Waiting...

There is a good amount of waiting when one has any type of cancer. Waiting for a parking spot, waiting for the doctor, waiting for test results, waiting for lab work, waiting for your energy to come back up, waiting for surgery and so on and so on.
Like most, I hate waiting. Waiting means you have all this dead time to think about what's going to happen and what has already happened. You have time to reflect on your life and the choices you've made. You have time to think about what would happen to your children if you weren't here anymore. You have time to wonder if you really have it in you to fight this dreaded disease. You have to time to dwell when you should be being positive.

"Ms. Jones, follow me please," the nurse said.
With her clipboard in her hand, she instructed me to put my purse down and stand on the scale. Next, I was instructed to take a seat where she put a cuff on me to take my blood pressure.
Oh my god, the blood pressure cuffs. I don't know about the rest of you, but the electronic ones are so tight. When I was done, I had red verticle streaks on my arm.
"Are there any medications you're on?" She asked. At that time the answer was no.
Since this was my first appointment my aunt and my husband were with me for moral support and to ask and record questions.
We followed the nurse into the examining room. Again, I was instructed to undress from the top up, something I was used to it at this point. I suppose one positive was that the gown wasn't paper. My aunt and husband waited outside the room while I changed, and then we waited.
My aunt and husband decided to make idle chit chat. You know the, "How's the weather" conversations and "how are the kids." Noone really talked about what was truly on their mind. How bad is Leslie's breast cancer? What happens next? Are you scared?
Honestly, I really can't tell you what was said in the exam room. I remember Dr. Sharma feeling my breasts and measuring the tumor.
Once she was done with that I changed back into my clothes and then we were brought into a conference area where Dr. Sharma came in with her resident.
I was so scared to hear that I had stage IV breast cancer. All I truly remember from that day was that my husband held my hand and I was trying to fight back tears. I knew I would have to undergo chemotherapy and I was terrified of what it would do to me, my children, my marriage.
I managed to get through that though. I'm not exactly sure how though.
The following day my husband and I met with my chemotherapy nurse, Evyonne. She was my guide through all of this, to answer questions, to help me emotionally, and be my support. She presented me with a big red notebook which contains information on your cancer journey.
She then gave us a tour of where I would be going for my treatments.
"When you first get here, we will need lab work," Yvonne said.
On the second floor of Westwood Cancer Center, there is a very large waiting area filled with people waiting to be seen by doctors or lab technicians.
We then proceded to the third floor where the actual chemotherapy would be given. The chemotherapy is made on site by the pharmacy and then double checked by the nurse who will be assigned to you for however long you're going to be there that day. They always ask you for your name and date of birth, they also double check that with the iv bag and ask you the name of the chemotherapy poison you will be given.
We walked down a long hallway and then approached several cubicles. Each cubicle had a reclining vinyl chair and a television. If you're lucky, you can request a window view and sometimes you'll get it.
After the tour, Yvonne sat down myself and my husband and started to go through the big, red, three-ring binder. She gave me handouts on the chemo drug I would be receiving and the side effects. She explained how many cycles I would be receiving, how I may be feeling afterwards, and all the other junk I can't remember now.
I suppose I was still in shock. Most of what she said went in one ear and out the other. I suppose I remembered most of it since I was able to share it with you a year later, but I was just still in such disbelief. This was really happening to me. How was I going to get through this by myself? All those questions I asked in the beginning of this blog, I was still asking.