Treatment Day 1

Calm mind, honest body.

This morning, I woke up knowing something simple and profound: once treatment began, I would never be exactly the same version of me again.

Not in a catastrophic way.
Not in a losing-myself way.

Just in the way that walking through something changes you. There is a “before first infusion” version of me.
And now there is an “after.

Today was my first chemotherapy infusion. But before all of that — there were the shirts.

My sister showed up wearing a shirt that said “Kami’s Cheer Squad.” Later, my dad came down in a hoodie and hat that said the same thing.

It caught me off guard in the best way.

There is something about seeing your name on the people who love you most that makes the day feel less clinical and more human. Less isolating. More united.

When I arrived, my blood pressure was low. I tend to run low anyway, and I realized I probably hadn’t eaten enough. I didn’t feel lightheaded, and it didn’t make me nervous. The nurses started fluids before anything else, and I was actually grateful for that — a gentle beginning. My body setting the pace. I was more calm than I expected to be. Steady. Positive. Very aware of how supported I am. After that came the pre-meds — steroid, anti-nausea, antihistamine. Those definitely made me sleepy. The kind of heavy-eyed, floaty feeling where time blurs a little. My sister was there the whole time, steady and present.

Then it was time for me to get my first dose of actual medicine. Within ten minutes of it being started, I felt flushing and a sudden awareness of the medicine moving through my body — especially at the IV site. It was subtle at first, then unmistakable. The sleepiness lifted quickly. I stood up. The nurses responded immediately. They stopped the medication and switched to saline without hesitation. They didn’t brush it off. They didn’t let me brush it off either. They were watching. They knew what to do. Within ten minutes, I felt better. In that moment, I wasn’t scared. I was aware.

Aware that this is powerful medicine.
Aware that my body deserves to be listened to.
Aware of how grateful I was that my sister was sitting there — watching, talking with the staff.
Aware that the team around me was paying attention. My oncologist was looped in right away and clear about the next best step. Because I saw how quickly and thoughtfully everyone responded, it didn’t shake my confidence about continuing.

If anything, it reinforced it. For this particular drug, I had advocated ahead of time for a slower infusion rate and a 20% dose reduction for this first treatment. I am so glad I did. Today reminded me that preparation and self-advocacy matter.

After it passed, I felt relieved. Tired. And honestly, proud — proud that I recognized something wasn’t right and spoke up.

I walked out feeling stronger and more aware of my vulnerability at the same time.

This morning I knew I would not be the same me after today.

Tonight, I know that’s true.

But I am still me — steady, thinking, learning, grateful.

Just a little more initiated.

Day one is complete.