My Ongoing Cancer Story

My First Chemotherapy Treatment

The next morning, I woke up to my father gently shaking me. He helped me get dressed, and grabbed the packed bag full of things I would need for the hospital stay. The moment I got downstairs, my mom made me put my jacket on, exclaiming that "I would get a cold." I hated how they were pitying me the day after I was diagnosed. I hated the way how they looked at me differently, like I was their weak son who they needed to protect every second. Because the truth is, I don't like being pitied. Being treated that way definitely didn't make me feel better about what I was about to go through.

I remember walking into my room at the hospital, and my oncologist making me change into a hospital gown with Mickey and Miney Mouse on it. He then sat me down on the bed in front of my parents, and explained to me on how I was going to be under mild anesthesia, and I was going to have a catheter inserted into a vein, and the port will be positioned under the skin of my chest. Half the time, I was focusing on how weird this room smelled, I just wished I was back home watching TV, and having a normal morning.

Before I knew it, I had woken up from the surgery and was on a hospital bed; I glanced down at my chest to see a small bump under my skin. I touched it with my hand, and looked up to see both my parents looking down at me. I remember my oncologist Dr. G explaining to my parents and I that I would have to start chemo the very next day, and that it would be best for me to remain in the hospital to avoid the hassle of going back and forth from home to hospital. I was only nine, I listened to every word Dr. G had to say, and followed all his orders varying from taking medicine, or drinking water in hopes of getting out of this place sooner.

The first round of chemotherapy was the hardest thing I've ever gone through in my entire lifetime. My dad had gone home to pick my siblings up from our home, and was on his way back. I remember my mom trying to coax me into eating some crackers that she had brought. I couldn't eat, all I could think of was what was about to happen. A nurse strolled in to take my blood to see if my blood count was high enough for chemotherapy. She tied a band around my upper arm, and took my blood; I tried my hardest not to cry in front of my whole family, I knew I had to be strong for them. Half an hour later, my oncologist and a nurse walked into the room, and told my family and I that they were about to access my port a cath for the very first time. I remember being so nervous, and my mom had picked me up and put me in her lap. I remember the nurse rubbing alcohol to clean the area, and I saw my oncologist and the nurse both put on gloves and masks. Then, there it was. The needle that was about to go into my chest. I freaked out, I started struggling in my mom's lap. They had no choice but to instruct my mom to hold down my legs, while the nurse held down my arms as my oncologist accessed my catheter. After it was over, I looked over at my dad and my siblings. My father had so much pain in his eyes, as if he couldn't believe his little boy was going through something this awful. My siblings were just plain scared. Seeing them like that made me feel even worse about what I was going through.

During the chemotherapy round, I was perfectly fine. I was starting to get a bit more comfortable with my surroundings as I watched YouTube on my dad's phone. My twin brother Liam who I had a very close relationship with was cuddling beside me on the bed. My parents were doing everything they could to keep me comfortable, which I was so grateful for. It wasn't until after the chemo round was over when I started feeling the side effects. I was so nauseous, and I could barely sit up in the bed because I was so tired. And soon, I felt the urge to throw up. I quickly prodded Liam who was still beside me, and he understood what I was asking for without me even talking. He quickly grabbed the bucket that was under the bed and handed it to me. My parents saw what was going on, and I blinked gratefully at him and them as well. A few moments later, I threw up. I kept throwing up over and over, until there was nothing left to throw up. Shaking violently, I handed the bucket to my mom, who had taken my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Liam cuddled me closer, as I drifted to sleep, the only place that could relieve me of some pain.