours before my cloud would set in. I’d feel it start in my head, I’d get foggy. My eyes would get hazy, my bones would hurt, my entire body would ache from my head to my toes and I’d get sleepy and queasy. I’d stay in this state for 5 to 6 days, where I’d sleep for hours or just lay in bed praying to stop feeling like this. Ativan was my friend as well as all of my anti nausea meds. Sometimes I’d wake up and Matthew would be sleeping next to me. Jason would normally not sleep in our bed at night with me because I’d be up and down throughout the night and I’d keep him up or he’d be with Ryan, who was 8 months old at the time, because I couldn’t change him or feed him or rock him or do anything I should be doing as a mom of a baby.

By day 5 or 6 my cloud would slowly start to dissipate and I’d be able to enjoy my kids for the next few days like a normal mom, before I’d have to do it all over again. I would go on to receive these infusions every other week for 4 sessions. After these 4 sessions, I then switched to another chemo which I received weekly, for a consecutive 12 weeks.

After my 1st chemo session, I remember coming home and being hungry but couldn’t figure out what I could eat because just the thought of something would make me feel queasy. My aunt, who years before me had ovarian cancer, used to swear by vanilla milkshakes after her chemo treatments. I decided to try for myself and she was absolutely on point. And that became my go to after my chemo sessions as well. Today, I can even look at a vanilla milkshake without cringing but it did the job back then..

I never really talk about my chemo experience in depth outside of my support groups, but you all know I’m a writer and just kind of felt compelled to do a little tonight. And one of these days, when I get my act together and actually write my book, maybe this will be an excerpt. It’s just an amazing thing, how a date can be such a trigger and have such an impact. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I will because it is also a reminder of how strong I really am, when I think of all I really had to go through in order to be where I am today… alive. I fought against this sickness so hard and will be continuing to fight this disease for the rest of my life.. something that literally tried to take my life… and despite it all, I’m winning… and I’ll win every time. 💪🏻💗💗💗