Top Four Tips for Getting Through Chemotherapy without Puking, Straining or uh, Letting Loose

The below four tips were compiled by me, culled from various online, paper, and even medical sources. I have tested them myself and so far, have had great success keeping the worst of the chemo side-effects at bay.

Except that pesky baldness thing.

It could be that I'm lucky - but I do believe it has to do with the tips below so I'll share them with you. If they help, please let me know. If you have your own tip, feel free to add it in the comments.

Tip Number 1. Water, water, water.

I bought a 64 ounce Brita Pitcher and drank a full one every day, beginning the day before chemo, the day of, and the day after. I did that, not for the super-healthy pure filtered water, but so my ADD self can keep track of my water intake. If I left it up to me and the faucet I'd have no idea what I drank, but I would wonder why there were glasses all over the house.

Keeping track, I know how much I drank ... and wonder why there are glasses all over the house.

Chemo meds are filtered by the liver and excreted by the kidneys. Flushing your body will help remove the toxins faster, will help aid in digestion (meaning keeping you regular), and will keep your skin from drying out too much.

Oh, and an added bonus - lots of water makes your veins plump, so if you are trying to avoid a port, this might help your nurses give you a nice stick.

Don't like water? I heard a chemo patient say that. Think of it this way - if you are going to have to visit your bathroom during chemo, wouldn't you rather it be for aggressive water consumption rather than puking, straining, or the runs? (Or all three?)  And, Aqua Delight has a clean, fresh flavor and helps cut through metallic taste.  You have nothing to lose by ordering it.



Tip Number 2. Fiber, fiber, fiber.

I begin a high fiber diet the day before chemo. Since the medication kills off your fastest-growing cells, including ones in your digestive tract, common side effects are either explosive diarrhea, the kind of constipation that requires a Lamaze coach, or, horrifyingly, both. Most people assume nausea is the worst part of chemo - nope, it's actually what goes on at the other end. A high fiber diet can prevent both conditions. It's worked for me.

Don't wait to start - I begin it the day before chemo. Here is a list of foods that I typically eat during chemo week:

Breakfast:
All-Bran cereal mixed with Total Whole Grain
Pear

Snack:
Pro-biotic yogurt
almonds

Lunch:
Progresso bean soup (split pea, lentil, etc.)
Whole grain toast
Carrot or celery sticks

Snack:
Dried apricots or prunes or Trader Joes Dried Fruit Fiberful bar.
Raspberries

Dinner:
Since I cook for my family, I do a normal dinner consisting of:
Meat,
Starch
Vegetable

I do a brown rice or sweet potato as the starch and load up on the veggies for me. Artichokes are a very high fiber veggie.

Dessert. I've never been a sweets person, but I do have a cup of hot tea and two Metamucil cookies. They come in apple and cinnamon and sugar.

I eat like this for a week to ten days after chemo, or until I'm sure my digestive system is functioning normally.

Okay, I know what you're thinking. You'd rather have your cancer kill you than eat a taste-free diet such as this. Well, good news! You won't be able to taste anything anyway, so it doesn't matter much what you eat. Might as well eat to alleviate symptoms cuz you sure as heckfire aren't going to be able to eat for enjoyment. Nothing says you can't have a cupcake or cookie or something too, if that's the way you swing. But, you really want the bulk of your diet during chemo to be, uh, bulk.

Tip Number 3. Medicine, Medicine, Medicine

I do not deny myself a prescription med at any time. Long time friends will smile knowingly. I grew up in the 70s, what can I say? Better living, and all that.

I was given Compazine and Ativan for nausea. If I even dream I'm getting nauseous, I pop a pill. If I see somebody on TV wretching, down goes a Compazine. I take the Ativan at bed just in case I wake up feeling queasy, you never know.

I learned after surgery that it is a lot harder to control pain or nausea once it starts than to prevent it in the first place. So, no waiting on the meds. No being brave. No saying, "Oh, it's only a little queasiness, I can take it."

No, don't take it. Be a wimp and slam the drugs. You get no points for bringing yourself to the point of a three hour puke. You probably won't need them after five or six days anyway - if that long.

Tip number 4: Mouth Care.

Chemotherapy also kills off the fast-growing cells inside your mouth. To prevent mouth sores, it's time to listen to your dentist and brush, floss and baby your teeth. I purchased biotene toothpaste and biotene mouthwash. Instead of my faithful Crest or Pepsodent or whatever is on sale for a buck with a coupon, I'm using expensive toothpaste. Brush often, brush well, and floss.

