Stepping Onto the Long Road

Mom had her first chemo treatment yesterday. We arrived at the hospital at 10am, had an appointment with the doctor, and then were led into the chemo ward. It was a long room with a row of recliners along one wall, in front of windows that provided some nice sunlight. It was quiet, most of the chairs still empty, and mom chose one in the middle, with a plastic teddy bear sitting on the windowsill.

A nurse named Ariana came over and explained the procedure. She accessed the port that had been installed last week, and the flow of hydration and various scary chemicals began. Over the course of about three hours, there were two bags of fluid, a dose of ativan, a dose of a long-acting antiemetic, two types of chemo, and finally an anticoagulant to clear the port.

It was simultaneously totally uneventful and completely terrifying. Long hours - about six all told - of sitting, talking with various people, knitting, holding mom's hand, and watching things drip in tubes. Trying to push away the thought that I'm sitting there being supportive, watching my mom get willingly poisoned. Alternately not feeling much, and occasionally biting down tears as thoughts of the year to come refused to be ignored.

We went out to dinner afterwards at a Vietnamese restaurant that she likes, stopped at a pharmacy, and then went home. I escaped upstairs and hid in my old bedroom for a while when we got there, having temporarily reached the end of my ability to be an upright, functional adult. I called Aiden, barely managed not to burst into tears in his voicemail, then just lay there being blank for a while. Eventually I returned to the public space, made some tea, and read a book.

By 8:30, mom was clearly flagging, and went off to bed. I encouraged her to wake up during the night long enough to take her assigned antiemetic, since waking up for a few minutes would be infinitely better than waking up puking. I finished the movie we'd been watching, then went up to bed myself. Picking up my phone, I saw that I had 9 missed calls and several Facebook and text messages from Aiden and Shelby. Apparently I had worried them when I left my phone upstairs to charge and disappeared.

We chatted for a few minutes before I went to sleep. I was grateful to find that Aiden had left me a voicemail. I needed to hear his voice but was crying too hard to call.

I was up at 6 this morning, headed back to work. Mom called to me as I was leaving, and I went to check on her. She was smiling and said she felt okay except for some stomach cramps, and she had taken her medicine as directed. I gave her a kiss and headed out on a long, cold motorcycle ride back home. She looks okay now, but I know this is only the beginning of a long trek through a valley, and it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I can smile through anything, and I will - she's depending on me for my positive attitude. But behind the face, I know I'm going to spend a lot of time taping up my heart.