Day one went as well as can be expected. The process itself was longer for the first time, they push everything slower to not assault the body and to gauge for reactions. I went with my mom, and it was super quiet in the large Infusion Room for most of the morning. I was sharing naughty Facebook jokes with my mom and the nurse Jill, confident that we weren’t bothering any other patients.It was quiet enough that I could hear the music from the nurse’s station, which for a long stretch was Fleetwood Mac “Rumours”. I watched the fog lift over the trees, revealing a slight rise of hills to break up the horizon a little. It was nice. They brought me a heated blanket, had sucking candies aplenty, and a recliner to relax in. I had 7 different bags go in: 1 steroid, 2 anti-nausea, the 2 “biotherapy” drugs, and the 2 genuine chemotherapy drugs: progressively intense. I waited for bad feelings. My memory of the chemo drugs were that they’d sort of seep throughout and make you feel weird or bad from the get-go. It didn’t quite happen. I could sort of sense a larger travel, a little tingle in my legs more than the others, but it was fine. At one point I closed my eyes to just relax, and I had really lovely patterns playing behind my eyes. They morphed between different inspirations: either from the pillow shopping my mom and I are constantly on the hunt for, or a glimpse inside the Meditation Pack from Brandi. It was nice. By the time John arrived to bring me lunch, and my mom went home to hang with Tess, the room filled up more and it was less chatty. So he and I both read to ourselves, waiting it out pleasantly enough.

I looked a little sallow and flushed after, and came home to do nothing more than lie on my bed and watch TV. Nice dinner and visit with Susan, early to bed without the icky restless leg sensation from the steroid the night before. I was up for several hours in the night unable to sleep, but it’s not so unusual for me anyway. I’m up now, drinking coffee (?!?) and feeling tired. Beyond that, no other symptoms have emerged. I have to return to the Room on Sunday morning for the Neuplasta shot that is immune boosting, and I hear it’s harsh with bone pain and fatigue, so there is more to come. I will be watching for delayed nausea, and a host of other typical symptoms that may emerge between days 4 and 10. That’s supposed to be nadir, when the immune system and blood counts are at their lowest. So we are on the watch for the next 10-12 days, and tracking what comes and goes when so I can start making a plan for regular life: the new normal.