And, here is the important thing: bathrooms are dirty, dirty places. I bought myself a toothbrush sanitizer Overkill? I think not. Was it Mythbusters where they showed the toilet flush and the germs going on everything in the bathroom, from toothbrush to soap? Maybe it was Time Warp. I can't remember but I do recall that it was truly disgusting, and when I found out chemo patients are supposed to close the toilet lid before they flush to prevent that e-coli backspray, it brought that horror story back. Even more horrifying, I live with all males and realized that closing the lid wasn't going to happen.

So, my toothbrush is sanitized after each use. E-coli and chemo just weren't made for each other.

And, I've not had a sore.

There is also a new product on the market called Luvionex Dental Gel which is supposed to break the bond between plaque and your teeth.  Keeping your teeth clean needs to be a priority for a while.

Those are my top four tips for getting through chemo but as always, your mileage may vary. I take taxotere and carboplatin. There are 30 other types of chemo drugs out there. What works for me and my chemo may not work for you and yours. What I do know, is that I have had a much easier time with my chemo than others who are on the exact same regimen as me and who are not doing the above. Take from that what you will.

But what if those tips don't work? Should you have anything on hand, just in case?

I do.

Senekot is a gentle laxative. At the first sign of blockage, take one. I hear the longer you wait, the worse it gets. I know a poor soul who had to be disemboweled, er, I mean, disimpacted at the hospital.

By nurses.

Based on my last experience with nursing care - that is is one medical procedure I think I'll skip.

On the other end of the spectrum, you should keep some immodium around. Again, start taking it at the first signs you need it.

Heartburn can be a very common problem. I had minor heartburn my first round of chemo but made the mistake of buying Prilosec that takes a week to start work. You may want to have Tagamet instead. It works immediately. Fortunately, I've not needed it this round.

Claritin is supposed to be good when getting your neulasta/neupogen injection. Since I have not had that shot yet, I don't know if it helps or not.

(For those who don't know, when your white counts get down too low and you can't fight off any infection or receive chemo, they give you an injection that builds your white cells.) Side effects from this one are serious bone pain and claritin is supposed to help you with that, indicating it might be an allergic reaction.

Few get out of chemo without a white cell booster and I may get one next week, so I'll report back.

I guess I should mention exercise. This is one I don't participate in myself. But, I hear it's good for you. I hear it can give you energy when you start to get tired.

I'll leave that one for you to decide.

Me? I have a book waiting.


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Day 19 after Chemo - Hair falling like snowflakes

Somethings are hard to describe. So, with all this new-fangled technology we have, I thought I'd show you instead.

Be warned: the ending of Survivor 19 is mentioned in my video. If you haven't seen it yet - please don't watch:





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My First Chemo Session

At 2:15, I walked into the oncologist's office and was taken back to the infusion room. It looked like a large storage room, filled with a bunch of old gray lazy-boy reclining chairs up against the walls all covered with a mixture of old, donated blankets that I don't want to think about too long. There were a couple of grey wigs stuck in a corner that I presumed were loaners as well - and those I really don't want to dwell upon. There were poles for IVs near each chair, with a big open yellow waste bucket between them.

Here is what was in the bucket:



Looks like Vincent was the patient right before me.

I was one of the first to arrive for that session and was waved over to chose my chair. Because I was sporting a cold, I decided to take the furthest one away - the last thing I want to do is make anybody sick. From my vantage point, I had a full view of the room, and was surprised to see, as it filled up with those of us who got The Cancer, that I was, by far, the youngest person there. By at least 20 years.

It's been a long, long time since I was the kid in the room.

My nurse came to start my IV and she was not happy to discover that I was to have a 90 minute herceptin loading dose. Oh, she was nice enough about it, but I could see that she was mentally rearranging her schedule. The long loading dose meant I'd be doing herceptin until 4:00, and still had the pre-meds and the carboplatin and taxotere to go. Most people have told me that it takes five or six hours for your first chemo infusion so I was surprised that they had scheduled me for a 2 1/2 hour session. Now I know why: mistake.

Herceptin went in and I sat there, playing with my iPhone, chatting with my husband who had come to keep me company. No side effects from it, not even the herceptin headache that I feared.

I spent some time watching the other patients. Most of them were querulous and complaining old people, asking for lots of special favors and needing pillows propped and wanting medication samples and detailing every ache and pain. The nurses were pretty patient with all the whining - I wasn't. I had to put my headphones in to drown it out.

Nurse: another job I'm not cut out for.

One woman, who seemed to me to be pretty clearly dying, had come from over 100 miles away, just for saline. Her son had driven her, and she had to come back for chemo the next day. I wondered why she had to go so far. Seems very sad that a woman who probably had just weeks left to live had to drive 100 miles each way to get her treatment,especially since there happen to be hospitals where she lives. But, how many cancer patients do I know - maybe she wasn't dying? She complained a lot too: how long the infusion was taking, how long the drive had been, how it was taking too long to get treated - which only made me want to never take off my headphones. I'm an evil person for being annoyed by a probably dying woman's complaints. I smiled at her a lot to make up for it.

