"Three down, nine to go. Are you serious?"

**Amended/corrected 1-27-14.

Blegh. That's all I can really say about my third chemo treatment. Blegh because I received my first dose of ... *dun dun dun* ... AVASTIN.
Oh, dear Avastin, I don't think I like you. I know that you're strong and that you're going to kill the cancer inside me. I'm appreciative of your mission, I really am. But did you have to mess up my hands and my feet?

**This is actually a side effect from my 5FU. It's too strong, and I need to have the dosing reduced.

Hand-foot Syndrome, courtesy of 5FU.

Did you have to cause me abdominal pain that took my breath away and fatigue so intense that it hurt? Did you have to bring on waves of nausea so brutal they made me panic? Did you have to coat my tongue, mouth, and throat with white fur? That fur makes swallowing a less than spectacular task, I must say.

**I'm thinking all of these side effects are really from Avastin, especially the pain and unbearable boughts of nausea.

Mouth fur - awesome!

Along with my first taste of Avastin, I had my first encounter with a unsavory individual at the infusion lab. Enter *Jim (*not his real name). Loud, rude, obnoxious, inconsiderate ... those are the best adjectives to describe this man. He came in the lab awhile after I did and, of course, he chose a chair across from mine. After threatening to "clock" the nurse administering his IV if she hurt him, he didn't waste a moment in finding someone to talk at. The young kid to my left only had to answer one question and Jim was quickly on a roll. My poor mom and I learned all about Jim's family; his kids moving out of the house, his wife moaning because she had to go back to work, and his "400" guns. We also heard about Jim's Crones Disease. After listening to him describe his "bloody bowel movements" for over an hour, I was seriously beside myself. I declined an additional bag of saline just to get away from him. My mom went down to get the car, and as I slowly put my coat on, he looked up at me and loudly said, "Well you didn't handle yourself very well today, did you?"
I glared at him. I couldn't let the words cocked on my furry tongue from shooting from my mouth.
He shifted in his chair. "My and Jackson there, we've got Crones Disease and we handled our treatment okay."
I couldn't help myself. I pinched the verbal hammer. "Well, I have terminal cancer." My scowl grew angry with my tone. "So, stick it."
I turned and walked out, leaving Jim, his tall-tales, and Jackson in the infusion room to deal with my retort.

This is what Jim looked like, I kid you not. 

Even with all the new and intensified side effects that I've dealt with after my third treatment, I'm counting myself very blessed. I'm lucky that I get to have treatment, yes the 5FU, Avastin, and Neulasta included. I'm thankful that my body is healthy enough to withstand chemo at all.
Even more so, I'm blessed to have my mom with me during all my treatments. She has been so strong and I honestly don't know if I could do this without her. I'm equally blessed to have my husband, kids, best friend M, mother-in-law, siblings, and close friends supporting me when I'm at home recovering. Some cancer patients don't have a support system like I have. Some don't have good insurance or they aren't healthy enough for treatment. I remind myself of these facts every time I get discouraged.
And just to set the record straight ... I don't think that my cancer is "terminal". I just use that word when I mess with people that say stupid things to me. Really when you think of it, every human is "terminal". No one lives forever.
And since I can't end a blog post on that note, I'm going to post one of my favorite quotes:
"In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years." ~Abraham Lincoln.

Carry on,
~K