This image from The Andromeda Strain is a fair representation of what I expected from Chemotherapy. The word struck an uncomfortable combination of hope (of success of treatment) and fear (of debilitating side effects and frightening medical interventions).
I am pleased to announce, with a healthy amount of embarassment as to how off the mark my expectations were, that chemotherapy isn't remotely as dystopian as I imagined. With the Hickman Line in place, all it involves is hanging a bag of fluids to drip into the line.
"Chemotherapy Precautions," another phrase that terrified me, require certain procedures. When hooking up the line and getting it going, the nurse wears a gown and gloves, but it's nowhere near a full-body vacuumed protection suit. Also, because of the dangerousness of the chemicals involved, Vivienne must have a diaper change at a minimum of every 2 hours. When changing diapers, we are to wear gloves. I find that a little intimidating, so have asked the nurses to do it for now, but I know I will get right into the swing of things.
Vivienne is comfortable, though hungry, and has been sleeping very peacefully since chemo began. I have been cuddling her, telling her an updated and ad-libbed version of Cinderella in installments, singing to her, playing with her when she is awake, and loving her fiercely. She is receiving fabulous care from her nurses, who without exception are dedicated, compassionate, and sensitive to Vivi's needs. We are very hopeful that chemotherapy halts tumor growth or even shrinks the tumor, and very quickly.
This image from The Andromeda Strain is a fair representation of what I expected from Chemotherapy. The word struck an uncomfortable combination of hope (of success of treatment) and fear (of debilitating side effects and frightening medical interventions).
I am pleased to announce, with a healthy amount of embarassment as to how off the mark my expectations were, that chemotherapy isn't remotely as dystopian as I imagined. With the Hickman Line in place, all it involves is hanging a bag of fluids to drip into the line.
"Chemotherapy Precautions," another phrase that terrified me, require certain procedures. When hooking up the line and getting it going, the nurse wears a gown and gloves, but it's nowhere near a full-body vacuumed protection suit. Also, because of the dangerousness of the chemicals involved, Vivienne must have a diaper change at a minimum of every 2 hours. When changing diapers, we are to wear gloves. I find that a little intimidating, so have asked the nurses to do it for now, but I know I will get right into the swing of things.
Vivienne is comfortable, though hungry, and has been sleeping very peacefully since chemo began. I have been cuddling her, telling her an updated and ad-libbed version of Cinderella in installments, singing to her, playing with her when she is awake, and loving her fiercely. She is receiving fabulous care from her nurses, who without exception are dedicated, compassionate, and sensitive to Vivi's needs. We are very hopeful that chemotherapy halts tumor growth or even shrinks the tumor, and very quickly.