At at little after 4:00, the herceptin was done. I got up to hit the restroom, dragging my rolling pole with me. All the elderly in the room smiled up at me like I was a curly-haired and precocious 3 year old in ruffled panties and a sun dress. Honestly, this chemo thing is good for the ego.

Time for the pre-meds; the steroid that is going to give me the energy to clean my house and an anti-nausea med called Aloxi, and then the chemo. As the nurse hung the bags on my pole, the 90 year old man next to me started making jokes about how I was getting more than anybody else and should share. I was joking back - until his wife of 69 years told me he couldn't hear me. So, I just smiled at him from then on.



Taxotere went in first. I got a metallic taste in my mouth but no other side effects. I sucked on mints to help with the taste and read a funny book a friend had sent, which was very helpful in taking my mind off this weird situation I found myself in.

At about 5:30, it was time for the Carboplatin. Obviously, the nurse was going to have to do her overtime, but I'm very thankful that she was not complaining about it. I had fears that she would open that drip up all the way to get home on time, but she remained professional. And, good thing, as I did have hot flashes with the carboplatin, and the drip had to remain low most of the time. At 6:45, I was the last person there.



The janitor had showed up, most of the nurses had left. My nurse and one other were working on a new computer program, and each time I looked up at my drip, it still seemed to still be halfway through.

My husband and I agreed that next time she checked on me we were going to ask for it to be opened a bit wider. Hot flashes be damned - it was time to get out of there and eat!

We did, she did, I ignored the heat and we were done by 7:30.

The worst part of the whole thing was when she ripped the bandage holding my IV in and ripped off the hair on my arm. I joked at at least I wouldn't have hair next time, and she seriously said, "Oh no, not everybody loses their arm hair, it seems to be the last to go."

What?! Are you telling me I'm going to lose my head hair, my nose hair, my eyebrows and lashes - and still have monkey arm hair?

How cruel is this disease, anyway?

Life is seriously not fair.


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I have a confession

Seinfeld fans will know what I mean when I say I'm an anti-dentite. I know, I know, go ahead and call me a bigot. But, if you'd had the same tortures inflicted on you by those in the dental profession that I have had, you'd be one too.

Remember Steve Martin in Little Shop of Horrors? He was my first dentist. For years, I walked around with one of those horrifying looking and extremely painful headgear creations that are sadistically rooted into your skull.  To this day, I can feel the pain from that piece of tormenting architecture - long after I've forgotten the pain of childbirth.

And, no dentist since the first has been any better. In fact, one married and then cheated on one of my loved ones.  No surprise there, considering they have evil in their souls.

Despite my last DDS (Demonic Dental Sadist) who believed digging into vulnerable nerve endings and sensitive teeth while your sinuses are clogged and your throat is closed  is the height of enjoyment, I still went. I'm a responsible adult, after all.   Not every six months, like they request in order to get your insurance money keep your teeth healthy, but I did go yearly.

And, without valium, I might add.  Not that I didn't try to get some.

My final straw with these demons from hell was when I needed a root canal and my wisdom teeth out.  I showed up on time and was delighted that this time I would be put under anesthesia.  Finally!  A dental experience I could enjoy.

I woke up after the procedure, only to be told there had been a complication, and that my sinus had been punctured.  I got an immediate sinus infection, and a few days later began to cough.  And cough.  And cough some more.  I ended up in the hospital with bacterial pneumonia.  I was hospitalized for a week, on an antibiotic IV drip. I had a collapsed lung and an infection so bad it had spread to my kidneys and bladder.  Naturally, it was caused by dental treatment .  The infected tooth and punctured sinus leaked bacteria bugs down into my lungs and almost killed me.

And, if you think Steve Martin didn't get a thrill out of that, you need to think again.

So, I gave up.  I stopped going.  I ignored dentists.  I flossed, I bought fancy expensive electric toothbrushes.  I did everything I was supposed to, but go to a dentist.  Two years went by.  Three.  I began to realize that this probably wasn't smart, so I'd make an appointment.

And cancel.

By now, I had a full-fledged phobia. 

Guess what I found out?  If you have chemotherapy with gum disease and bad teeth, it can make you sick.  Those bacteria that just slowly eat away at your gums until your teeth drop out when you are 70 can actually kill you when you have no immune system.

So, today, I called the devil.  I found a "sedation dentist" and explained I'll be facing chemo in November and need to get everything done at once.  They fit me in for October 1st. I guess I'll do a little whitening too, as my reward for undergoing horrendous torture.    If I'm going to lose my hair,  I should at least have white teeth.

I'm way more nervous about this than anything else.

Cancer sucks.  It made me go to the dentist.