My wife asked me what does chemotherapy feel like? I had to think. It starts with needle pokes. One in the arm to draw blood. They pull three vials to get the full blood panel. Within 5 minutes they print out a full page report and focus on red and white blood cells. Once they see that I am fit to receive the chemo (I’ve recovered from the last round), then into the treatment room.

This room is the largest in the building with many windows, lots of light and a lot more chairs. Comfortable lounge types. About 60 of them! Each one has side tables and an IV pumping station on wheels next to it. I had to ask “Are these all for chemo?” The nurse explained some people come there for infusions of iron or vitamins and they are there about an hour. But the majority are for cancer patients.

Next comes another poke. “Accessing your port” is a jab of one needle into the surgically implanted bump in my chest. It creates a tube that all the chemicals will pour into. Like a hose, they unscrew one bag and screw another for the next dose.

Finally the last poke. They save this one for the last. This medicine is the prime reason why I don’t feel any nausea or vomiting for five days. It gets stabbed into my belly just beneath the skin. “Sorry but it’s a large gauge needle.” Now I know where they recycle railroad spikes. It hurts going in, then the medicine feels like battery acid, pumping for a few seconds. It even hurts coming out. The worst is over.

The first bag of liquid connected to the port is benadryl to prevent an allergic reaction to the second bag. So for a few hours I slept as they continue to switch bags for six more hours. I was a little hungry so for lunch I enjoyed a sausage McMuffin.

I feel tired and my heart rate is up there but my blood pressure is normal. Home now, I’ve been munching on celery, crackers and dip and cherries. The injections are not done yet though. I have that strange box taped to my arm that will deliver one more dose Saturday at 7:30 p.m. It will cause a flush of white blood cells to grow and replace those that were killed today. I’m instructed to take Claritin right afterward to avoid muscle and bone pain.

So, why go through this pain and discomfort? Why persevere through months of weakness? Because I hope and pray that this treatment will heal me. Hope is my desire. Prayer is offering my desire to God and submitting to His will.

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:2.

It feels like Saturday. We both have the day off today so I can receive my third round of chemotherapy. It’s been three weeks since the last one and I still have a sore spot on my abdomen from the last anti-nausea shot. It’s a small price to pay for stopping the substantial side effects.

My wife and I went out for dinner last night (Thursday) and enjoyed an extraordinary Italian meal at Ristorante Farfalla in Estero.

The restaurant is white-tablecloth-and-candles-reservation-please kind of place. After being seated the maitre d’ very politely asked me to remove my hat. My wife quickly explained the chemo hair loss and it keeps his head warm. He acquiesced and soon they adjusted the thermostat.

Yesterday I went to two different locations to pick up the anti nausea pills and prednisone. Then I hastily planted flowers and spread mulch in the front yard because I had the energy and I won’t for the next few days. Now to pack my chemo day bag: Bottles of water, snacks, book, hat, Kindle, tissues.

It seems like 90% of my head hair has fallen out. Some wispy survivors are clinging on. I went to the dermatologist this week to address lots of sore, red spots on my newly emerging scalp. “Folliculitis” is common in men who wear hats or in some people after shaving. In my case it’s caused by damaged hair follicles and a side effect of corticosteroids. Antibiotic cream is helping. I had hoped for a Mr. Clean kind of scalp but not for now. The hats stay on.

She also froze my nose: Every couple of years she sprays liquid nitrogen on the bridge of my nose to remove precancerous tissue.

My facial hair has also thinned significantly. I’ve been warned not to shave with a razor with blades to avoid cuts. Electric razor only.

Done with round two of chemotherapy. It only took 6 hours. There were no surprises, and no allergic reactions like the first time. I ate, I drank, I slept a little (Benadryl nod) and now I feel just a little groggy. They have managed the side effects very well.

Good news: Doctor reviewed today’s blood test and my numbers are better than ever. Red and white blood cell counts are up! My immune system is intact and working. Therefore, no need for the mask…after five days. During that time I’ll be on a steroid that instructs “avoid people with contagious diseases.”

I got shot by a robot. The last thing they did to me was install a “single shot, on-body injector” on the back of my arm. It’s 2″ x 2″ plastic box stuck on with tape. It lit up, beeped a few times and SNAP, this little needle stabbed me and will remain there for 28 hours, when it slowly releasing medicine tomorrow. This goop is designed to elevate the white blood cell count to prevent infections. It is made from an extract of e-coli!?

Speaking of head-scratching information: My new anti-nausea medication says “It is used to treat anxiety…upset stomach and throwing up..(and) to treat schizophrenia. It may be given to you for other reasons.” Like what, fleas, knobby knees and hiccups in threes? Who said that?

I’m going in this morning for the second round of chemotherapy. It should be an all-day affair. I have my choice of days to do this but they recommend Fridays so I can rest and recover over the weekend.

Three weeks has passed since the first dose. And, almost to the day, most of my hair has fallen out. It’s as if the hair has died and gradually broken off. Today I look like a cancer victim: patches of hair randomly cling on but are slowly surrendering. I’ve never seen my scalp before. It’s kind of shiny and itchy and feels nude.

I’m nervous about this treatment because the first time I felt strong and healthy. Now I am weaker. I’m assuming I’ll feel the cumulative effects of the various toxins later today.

Good news is, after today, I am half way into the four-dose program. Each one will be three weeks apart.

The day before yesterday I got a second echocardiogram. The first one was two weeks ago in the ER because of high blood pressure. But this one was ordered by the oncologist and was more area-specific. They measured the size of my heart, volume of blood flow, strength of the pumps, direction of flow, and so much more. They want to make sure the chemo does not damage one of the aortas so they’ll be tracking all these stats in the coming months.

Good news: I did not eat cookies, so I did not toss them.

I’ve heard and read stories of chemotherapy reactions; Nausea, vomiting, pain, seizures, fever and more. But none of them happened…yet.

Today’s massive regimen of medicines were designed to avert those issues and still kill the cancer cells. It started by swallowing two pills that interfere with the vomiting signals for 5 days. Add two Tylenol. Then along came this massive hypodermic needle piercing my abdomen to stop nausea.

The first bag of liquid rinsed the IV port and line, then on with the meds: Five of them. The component package is called R-CHOP. Each letter of the acronym represents a different medicine. The first bag that took about four hours tested my ability to tolerate the others. Nurses said the first hour is when the patient would react negatively. It started off at a weak strength and increased by 50 cc’s every ½ hour. Mid way I started to develop a mild allergic reaction: Sore throat and itchy inner ears that felt exactly like hay fever. But they unplugged it, gave me something to counteract the reaction, pumped some saline, then continued at a lower strength, eventually draining the bag with no more issues.

Then came the “red devil”. This raspberry Jello-looking goop was too thick to drip through the lines so they “pushed” it with this wide plastic syringe into the IV lines. Finally, other pouches of clear liquids concluded the day.

I had a normal hunger and thirst all day although I felt groggy. Volunteers wandered through the treatment room offering snacks, drinks and warm blankets. The chair was a comfortable recliner and I was instructed to bring along any food, book, or entertainment device. I slept on and off.

The treatment took 9 hours. We opened and closed the joint.

On the way home we picked up a prescription to prevent nausea and Prednisone. Doctor says it will make me energetic, hungry, sleepless and in five days I will crash.

To play it safe I’m enjoying oatmeal for dinner.

Six hours into a 9 hour treatment. Note to self: When you tell the nurse “I feel a little funny”, three of them will suddenly surround your chair, disconnect the chemo, hit you with a shot of Benadryl and a steroid. The itchy throat immediately vanished. Then some saline for a break and back to the bag.