To begin the day, my husband and I left our house in Mount Vernon at 6:00 a.m. in order to beat the morning rush hour traffic. We arrived at Swedish Hospital in Seattle shortly before 8:00 a.m.

Because of the seriousness of our trip, we were both a little grumpy and snapping at each other in the car, so we spent a lot of time riding in silence. I think the scariness was getting to us a little.

I had an 8:30 appointment to have my port-a-cath accessed (the nurse used lidocaine-- no pain!). From there, I went to the nuclear medicine department to have a heart scan.

After the heart scan, we had about an hour to kill before meeting with the oncologist, so we popped over to an eatery next door to the hospital (we'd already eaten there once before). I was hungry, but was afraid to eat too much since I didn't know whether the food would stay down, so I elected to eat soup and crackers.

After lunch, we visited the hospital's resource center and I bought a couple of hats for when I lose my hair. I bought a purple "sleeping cap" and a light purple cotton hat for wearing around the house. The hair loss thing has been weighing heavily on my mind and I just want to be ready to cover my head!

At noon, we met with Dr. E., the oncologist. She was still waiting on the results of my blood tests that Skagit Cancer Care Center took four days earlier. She informed us that they had neglected to perform most important test that was ordered: the liver function test.

So Dr. E. told them she needed it right away and after 3 hours, they still hadn’t sent it (LAME!), so we had to have it done again at Swedish and wait for it there. Both the infusion nurse and my husband seemed to want me to get the show on the road with the chemo, but I wouldn't budge until I knew the results of my liver function. I wasn't about to let them pump those drugs into my body until I knew everything was "good to go" (and it was). However, it delayed my getting chemo by almost three hours! Grrrr!!!

I also had a list of questions for Dr. E. and I think she realized more than ever what kind of patient I am. I told her about the various websites I've read and had questions for her about some of that information. She seemed a little frustrated at one point, telling me that I should stay off the blogs.

What I was really trying to ask about was treatment for various side effects. I'm beginning to think that maybe doctors don't like you to know too much or be too prepared. Maybe it really is better to be more "ignorant" when it comes to knowing what lies ahead--ignorance is bliss, after all. (Who am I kidding? Nah!)

I was anxious about whether I would have a reaction to the drugs, but I was given Benadryl and some other agents before the chemo drugs were administered.

I didn’t really have any reactions, but there is a nurse there to continually take your blood pressure and she administered the drugs at half-dose speed the first time to make sure I wouldn't have a huge allergic reaction. The only reaction I really had was flushing of the cheeks. So, all in all, it wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated.

Now I’m told that the REAL side effects usually don’t kick in until day 3 and beyond, so I’m taking advantage of feeling semi-normal today to answer some emails. I’ve been taking my Zofran (anti-nausea) pills religiously and also the steroid pills to cut the swelling. Even with drinking over 80 oz. of water yesterday, I was up 3.5 lbs in one day this morning! Sheesh.

My kitchen counter looks like a pharmacy—it’s covered with meds for anticipated side effects (diarrhea, constipation, mouth sores, nausea, bone pain, etc.). My wonderful husband went to the store yesterday and bought other essentials, including a large ginger root at the food co-op store. He made me a cup of ginger root tea last night, which is supposed to help with nausea. It tasted pretty soothing, actually.

The nurse gave me a shot after the chemo (in the stomach) which is supposed to help build up my white cell counts to fight infection. She informed us that the shot ("Neulasta") costs $6,000! Boy, I sure hope the insurance company doesn't balk at that one!

I asked about being around the public school kids and the doctor said I don’t have to be a “bubble boy,” but I should wipe off doorknobs and my keyboard and wash my hands often (and avoid being around sick people, if I can).

The biggest thing I will probably experience is lowering of my red cell counts, which will cause anemia and/or fatigue, so I’m preparing for that. I was surprised that the day after chemo, I felt good enough to walk on my treadmill.

However, I feel like a walking time bomb, wondering when the worst side effects are going to explode into action. I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and remembered, "Oh, yeah, I had chemo treatment." It was rather unnerving--like waking up and thinking, "Oh yeah, they cut off my leg yesterday." 

I am very thankful that, so far, everything has been manageable. Thanks be to God and to everyone for their continuing prayers for me. The love and support from friends and family has been the silver lining in all of this. :~)

Now I'm getting ready for the hair loss. I've asked a friend (former hairstylist) to cut my hair short this weekend amd then I'll have my husband shave it when it starts to go. I'm bracing myself for it, but at least I have a wig now.

I've been frequenting a graphic design forum on the Internet for a few years now and have come to know several people from around the nation and the world, quite literally.

One of them is an American woman who converted to Islam. Another one is an American woman who converted to Judaism and is living in Israel with her husband and kids. Funny thing is, the Muslim, the Jewish convert, and I have so much in common. Instead of arguing our theological differences, we find many areas that we agree on. We all share a similar spiritual outlook, although it can definitely be argued that we are not worshiping the same God.

I shared on the forum my anxiety about hair loss and mentioned that I had just finished reading the book, "It's Not About The Hair." I received a reply from the Muslim woman that was really quite lovely. Here's what she wrote:

"It really isn't about the hair. When you start to lose it and you're having the inevitable blue day, do this: Go to the nearest mirror, gaze at the light in your own eyes, and remind yourself that it emanates from a lamp within. That is your beauty. That is precious. The hair will grow back."

Those words were precious to me and the reminder that I needed through this process. It's hard to describe the emotions running through me. I want to feel "normal," but I know that I'm not right now. I want to wake up in the morning and go to bed at night and not have cancer or treatment be the first and last things I think about. And, from what I've learned from other cancer survivors, that day will come, but it will be a long while before it does.

I knew that many people were praying for me and I could feel it, I really could. I had more peace than I ever expected. The only time I got emotional was when they were doing my heart scan and I had to lie there for 30 minutes.

Whi le I was lying there, I reminded myself of why I’m doing the chemo—so I can be around to see my daughter marry, God willing, and to meet my future grandchildren and be part of their lives, for one. Of course, that made me start crying, so I had to ask my husband to come over and wipe the tears off of my cheeks since I couldn’t move my head.