When I was a child my family lived for a time in northern Maine. Once in a while little carnivals would come around. Pitched in a field on the edge of town, their amusement rides were rickety, their animals bedraggled, and their trappings slightly tatty. We loved every bit of it.

One thing I recall in particular were the “sideshow” exhibits, which are probably illegal today. They featured—invariably—the bearded lady, a two-headed boy, and pygmies with snakes. I expected, on my first day of chemotherapy for breast cancer, to feel a bit like the sideshow freak. “Step right up. See the diseased lady hooked up to the IV. Watch her dance around the room in delirium.”

Well, yesterday’s treatment wasn’t anything like that. From the start, the nurses and doctors were all fun and cracking wise. Everyone on the floor was there for the same purpose and was extremely kind. My husband, with his relaxed sense of humor, stayed with me all day. And it was a long one. We were there nearly six hours.

I did get off to a rocky start, I have to admit. When my nurse couldn’t find a good vein for the IV and had to remove it, I cried. My oncology doctor came in and asked how I was doing. “Terrible,” I told him. “I hate every bit of this, every step of the way. I still resent that this has happened to me.” My husband lightened up the mood by telling a funny story. When the treatments began we were all smiling. That’s the kind of day it was--up and down.

The actual treatments through the IV were all in clear bags and looked like gels. The slow drip began with a saline solution to flush things out. This was followed by Pepcid, to guard against acid reflux from the chemo. The next drip-drip was a mixture of steroids and sleep agent (go figure). Actually, the steroid was to reduce inflammation in the body. The sleep agent was to relax the patient for the chemotherapy drugs, which were delivered last. Along the way, the nurse explained a lot of things, gave me a two-pocket folder of information, and sent in a pharmacist to explain the raft of pills I was to take home. So far, the day after chemo, the only pill I’ve taken is Tylenol. Hooray!

I am a bit woozy, my face and neck are flushed from the steroids, and I’ve visited the bathroom a few more times than normal. I also keep looking around in a sort of paranoia. When do the other possible symptoms show up? The doctor talked about mouth sores, discoloration of skin and nails, hair loss, nausea, vomiting, rash, fever, fatigue, fluid retention, low blood cell counts, shortness of breath, poor appetite, bladder irritation and bleeding.*

I’m to use an electric razor, so as not to nick the skin and cause infection. I’m to avoid crowds and gatherings where I might catch a cold. Yet, the nurse said they don’t want me to “live in a bubble.” Ha! And happy holidays to you, too!

*Today's blog may contain more information than some want to know. I’ve included it because part of the reason for the blog is to help anyone newly diagnosed with breast cancer. One really has no idea what to expect. It is, indeed, a life changing event.