Greetings from another week of chemo ass-kicking.
This time, we got the nausea under control. Incredible win.
(It only took 10 billion meds—by which I mean four different kinds of pharmaceuticals, dosed out as prevention instead of response. But look—you have to eat. You have to. So you do whatever it takes.)
But the fatigue is unreal—especially on day five of my cycle, when I could hardly sit up. This is also the day I dropped nearly all the meds, so there may be some tapering that can be done here to better support my poor nervous system. I hope so, because it is really hard mentally to feel that bad.
Like, bring-me-to-tears hard.
And honestly, it’s scary to feel things you’ve never felt before.
This cycle, I unlocked some new symptoms too: mild cold sensitivity and tingling/numbness—which was fun for about a day and now is just… alarming. (But also expected.)
Note: the tingling and numbness is ok if it’s tied to cold sensitivity. It’s not ok if it’s early-onset neuropathy. I’ll address this with my oncologist before the next round, as I am a big fan of fine motor skills.
When I met with my oncologist this past Tuesday, he gave me the best news—and some bummer news I had forgotten about.
Best News?
My GI symptoms have decreased to the point that I am CLEARED TO GO BACK TO EATING REAL FOOD!
Technically I could eat real food before, but now I can eat real real food—like fiber, kale, blueberries, nuts, Banza pasta, sweet potatoes, protein granola, brown rice, almond flour cookies… and I am so excited. Hopefully this will help my energy and overall sense of “well-being”—whatever “well-being” means these days.
Caveat: you actually have to be really mindful about how you layer all this in. I know this from my work with O2X and am very glad I do, because reintroducing fiber too quickly can cause pain—and frankly, low-key danger in my case—especially while transitioning out of an anti-nausea diet.
So yes, the second I was “plugged in” for infusion this week, I was texting my girl MP from O2X—a registered dietitian nutritionist—for pro tips on which kinds of fiber to introduce first, and how fast, given everything else going on. I’m really lucky to have access to resources like her.
(For what it’s worth, there’s also an oncology dietitian on site at Schar—and yes, I’ve met with her. I brought my nutritionist best friend to that meeting for a second opinion because… of course I did.
Of course, after infusion day I still had to ride out several more days of anti-nausea foods—aka eat whatever you can to get calories in—but I am happy to report that as of this morning, I have eaten a piece of whole grain bread for the first time in three and a half weeks.
As My Unlikely Friend said, “I love how you bring your own specialist to the specialist.”)
(Shoutout to my friend Sarah, who told me she thinks of me every time she sees white bread now. Gross.)
Bummer News
The not-so-awesome news my oncologist reminded me of: after this surgery, I will very likely have to do another six rounds of chemo.
But—my understanding is those rounds may not include oxaliplatin, which is sort of the bitch of the FOLFOX chemotherapy regimen cocktail. So… small win?
How I forgot about this step in the process, I truly do not know.
Nerd note: If you’re into the details, my rectal cancer treatment plan is based on the PROSPECT Trial.
Getting another six rounds is a bummer for sure—but not a huge disruption, since I’ll already be going back to Schar for Herceptin infusions through March 2027 anyway. (Herceptin is part of the breast cancer regimen. Remember that cancer? My breast oncologist came to meet me during my infusion this week to check in, and let me tell you—it is very weird for everyone in the room to know that a fucking breast cancer oncologist is now on the “back burner.”)
Fucking First Times
Infusion day itself went much more smoothly this time. No pauses, no interruptions—my body held on.
Looks like, as Brené Brown puts it, the “fucking first time” has passed.
(Not that I’d ever want to be a pro at something like this… but I’ll take any win.)
Closing Note
A little anecdote to close—for those who know me well:
I took all the info about anti-nausea meds and planning—from my oncologist, two NPs, one PA, not-a-doctor-ChatGPT, and my own lived experience—and wrote out a six-day dosing plan.
Then I handed it to my oncologist.
I said, “Dr. C, here’s the plan I came up with.”
He looked down and said,
“Yes. Just remove the question mark from the second Zofran and take Olanzapine every night until we’re done,”
and handed me back my notebook.
Not-my-therapist-ChatGPT called this move “co-collaboration,” which made me laugh—because when have I ever operated any other way?
That’s about all we’ve got for this update.
Only thing to do is keep moving forward—
one day at a time,
one hour at a time,
one 15-minute fucking block at a time.
Oh—and nap.
