Witness me shooting myself up

(c) 2007 Helen Vogel

My cousin Helen has suggested that I consider the term "witness", as opposed to "survivor".

I like this and I think I'll use it. It speaks more to who I am. I am a witness to having cancer (kind of, because I couldn't really tell I had cancer), and I am also witness to the current trends in diagnosis and treatment (oh my word, yes!).

I'm starting to notice a trend in how I feel the side effects of chemo, in the days after I'm unenthusiastically infused.

My chest feels weird. My heart feels like it's beating really hard. I'm thirsty.

Last time, I felt awful for a few days. I'm waiting to see what happens now.

I have to take quite a few medications at home during the weak following treatment. Since Friday was my last dose of AC, many meds I've taken between AC treatments I won't have to take any more.

Such as injecting myself with Filgrastim for five days in a row, starting three days after chemo.

Such a benign-looking little vial.

Having never had the opportunity before to inject myself with anything, I've found that doing so turns my stomach a little. The vial is vile.

 

Here's my little kit. It's a vial of Figrastim, a syringe with a big needle, a smaller needle and a rubbing alcohol swab.

 

They give me a big syringe so I can draw the medicine out of the vial. The smaller needle might break when I poke it into the rubbery top if the vial.

 

I stick the big needle syringe into the vial and pull back on the syringe to draw the Figrastim out.

 

I then swap out the big needle for the little one, and plunge the needle up so there's no air in the syringe.

 

I use the alcohol swab to clean a little chunk of my lower belly, and inject myself. The needle's so small that I can't feel it.

Note that since I haven't been bicycle commuting to work since September, and actually haven't been getting any exercise, I now most definitely have some lower belly chunk.

When I'm done, I throw the needles in the hazardous waste tub on the back of the toilet.

My understanding of what this particular medicine does is it causes white blood cells to reproduce faster than usual, and aids in keeping my white blood cell count at an acceptable level. My Oncologist has me on a more aggressive dose of AC (every other week instead of every three weeks) because the cancer had paved a road from my breast to lymph nodes under my arm.

These next few days are the last time I'll have to do these injections. 

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This morning, the spouse basted my head with olive oil and scraped the henna off. It looks great.