Our cohort of 8 patients has been divided into two groups of 4, group 1 and group 2. I am in group 2. Group 1 is a day ahead of us in their chemo treatment, so they completed the first dose yesterday and the second dose this morning. This means we get to watch what’s coming. One member of their group is having a difficult time, but everyone else seems to be doing okay.
I spoke with many people before I left about my intention during treatment to do meditation, at least at the beginning of each treatment day, visualizing the cells in my body that will be removed by the chemotherapy and holding them with gratitude, acknowledging how they have always been trying to do their best for me. I also had the intention of visualizing the molecules of the chemotherapy coming in as an ally and welcoming them, also with gratitude. When my sister went through chemotherapy many years ago, she chose to not think of her chemotherapy as poison but instead as a friend, a team member, an ally. That has stuck with me all this time and has inspired me.
I entered the chemotherapy room with all the objects I had been given, on my body, touching me in some way. I brought my eye cover and my headphones, and I found a Pandora yoga channel with peaceful background music. I queued up the channel, put my earbuds in, pressed play and pulled my eye cover down.
What happened in that hour that I spent meditating was beautiful and profound, unplanned and unexpected. As I started visualizing the cells in my blood it became a dance of sorts where the chemotherapy cells would meet with the blood cells, bow in honor and blessing, then pick them up in their arms to carry them where they needed to go. It was stunning.
At some point the objects that were on my body, connected to the people who had touched them and infused them with intention, seemed to evoke all of you. Into my bloodstream came the people that I love, so clear and vivid. Small faces and bodies started to help the chemotherapy drugs with their work of bowing, honoring, and carrying off. They seemed to be there with giddy joy and playfulness. Next, these mini spirits chose to travel to the lesions in my brain and work to clean them or prepare them for healing. I literally pictured them with spray bottles and cloth wiping down the edges, sending them care and love to be ready for what’s to come.
I was in tears under my eye cover and so full of gratitude for each and every one of you out there supporting me. I named everyone in my thoughts and saw your faces.
After, we went out for dinner on the roof deck together as a group and shared a lot of getting to know you stories. So far, I am not having side effects, but we are on heavy duty prophylactic medication. Some people from group 1 reported having some nausea in the night but not too bad. I’ve had a couple of hot flashes, but heck I’m used to that.
Tonight’s sunset
Fingers crossed that the night goes smoothly. We get up early for round 2 at 8 AM tomorrow.
Given that we were on a redeye flight, the travel went pretty smoothly. Because I need wheelchair service to get through the airport, we are moved to the front of all lines and whisked through checkpoints. It is a nice perk, but it is also a very strange giving over autonomy to someone I don’t know as they push me through the airport at their speed and cadence.
The 4.5-hour flight was unremarkable with little sleep for either of us. When we arrived in Mexico City, the throng of people waiting to move through customs, even though it was before 5 AM, was like being in a massive music festival with bodies pushed together so tightly there was no room to move and no clear lines. I was pushed through the crowd at my waist-height view while my chariot driver muttered repeated “excuse me”s to people to part the sea. While others were likely in line for a several hours wait, we were steered through customs and to our waiting clinic connection in under 15 minutes.
Our guide at this point, Lorenzo, gave us new masks and handed us plastic face shields to keep us protected for our van ride. He proceeded to spray sanitize our luggage and helped us into our van for the 2-hour drive to the clinic. It was now 5:15 AM.
Layers of Covid protection
I slept most of the ride, but the extreme bumps and jolts kept my mom awake. We arrived at the clinic a little after 7 AM and were smoothly ushered into our apartment where we learned we would have to stay until the following day when we would have our Covid tests.
We now had a full day-and-a-half in our nice, but small, apartment to get settled in. The apartment is very clinical. The surfaces are hard and easy to clean. The tones are browns and grays. Both bedrooms have windows that don’t open for airflow, a precaution to keep me safe from infection.
Our room numberMom’s bedroom
BathroomView from our windowMy bedroom
We were both exhausted and there are a lot of technology and systems to get coordinated once you arrive. We were handed a cell phone which has all the details of scheduling, treatment information, and communication with the staff and logistics of the building. We needed to learn how to connect with the kitchen for our meals, how to connect with our driving team, how to connect our phones to the television for video presentations and zoom meetings, how to get the TV working at all for the many times we will need to watch Netflix, and overall acclamation to our new home for the next month.
Whenever you have a question you send a note through the phone app they provided, and someone very quickly arrives at your door to help you solve the problem. Masks off, knock on the door, masks on, problem solved, masks off, knock on the door, masks on, and so on through the day.
We ordered breakfast, and then went to sleep for a few hours. When we awoke more technology and systems acclamation until dinner. We knew there was a roof deck on the building, but we were captive in our apartment until we knew we were Covid free. We watched the sunset from our windows, watched some comedy on Netflix, and went to bed. However, right before I went to sleep, I noticed that they had populated my schedule for the whole 28 days and I started looking to see what was ahead of me.
My schedule for the month of February
I clicked on the schedule for Wednesday, February 2 and saw that that would be my first day of chemotherapy. It felt shocking, a thump in my chest. I had it in my head I would start chemotherapy on Thursday and having it one day closer was challenging to integrate. That is the day when this process really starts. That is the day of no return. That is the day when things start to change.
Chemo day schedule
I also saw that the day I will have my stem cells reintroduced to my body, what is known as my “stem cell birthday” or “day zero”, will be February 14. One of my fellow patients had noticed a building across from us that lights up at night with a heart. There seems to be a gentle, loving, theme emerging to this journey. At least I’m choosing to see it that way.
The next morning, our Covid tests were at 7:45 AM, along with nurses who came in to take a bunch of blood from me. We were told our Covid results would not be available until around 1 PM and we needed to continue to stay in our apartment until then. We were aching for fresh air and more space. We had YouTube videos to watch introducing us to the treatment, but no other distractions to mitigate our agitation and boredom.
At a little before 1 PM we got the notification that we, and all our cohort, were Covid clear. I looked at mom and said, “let’s go to the roof!”. We put on our shoes and our masks and raced up to the roof shouting with glee to the staff we passed on our way, “we are free!”
Roof DeckView from the roof deck at sunset
We were the first to emerge onto the roof, but very quickly after that others emerged with celebratory fist pumps and words of greeting. We then went to our first meal outside of our apartment and then off to have a chest x-ray.
I spent the rest of the evening in our apartment resting (not a lot of sleep the night before) and mom spent her afternoon/evening drawing on the roof deck.
That brings us to today, Tuesday. It started with breakfast and a lumbar MRI. I don’t have another appointment until this evening where they will do a cardiac evaluation and lung function tests. We have been hanging out on the roof, I’ve been writing, and the staff here put on a game of bingo on the roof deck for those of us who were not starting chemotherapy today.
Bingo with MonikaBingo winner
Tomorrow will be a whole series of consultations with neurology, hematology, and a Zoom meeting to prepare us for the chemotherapy that starts at 1 PM. Those are big words to write. As I mentioned above, that is when it starts. That is when it gets real. I am taking all the well wishes, love infused objects, and memories of people and place with me as ballast.
