Day 1 is officially in the books (and I’m actually sitting here getting Day 2 treatment as I write this, so I’m basically in the future).

The first day kicked off with an early wake-up, 2 hours of traffic, and a visit with the nurse practitioner, Lisa. She went through over an hours’ worth of possible side effects, drugs, and other assorted tidbits of information that went in one ear and out the other. Good thing Jenna was there taking notes (my dad was also there, but he may or may not have been paying attention). I won’t bore you with all the details of the side effects as you’ve likely heard them all, although the one new one for me was the possibility of my fingernails turning black and falling off. Hope that doesn’t happen.

In the middle of this delightful conversation, another nurse came in and accessed my port for the first time (I wonder if that’s a euphemism for sex in cancer circles?). I was a bit nervous about this since the area was still a little tender and she was coming at me with what looked like either an unbent paperclip or a straightened out fish hook. Turned out to be about a half second of pinching and that was it. Way better than getting an IV in my arm every day.

After all this, they led me back to the treatment center, which is basically just a room with about 20 recliners surrounding a nurse’s station. Each recliner has a little table and a chair or two for visitors. The nurses have all been great. Big ups to Meg and Julia so far. They don’t have an easy job, but they’re always smiling.

DIGRESSION ALERT: Prepare yourself for some minor bitching. After spending time in both the maternity ward and the fertility clinic (henceforth known as the Masturbatorium) at NMH, I’m a bit disappointed with the amenities of the chemo ward. Patients are here all day every day, often in considerable pain, and I think they could do a lot better with the setup and creature comforts. First, it’s on the 21^st floor off of Michigan Avenue, but all the chairs face in towards the nurse’s station. What’s the point of great city views when they’re always behind you? Secondly, unless you have someone with you, it’s not really possible to get any food. After the all-you-can-eat room service and constant what-can-we-get-you’s of the maternity ward, I was expecting a little more here. Finally, there’s absolutely no privacy, and other people’s visitors can tend to get a bit noisy. Coupled with the glaring fluorescent lights, it’s not quite the calming, peaceful facility I was hoping for. I think I’m going to just sit here and watch this Zen garden mediation video on YouTube.

OK, with that minor rant over, back to treatment. Into the IV went a large bag of saline, a steroid for nausea, Zofarin for nausea, and some electrolytes. They declined my request for a pina colada. These pre-treatment fluids took I think about 2 hours.

Then came the first of the three chemo drugs in my specific BEP cocktail, Bleomycin. This one lasted about 15 minutes, and also came with some Tylenol and Benadryl to help prevent a fever. So far, so good.  I don’t know what I was expecting, but whatever it was, it didn’t happen. Next up was the E, Etoposide. This one was about an hour. Again, no noticeable effects, although I was getting pretty tired from the Benadryl. Finally, they finished me off with about an hour of P, Cisplatin (why P instead of C, I don’t know). This one supposedly causes the most side effects and requires the most fluids to prevent damage to the kidneys.

On that note, remember how I mentioned the nurses don’t have an easy job? Well one of their jobs is to measure my urine outflow. I had to pee in a plastic jug all day and they’d come in and measure it to make sure I was getting enough fluids through my system. That reminds me, I should probably drink some water right about now.

After that, I was done. Just in time to sit in traffic for 2 hours, and of course 5 minutes after we left I had to piss like a racehorse. We managed to pull off 290 around Berwyn in a sketchy neighborhood so I could pee at a gas station. I could only pray that purple wasn’t the local gang color as I strolled in wearing my Zubaz pants and Macho Man t-shirt. No gangland executions, but I did get some funny looks.

Day 1 Pain/Side Effects on a scale of 0 to Mel Gibson’s Final Scene in Braveheart:

I’ll put it at a 1 today. Tired and loopy from Benadryl.

Other Observations:

• 290 is the absolute worst. 3.5 hours in traffic on treatment days is not cool. Get your shit together, Chicago.
• Most of the other people in here are pretty old, and some don’t seem to be doing too well. There was a young woman sitting in the chair next to me who looked to be fairly far along in her treatment who was very positive and cheerful. I hope that’s how I am when I get into the next couple cycles.

On to Day 2, and continued domination. Oooh yeah!