Many friends who have responded to our news have been through cancer treatment and done well. When I heard their news, I was concerned and offered support. I was very confident, though, that they would do well. I am not nearly so confident that Joe will do well—it feels very different when it is happening to you. To all of you who endured my glib reassurances, my lack of understanding of what this feels like, I apologize.
As we got ready for Joe’s first session of chemotherapy and radiation, the day loomed large and ominous even though Joe and I knew the mechanics of what was going to happen. He would get two medications infused, then radiation treatment. He had been to both areas in Moffitt Cancer Center where these treatments would occur so we knew exactly where to go. Still, I imagined the day like a black, scary box labeled ‘Radiation’ and ‘Chemotherapy’. We slept poorly the night before.
Sometimes, it doesn’t help to be physicians. First of all, we are more comfortable being the doctors than being the patient. All the familiar things about medicine feel different when you are on the receiving end. Second, neither of us is familiar with cancer treatment. It is a rather unique type of knowledge utilizing different drugs and modalities. We had heard that cancer treatment has come a long way since we were in medical school. Then, when Joe’s oncologist told us the drugs he recommended—cisplatin and pemetrexed, a methotrexate-type drug—both Joe and I were a bit surprised.
“Those were old when I was in medical school in the early 90’s”, I said.
“Those were old when I was in medical school in the early 80’s,” Joe said.
The oncologist, Dr. Saltos, 20 years our junior, said, “We get much better results than they did then.”
Once we got to Moffitt for Joe’s first day of treatment, everything felt very ordinary. We walked by the Starbucks at the entrance and thought about coming back for coffee—we rarely do. We went through the same hallways we had been through for all of Joe’s diagnostics and planning visits, up to the Clinical Research Unit to get an IV started and blood drawn for labs. Most of Joe’s care occurs there because he is enrolled in a research study.
After a brief visit with the Physicians Assistant, we went back to the Clinical Research Unit for his chemotherapy. There he sat in a comfortable, reclining, heated massage chair for over 4 hours getting fluids, pre-medications, medications, and post medications. He and I listened to an audiobook, I started to teach him cribbage, and we snacked on cheese and fruit and other foods that the nurses provided. We had a lazy, enjoyable time. A quick visit, then, to Radiation Oncology and Joe’s first day of treatment was complete.
I felt exhausted by the time we were driving home. Joe was driving, of course. He would have to be incapacitated before he would let someone else drive. I felt impatient with him as he gets very methodical when he is tired. I thought, ‘I need some TLC because I have had a very long day’, then remembered that I wasn’t the one who had gotten the chemo and radiation. Just maybe, Joe was the one who needed some TLC.
Joe’s next chemo infusion is three weeks following this first one. He has daily radiation treatments, though, until June 16 with weekends and Memorial Day off. Now, we watch for side effects and he adjusts to the daily grind of the hour and a half round trip to Moffitt for his radiation treatments. I will go with him occasionally but am saving my time off work for later. We hope to use my time to have some fun.