Hello! I want to say THANK YOU to all of you who have sent supportive messages to my husband and me. I do read them all. I'm very lucky to have the support that I do.

I know that just about everyone has someone special to them who has experienced cancer, and some of you have experienced it personally. I watched my Dad die of lymphoma 16 years ago - absolutely heartbreaking.  But the way I see it, mine is not a sad story. My cancer is in a part of my body that is not a vital organ. These breasts did their job and fed my two kids and they're done now. At this point they're just ornamental. I have no emotional attachment to either one. It's like a relationship gone bad, time to cut it loose and don't look back. I feel absolutely certain that I will be cured once all this is done. And I will go on with my life like normal. I will someday be a Grandmother (the cool one), I will retire to someplace warm with Husband (yes, he knows), and we will live happily ever after. This, right now, is a road bump. Well, ok, it's more like a massive pot hole, but it's still ok. 

Going for the first treatment 2 days ago, I felt no dread whatsoever. I was actually excited, to just get this thing going, get further along the way to getting it gone from my body. Heading into Boston, there's a point along the way where the road bends, and then all of a sudden all the tall buildings come into view, rising up like sentinels, and I thought, "We're going to Oz, we're going to the Emerald City" - actually, I said it out loud to Husband, he must think I'm nuts. "Yup, we're going to see the Wizard!"

The Dana Farber Cancer Institute is my Wizard.  It's a big place, in the middle of a medical mecca. It's immediate neighbors are Brigham and Women's Hospital, Boston Children's Hospital, and Joslin Diabetes Center. Also nearby are the East and West campuses of Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital. It also happens to be a stone's throw away from Harvard Medical School. There's an energy here that I like. I went to graduate school in this area and I liked it then too, and it feels familiar to me, like coming home in some way.  But this is a brand new experience and like anything new, navigating it can be confusing. Just getting from the parking garage into the building is an achievement. But there are helpers everywhere you turn and maps all over the place, so it quickly makes this big place feel more manageable.

First stop: Check in at the lab on the 2nd floor for bloodwork.  Since this was my first appointment of the day, they printed out my itinerary (yup, like a syllabus...maybe I am at school?) and issued me my "Tracker Jacker" to keep tabs on me wherever I am in the building on the continuum of appointments that day.  (I called it that the other day because it's yellow and black and reminds me of the Hunger Games books/movies...). And they tagged me with my hospital bracelet. VERY important, that bracelet! Every person I interacted with checks that bracelet, and asks me to recite my name and date of birth. Sometimes more than once from the same person. I said to one of the nurses that yes, she better keep checking it because we cancer patients are shape shifters and you just never know....  Actually, I'm glad for all the precautions they take, and for their consistency. And for the nurse's ability to laugh with me.

Although there were more people waiting than you'd ever want to see, it didn't take long before I was called in. After the blood sample they put the I.V. in for the treatment and wrapped it up for my elevator ride to the 9th floor. Oh my God the elevator! Can I tell you how much I hate them? Especially crowded ones. And this thing was packed. Husband and I got shoved all the way to the wall at the back of it. Total silence, so creepy! I wanted to say something silly, like "Nobody fart!" and wondered why I would think such a thing, because I am loathe to any conversation about bodily functions, but then I remembered my brother Barry, who indeed would have said such a thing, and I just smiled to myself. It's the little things that get you through the day.

Up on the 9th floor I checked in, and very shortly after that I was brought in to meet my infusion nurse (Colleen, wonderful lady!) for a quick intro, height/weight check, tour of the floor, and explanation of what to expect. "After we get the all clear that your blood work checks out, it takes about a half hour for the pharmacy to mix up your infusion. We'll call you back in when it's ready." All I could see when she said that was mad scientists down in the basement somewhere with beakers and goggles and bunsen burners...until I switched it to a cocktail bar (a much better visual). 

And it didn't even take as long as that. Soon enough I was settled into my spot by a window, in a reclining chair that had heating and massage options (really!), with a warm blanket over me and Husband by my side. Everything was explained in detail by Colleen, and we were just about to get started with the first part of the infusion when along comes this nice lady who volunteers her time giving HAND MASSAGES and would I like one? Damn straight I do, sign me up. The timing was perfect - any nervousness I might have had was distracted away by the hand massage, which felt amazing. Sometime between the end of the first infusion and the start of the next came another volunteer, and she was offering acupuncture. Hmmm, sounds interesting, I've never done that. Yes, let's do it, this seems to be a full service spa, so I should partake in the whole experience, yes? Five little needles into the top of my ear, to ward off nausea. I can report I have had no nausea. Who knows if the acupuncture helped or not? Who cares. I had no nausea!

One of the things I was not expecting was the need to PEE so urgently (yup, bodily functions again, who the hell am I becoming?) - all those fluids flowing in have to go somewhere. But when you're attached to an IV that is attached to a bag that is attached to a huge metal pole, location changes aren't so simple. Managing the IV apparatus and rolling pole while walking to the rest room and all the rest of it - it's like bringing R2D2 with you, totally bizarre. I'm not in the habit of peeing in the company of R2D2 (or anyone else) so I didn't like that part so much.

The second medication infusion was took longer than the first medication. The first infusion was with a "targeted therapy" specific to the receptor that has gone awry in me, and not associated with caustic side effects. The second infusion was the nasty stuff, the stuff we all think of when we hear the word "chemo," and there are prep meds that are given just before it, which made the second infusion take longer. (Before dripping in the hard liquor, they infused an anti nausea med, an anti inflammatory, and an anti allergy med. The anti allergy med was Benadryl, and that shit made me drunk. And then I fell gloriously asleep for the rest of it.)

No more needle sticks and IV's in my arm after this though. I got some stellar advice from my sister in-law Heather who is an oncology nurse, and my old college roommate Kim who is a cardiology nurse. They both said "Get a port!" Initially I didn't think I'd need or want one. But one chemo day down and I already know my advisors were right. So next week, before treatment, I'lI start the day in the O.R. to get a port implanted. I'm going to be getting infusions for the next year, so, it will simplify things on both sides.