Week three of chemotherapy was the most difficult yet. My son and I spent the week with colds while trying to care for our cancer patient. We did the home Covid test twice and it was negative—not that we could have done much about it anyway. Junior got to return to school about the time I started suffering from the cold symptoms.
Monday saw us do a two-hour procedure to install a port into my wife’s chest. The entire thing is under her skin and seems to take a path from its endpoint to somewhere near her heart. It is painful and uncomfortable. There is much bruising from this being done to her. Less that 24 hours after installing it, it was being used at the infusion center.
The infusion day was the longest yet. My wife had yet another allergic reaction to a whole different family of drugs. As it turns out, my wife is allergic to a secondary chemical used to keep the medicine suspended in the IV bag. I have heard it also referred to as a preservative. Anyway, this stuff is also a major component of the Covid 19 vaccines. Thus, my wife is medically excused by the CDC from getting the Covid jab.
As an aside, if my wife did get the Covid shot and died—which we now know would happen, the CDC would not classify her death as related to the vaccine because any death within two weeks of getting the shot doesn’t count under their methodology. So next time they claim to be “following the science” you can know yet another reason it’s a lie from the swamp.
Anyway, the infusion time was about 8 to 8 ½ hours for the first chemo drug. We also came home with a portable pump in a fanny pack. My wife is expected to pump this stuff 2.5 ml per hour for 96 hours. The pump uses those rectangular 9-volt batteries; one at a time. We learned this because they sent us home with two spares. We are currently on the second spare, and I had to dig up one of my own in garage just in case it quits at 1 AM like it did last night. Saturday night at 5 PM we can get the pump, hose, and needle assemble removed until the next infusion day. I can’t imagine having the same needle sticking in your chest for over four days while getting dressed and undressed, taking a shower, eating, sleeping, etc.
Meanwhile the radiation is affecting her ability to eat and drink. Even liquids are painful to swallow. The radiological oncologist says that this is expected and said it might get easier in another week. We will see.
Between the chemotherapy and radiation, this week has been the most difficult. My wife even had to ask for help to get to her radiology appointment yesterday. Today was better and she went on her own. Nausea and occasional vomiting and the medication to prevent them have been a big part of this week. Two more weeks to go until this phase of treatment is done.
