It’s my first day of chemo and I’m sitting in the Fred Hutch lobby post-blood draw. I’m nervous, of course. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to keep toxins out of my body and here I am, willingly submitting myself to the worst of them.
I’m not really nervous about the actual transfusion, but about everything that comes after. How will I feel? What effects will it have on my body? This whole thing is so annoyingly ironic, because if you know me, you know that my health is incredibly important to me. I’m constantly tweaking my diet, exercise and skin care routines for optimal results. It feels like all of that hard work is going to waste. That’s the hardest part. What foundation will I have to work with once this is all over? Will I ever return to pre-chemo fitness levels? Will my heart suffer irreparable damage? No one can tell me because no two cancer journeys are identical. So for now, it’s all a series of question marks. Which is another thing about me – I’m a planner. Going into the abyss without a concrete roadmap is torture.
My chemo regimen is AC-T, which consists of 4 rounds of two chemo drugs Adriamycin and Cyclophosphamide every two weeks (the AC). Then I’ll be given Taxol once a week for 12 weeks after (the T). The appointments go like this: first they draw blood to make sure my platelet count and a bunch of other factors look good enough to receive treatment. Then I meet with my oncologist and then I go in for treatment. Chemo itself will last 3 hours, but because I’m doing a cold cap, I’m going to ask to stay seated with the cold cap on for an additional hour after chemo ends. This isn’t the same as just volunteering to do something. This is actively requesting to stay an extra hour in a place where I’ve been for the last 5 hours, 3 of which were seated in the same spot. But, the third thing about me is if I do something, I go all in. Studies show increased benefit of the cold cap if used 60-90 minutes after treatment. So sign me up for an additional hour of cold cap torture if it means I’ll keep a few more strands of my hair. As a result of this, I’m guessing the average appointment will last 6 hours.
Even with all of that, I’m ready to get this behind me. I keep saying there’s no way around this, only through. So here we go…
Meghan Has Breast Cancer 
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