"You got this, girl."

Tomorrow will be one week since my first chemo treatment...! *pause for applause*

Whew. They told me the first 7-10 days would be the worst, so while I'm not out of the woods quite yet - I'm still standing, and that's the best I could ask for.

***

Monday, February 1, 2021 was my first infusion. We got up early and as much as we tried to prep and pack the night before, the morning was chaos. Lots of adrenaline. Fear. Ready to get started. Not ready at all to get started. And of course, I was worried we wouldn't have enough snacks for the day. (I might have cancer, but I will never forget a meal. Ever.) By the time we left, we had so many bags and things, it looked like we were moving in to the place.

My mom and Sadie sent us off. I hugged my baby and said: "Here we go, Sadie. This is for you!" And away we went.

We arrived at the hospital at 7:55 and went straight to the infusion center where we'd spend most of the day. Our nurse Katie brought us back to our private room and didn't even bat an eye when she saw we had brought almost all of our belongings from home. The facility is actually really nice. It's brand new and our room that day had its own bathroom and everything. Not exactly a Four Seasons hotel, but it felt pretty VIP as far as chemo infusion goes.

The first thing my nurse did was access my port and draw my blood. It's bizarre to have a knob sticking out from under my collarbone that can just be opened and closed for fluid to enter and exit. But - much better than an IV.

After that we went upstairs to see my oncologist. She came in with great energy and you could almost feel her excitement for us. That we were about to take this first big step. Most of our visit with her was a rundown of all of the meds and drugs I would be getting that day. As with all of our appointments so far, it was a bit of a surreal blur, but I do vividly remember three things she said to me before we left again:

1. "So about two weeks from now...you're going to want to cut your hair. Do you have a plan for that?" Ugh. Yes. Kind of.

2. "What else can I do for you right now?" To which I responded: "Nothing. Just please get this shit out of me."

3. Before she walked out of the room, I told her I was scared and she put her hand on my shoulder and said, "I know. But you can do this. You GOT this, girl." And she was out the door. And then I'm pretty sure I said "Fuck."

With that, Joe and I headed back downstairs to the infusion center. Go time.

The pre-meds all went in pretty quickly and seamlessly: Tylenol, Aloxi and Emend for nasuea, and then 50 mg of Benadryl which hits immediately. They say it's to help combat any allergic reactions to the drugs - I think they just give it to the neurotic patients like me who need a little help relaxing. (The stuff really works.) I had already been taking a steroid (Decadron) and Claritin at home to help protect my body from side effects too. And let's not forget the injection I had the previous week to start hiding my ovaries. For someone who rarely takes anything over-the-counter for even a headache or PMS, my head was exploding at the amount of medications I had flowing through me that day - and that was before the actual chemotherapy drugs were administered.

Then the big boys, one at a time (in order):

• Pertuzumab: 60 minute infusion

• Herceptin: 90 minute infusion

• Taxotere: 60 minute infusion - I iced my hands and feet during this infusion to hopefully avoid any neuropathy (numbness/tingling) that can be long-lasting.

• Carboplatin: 30 minute infusion

All things considered, each of the infusions was pretty uneventful. Which was good. No allergic reactions or immediate side effects. If not for the circumstances, I actually would never have known that I was being pumped with hazardous drugs.

And so the day went. I snuggled in one of my newly gifted compassion blankets and fuzzy socks, tried to respond to a thousand text messages, and definitely ate all of the snacks.

Before we knew it, the Carboplatin finished its drip and I only had one more med to take: Nuelasta - something that would help boost my white blood cells since my immune system will be shot. I thought it was going to be administered through my port like all the other meds, but as a fun surprise, it was actually a device that sticks to your tummy and goes home with you. Two minutes after the nurse puts it on, the device is activated and a small needle stabs you. The nurse obviously told me this was going to happen, but I still completely overreacted and shouted "WHAA!" when it stuck me, surely waking up any other patients nearby who might have been drifting off to Benadryl Land. Anyway, 27 hours after the stabbing heard round the infusion center, the medicine is released. And then you have to peel off the device and pull out the attached needle. I'm not exactly sure how med school works, but I think I may be a trauma surgeon now, after having to perform this on myself.

And that was it. My first, and longest, chemo infusion was behind us.

We left feeling...dare I say, happy? Relieved? Happy and relieved that we had taken such a big first step in getting rid of this cancer. Grateful that it had gone off without a hitch, without any reactions or immediate side effects. I went home and hugged my family for the rest of the night.

***

I'm still standing, but the past week has been tough. Fatigue has been my biggest side effect, which to be honest, we're all very grateful for. Coming down off the steroid and then getting hit with fatigue from the big drugs was awful. You go from not being able to sleep for 4 nights, to then not being able to keep your eyes open for 4 seconds. You're trying to spend time with your baby so that your husband isn't shouldering every waking moment of home/parenting/care-taking responsibility. You're trying to be the mom you still want to be. You're trying to eat every 3 hours so you don't throw up. You're forcing yourself to drink 4 liters of water a day so you don't have to go back to the hospital to get IVs of fluid. You're trying to remember to rinse your mouth with water and baking soda 10 times a day so you don't get mouth sores. Trying to shower at least every other day. You're trying to nap when you can, especially when your baby naps. But your baby doesn't really want to nap. You're trying to keep your eyes open. Your body aches. Your head aches. Your stomach aches. And then you're so overtired that you just lay wide awake in bed at night, slowly plotting your husband's demise as he lies next to you snoring freely. You remember his wife has cancer and it's been a hell of a week for him too, so you understand. But you still plot his demise.

As the cherry on top, I think the reality and the stress of everything also finally hit us this week. We've been going non-stop since my mammogram on January 15th, powering through appointment after appointment and just barely wrapping our heads around the next thing that by the time we actually slowed down for a second, I realized even further the reason behind all of this: I have cancer. Joe's wife has cancer. Sadie's mama has cancer.

By the Friday after chemo, we had to call in the reinforcements: Gigi to the rescue. My mom dropped everything to come and be with us and watch Sadie at night so we could sleep for more than 2 hours at a time. I should mention that Sadie also chose this week to regress a little bit on sleep, which hasn't helped. But when she gives you the biggest grin at 11pm, 1am, 3am and 6am like - "Oh, hi! You're awake too?" - there's no way you can be even just a little bit upset.

My mom stayed with us for the weekend as my knight in shining armor, baby sleep whisperer, and all around hero. I don't care how old you are, when you're sick there's no better feeling than having your mom with you. Today, I'm feeling the best I've felt since Monday and I know all three of us are thankful to have had her help and hands the last few days. Thank. God. For moms. If you're lucky enough to be able to, go hug your mom.

Finally, I again need to express my deepest gratitude to everyone who has reached out, sent food, sent gift cards for food, sent care packages, and done a thousand other things to show their support. It has been overwhelming and appreciated more than you'll ever know. It might take me some time to respond to everyone, but know that your words and thoughts and gestures have been received with the greatest appreciation.

Tomorrow Sadie turns 4 months old - wow! Despite everything, we still can't believe how blessed we are that we have such a strong and healthy baby. She has her 4 month check up tomorrow too - 4 month shots included, ugh. It will be harder for mom than Sadie, but Sadie will be fine. She's one tough cookie. She's got this.