I'm not sick, just more fatigued this time, so I was waiting until I had more of my mental faculties before I posted again. Not sure if the brain cells have returned quite yet, but I'm forging ahead anyway. :~) (By the way, "chemo brain" is real, I'm here to tell you.)

Chemo treatment #2 was similar to the first, only this time my husband and I were only at Swedish Hospital for six hours instead of twelve. Still sounds like a long time, but they went pretty quickly, really.

Now I've got the drill down: I showed up for lab work (to get my blood counts done) and went to the lab. A nurse gave me a shot of lidocaine in my port-a-cath area and a minute later, she "accessed" my port with a special needle made to insert into it. No pain! I'm telling you, absolutely no pain.

Whoever invented the porta-a-cath deserves a Nobel prize as far as I'm concerned. It sure beats being poked incessantly in the arm (to no avail), with the risk of burning my veins with toxic chemo drugs.

Then I met with Dr. E., the oncologist. Her nurse weighed me, took my blood pressure, etc. This visit, I was up about four pounds (drat!). I shouldn't be surprised, though. They have you on steroids a day before treatment (until a day after) and I'm told that many women gain between 7 to 15 pounds with chemo. I'm not sure why, but I've been tracking my weight fairly regularly and drinking water like a fish.

Today (five days later), I've dropped four pounds, so I think it's fluids from the steroids. Anyway, I'm not eating junk food at all. In fact, chemo treatment has made me crave real food. Like spinach salad, salmon, broccoli, green beans, a plain sweet potato, stuff like that. I don't want chocolate or anything "junky"--just All-American real food.

Dr. E. noticed my new "do" and commented on how much she liked my wig. I informed her that I had started my period right on time three days earlier (what's with that?). I thought I was going into chemopause, so I was prepared for hot flashes. Not quite yet, apparently!

She seemed a little surprised, but said that some women menstruate throughout treatment, skip periods, or stop altogether. It might take a couple more treatments before it stops, I suppose.

I have to admit that when I realized I was getting menstrual cramps, I was quite surprised, but almost in a pleasant way. I thought, "Go, body, go! Fight back!" in a smug sort of way. But then, I thought, "Hmm . . . maybe not . . . I don't need all that estrogen around stirring up more trouble." :~)

Anyway, Dr. E. informed me that my blood counts were down a bit and recommended that I start taking iron pills once a day. Check.

I also asked about L-Glutamine, which one of the infusion nurses told me about. It's a supplement that's supposed to head off "peripheral neuropathy" (tingling of the extremities). Dr. E. said that I could take it should I have a problem (so far, I haven't). Check.

On to the infusion area. I had a nurse named Christine who seemed pretty young to me, but after learning when she graduated from Seattle Pacific University, I figured she must be about 30.

She was a real sweetie and we asked her all about how she became a nurse, etc. She told us about her brothers and stories from growing up. It's interesting how spending that kind of time with a person draws you into such intimacy. One of the highlights of going through something like this.

The woman next to me sort of interjected herself into our conversation and I have to admit that, at first, I was a little annoyed. But as we spent some time talking, my heart went out to her. Her name was Susan and she is a grandmother, probably late 50s. She had already received six months of chemo for Stage IV colo-rectal cancer and was probably going to have surgery next, although radiation was being considered.

Susan said that she also has a 4-1/2 year old adopted foster daughter at home. She also had a young Hispanic man helping her that day, so I think he may have been a foster son. At any rate, she had a lot more on her plate than me. It was a reminder to me to be thankful that my own situation is not worse and to pray for her as well.

One of the chemo drugs had to be slowed down a bit because it was making my blood pressure drop too much, but other than that, everything went smoothly. Afterwards, I felt a little more "burpy" than I did the first time, but not sick.

I decided to get out of the house three days after treatment because I wanted to feel normal again and I was getting "cabin fever." It was a beautiful day besides. I managed to drive to the store, but I felt very weird. Like I was moving, but in someone else's body. Kind of detached from really experiencing anything. I guess it's from being anemic. Whatever it is, I don't like it. I'm happy to say that I woke up today feeling much better . . . like being born again. The sun is shining and I feel like enjoying the day. Glory to God!

One of the nurses mentioned to me that when you come off of steroids, a natural reaction is to feel depressed. They really do hype you up. In fact, I couldn't get to sleep until 3:30 a.m. on Monday night. But they give them to you to help with the nausea and also to prevent a reaction to the drugs. So I was more prepared for the emotional swing this time. I noticed a definite depressed mood during my first treatment week.

One thing I did differently this time was to only take anti-nausea drugs for one day following my treatment. And guess what? I didn't feel nauseous at all after discontinuing them. Woo hoo! Believe me, they aren't fun to take. Their main side effect is constipation. I'll say no more.

There is something that I'm beginning to notice about going through cancer treatment and I'm pretty sure it's normal (I'm not in a support group, so I don't know for sure). But I have started to become much more . . . how shall I say? . . . assertive.

Honestly, I think it's a psychological phenomenon that comes with the territory. Think about it. On some subconscious level, you really do feel a bit "kicked to the curb" when you are diagnosed with cancer. Then you have a LOT of psychological pressures and dynamics going on . . . waiting for test results, making decisions about treatment, choosing doctors, etc. In many ways, you are in a victimized state and feeling very little control over your situation.

You also deal with all kinds of feedback from those around you--fortunately, mostly positive. But there are definitely some negative moments mixed in. At some point, your self-preservation mechanism kicks in and you begin to realize you've got to set boundaries or you will become one with the pavement. There are always people willing to run right over with you with their opinions on what you should do, should have done, or whatever.

You begin to take control. You get a second opinion. You filter through the plethora of information handed to you in doctor's offices and on the web. You assemble your medical team. You buy a wig.

Actually, that last one has all kinds of implications by itself. I'm now half-bald and it's a real head game. I'm not overly traumatized by it, but looking at myself in the mirror, I don't recognize who is looking back at me. Who is that person?

I'm not being melodramatic here; it's a real dynamic. I keep my head covered most of the time because I just don't recognize that person looking back at me in the mirror. She's new. I suppose I'll get used to her, but for now, all I can think of is Demi Moore in "G.I. Jane." I keep thinking she's going to order me to hit the floor and give her 100 push-ups. Maybe I'll do just that after I come to grips.

So, I think that cancer treatment patients don't have a lot of time for pussy-footing around with things. We're more apt to tell you how we feel. For a person like me who is used to being so "female" in my responses, this is a definite turn-around. I may not be as judicious in my responses; I may be more direct.

This can be a problem with loved ones. I've been told that I am more "bossy" now. I think it's true. I'm not using this as an excuse (more of a reason), but part of it is the drugs. They really do mess you up a bit. But most of it is a change in the way you perceive life. I know that I will never be the same again. And for the most part, I think that's a good thing.

But, if taken to extremes, it could be a bad thing, in my opinion. I don't want to be insensitive to other people, especially my loved ones and friends. I need to learn, with the tempering of the Holy Spirit, to reign in my passions and to choose my words lovingly, however direct they may be.

I'm working on this and will be for the rest of my life. For now, those closest to me are giving me the grace to take that next step on the rope bridge, knowing that I'm carefully forging ahead to the next wobbly step of this journey.