A Day in the Life of a Cancer Patient

Hey all!

I thought for this next post I could share with you my typical "routine" during treatment. Around this time last year, I was finishing up the last of my chemotherapy, which is crazy to think a year has already gone by. It seriously feels like only two months ago that I was dragging myself to the hospital. But, a lot of people are still unaware that I had to go through chemotherapy for three or four months straight and went to the infusion center/hospital almost every day, so let me explain what my days looked like.

My first day of chemo, almost a year and three months ago.

My chemotherapy treatment was on a three-week cycle, meaning that my three chemo drugs were administered on a specific schedule that spanned over three weeks. I then would repeat this three more times, given that my blood counts and lab work came back with clearance. A lot of three's, I know.

Often times, however, I was too sick and weak to proceed. My blood pressure refused to rise above a low reading (I'm talking 75/49) and my white blood cells or platelets were always messed up. These speed bumps from my lab work stretched out my timeline further than expected, so my nine-week treatment actually ended up being a three and a half month scramble.

Either way, the schedule generally looked like this: three infusions on Monday if blood work was fine, two infusions with fluids on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Saturday's were for blood work, and Sunday's were for coming back to get a shot of Neupogen to help increase my blood counts. Safe to say I was at the hospital for a solid 105 days straight, with most days being in the hospital from 8am-5pm. Totally not the full-time job I envisioned at this stage of my life.

My days all started out the same: I woke up feeling tired and used just about all of my energy to get my feet on the ground and my body off the bed.

I would put on the most basic clothes: yoga pants were comfortable and kept me warm, fuzzy socks were a must and a V-neck shirt was necessary for easy access to the port in my chest. A zip-up sweater was thrown on top, and eventually, a hat once my hair decided to move out. Y'all, let's be real, I could land a spot in New York Fashion Week with this look ...

Next, I would drag myself to the bathroom four feet away from my bed, and when I finished this marathon, I made sure to avoid the mirror as I brushed my teeth. My lips were constantly chapped, eyes constantly dark, skin always pale, and my body thinner than normal. It wasn't something my eyes needed to see first thing in the mornings.

By now I felt as if I was washing my face and about to crawl into bed. It felt like the day was ending when really it was just beginning.

I would then crawl down the stairs (literally scooting on my butt, on step at a time, like a child) and find a seat on the second-to-last step. I put my shoes on here and would force myself to eat a toaster waffle with syrup that my mom made me most mornings, with or without the appetite for one. During chemo, I skipped coffee altogether since I slept more than 20 hours a day.

The next part of my 'routine' was close to my least favorite: sit in rush hour traffic as the rest of the world heads to school/work and my driver and I head to the infusion center.

At the hospital, I would get dropped off close to the door while my driver parks so I don't have to walk that far. I walked slowly like a grandma and barely had the energy to make it past an eighth of a mile.

Next, I waited for my driver to come in, to which we would then check in at the front desk and wait in the infusion center's waiting room for well over an hour past our original appointment times. Oh, it was fun.

Shortly after the hour or eternity we waited, we got called back by a nurse to check my weight, which usually dropped every day. I was more so concerned about losing balance on the scale, but all was well in the end.

The separated areas in the large room we would sit in for treatment were referred to as "ponds" in this infusion center. Ironically, they were named after local lakes in the Atlanta area. My favorite was Lake Burton because the infusion nurse that manned this lake knew how to make my life better more than I think I did myself. He entertained any guest I brought and always make me crack a small smile, even when I felt like garbage and didn't want to move my face. (Still relatable today, but we'll move on.)

No matter how kind the nurse was, each pond had me answer the same 20 questions every day. This was easily the biggest nuisance of my everyday routine because I liked to focus all my energy on staying alive, not answering the same obvious questions every 24 hours. "Rate your appetite/energy, anyone outside the U.S. in past 21 days..." and then take vitals.

And then the worst part of my day: the port. First, the nurse would clean the port area on my chest with a wipe. So cold. I would close my eyes in preparation for sticking the needle through the skin of my chest and into the port sitting above my heart. Next, the real worst part. I would try to hold in my waffle as they flushed the port with saline (you taste it in your mouth in a matter of seconds). Getting nauseous thinking about it now...

For those of you who are not familiar with a port, it is a medical device placed under the skin and attached to a catheter. The catheter is threaded to a large vein above the right side of the heart. A needle is inserted through the skin, to the port, to draw blood or give drugs/IV fluids.For me, it was surgically placed in August and surgically removed in December of the same year. It was flushed (cleaned) before and after each treatment to sterilize it.

Then I sat in that chair for the next 6 hours receiving 1 of 3 chemo meds at a time and getting up every hour to pee out the fluids they give me alongside the medicine. Most of the memories I remember during treatment are waking up from the machine beeping that my chemo/med bag was empty and also waking up to wheel my tree of meds along with me to the bathroom as everyone stared at me on the walk there. I was cold, half asleep, had low strength to walk and was usually the youngest person there so I turned a lot of heads.

From there, I would wrap up my time at the hospital and mentally prepare to be back in 12 hours! My nurse would detach me from the machine, flush my port (try not to puke again), remove the needle, slap a band-aid over my chest and off we went to sit in rush hour traffic.

At home, depending on the chemo schedule/time of day/energy level, I would either go sleep until the morning, or I would sit in my living room and watch Family Feud. On any free days I had (which I had maybe less than a handful for the duration of treatment) I would watch more Family Feud (obsessed), the Packer games, or help (watch) my mom put up decorations for Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

The majority of my days were tough and the few hours a day I happened to be awake, I would hardly eat or even speak. I created my own version of sign language and most of the time no one knew what the hell I was trying to say. Chris was my translator most of the time since we're basically the same (not) person, but it worked.

I hope this gave you a little insight as to what I went through, but remember treatment is always different for everyone. Different drugs on different schedules react with different bodies and different diagnoses. I am always fascinated to hear the differences in others, so let me know your experience, too.

If you have any questions about chemotherapy, my experience, cancer or myself in general, please never hesitate to leave a comment, email me, text me or find me on social media. I am always happy to share my experience with others as I always find out people don't know that much about these topics.

Take care of yourselves,

Abi