Chemo Sucks

December 21, 2010–January 1, 2011

The long and short of it: Chemo is getting rough. Tuesday December 21 marked my third visit to the clinic, itself not a bad experience really. The room was festively decorated, platters piled high with homemade Christmas cookies lined the nurses’ desk, and the holiday excitement was palpable: Most women were chatting busily about all their other last-minute holiday errands that they had to see to; their visit to the chemo “spa” was just one of the myriad things on their list of things to do, treating it so nonchalantly and ordinary that one might have thought they were at a salon getting manicures and pedicures in preparation for a Christmas party that night instead of at the hospital being infused with body- and mind-altering chemicals.

What followed was three solid days of misery. I’m not going to lie. It was ugly: nausea that the pills couldn’t quite control, all-over bone pain from the Neulasta injection, an energy level that could only get me from bed downstairs to the couch in the morning and from the couch back upstairs to bed at night, and, as Pete would likely attest to, general bitchiness because I hated being me. Fortunately, I woke up on Christmas morning feeling like a whole new woman, relatively speaking, and we were all able to enjoy a quiet, calm, beautiful day blanketed in new snow. With a fire blazing all day, Pete, Chris, Shannon, and I watched old Christmas movies, played dominoes and cards, drank champagne, and had fun clowning around outside with the dog.

Clearly, chemo’s effect on the body is cumulative, and subconsciously I knew this would be the case but had hoped otherwise. I tolerated the first two sessions so well (and consistently) that I was optimistic the rest of the sessions would be just as uneventful. The fatigue and nausea/queasiness are still an issue but improve each day. What I focus on now is the fact that I am halfway to the finish line and ever so grateful that my treatment consists of only six rounds. It could be so much worse.

On the positive side, I am learning new skills. Never one much for makeup, I signed up for a makeup seminar sponsored by the local ovarian cancer support group. (I probably could have used these lessons 40 years ago but, as they say, better late than never.) My eyebrows and eyelashes have greatly thinned out, rendering my face pretty funky looking. Now I get to play around with makeup (thanks, Leslie!) and try on a new look each day. Practice makes perfect, and I will become proficient, but for now some days I look like a bad version of Elizabeth Taylor’s Cleopatra; other days it’s closer to Mexican artist Frida Kahlo's unibrow woman.

One thing I learned at my last visit to the spa—and in my case adding insult to injury—is that there is a syndrome called chemo brain. Those of you who know me well can validate that, even before my treatments, mental sharpness was never one of my better known attributes. Let me be clear: This in no way is a reflection of my intelligence (we all know I am merely one lightbulb shy of Mensa membership); I just tend to be disorganized, a tad forgetful, and, as I prefer to phrase it, verbally impulsive. So now, in addition, there’s chemo brain that I can add to my repertoire of syndromes. Symptoms include memory lapses (not wine induced); trouble concentrating, remembering details, and multi-tasking; disorganized thinking; and trouble using words appropriately. This does not bode well for me. I have to ask: On top of everything else, is this syndrome really necessary?

Speaking of wine, you’ll be surprised to learn that my diagnosis and subsequent surgery and treatments appear to have had an adverse effect on my profound appreciation for the grape. This is serious. Hell clearly has frozen over and I’ve lost my taste for wine. I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but the impact has had significant, unpredictable, and disturbing consequences: Although I’m still willing to suffer a glass or two for the right cause, suffice it to say that the Napa Valley economy has been hard hit by my current health circumstances. One of my more selfless resolutions for the New Year is to make sure that Napa regains its solid footing in the industry.

I wish us all a happy, healthy, prosperous 2011 surrounded by loving family and friends.