After more than a year of chemotherapy, my precious veins are shot.
one of the worst parts of chemo
Those inch-long needles have done some serious damage to my once-healthy blood vessels, and the oncology nurses have informed me that they probably won’t recover.
Great. Stupid cancer is leaving a trail of damage in its wake.
Before I started treatment in 2008, though, I had juicy veins, the kind that got nurses excited. And I was not needle shy. I didn’t wince at the sight of them or groan when I got stuck. Since the times when I actually saw a syringe were few and far between, I’d decided not to be dramatic about the occasional shot.
That was then.
After a good 70 or so injections, hypodermic needles have taken the top position on my buzz-kill list. They hurt like hell, and because I anticipate the pain, I make myself anxious about it. You’d think that over time, I’d build up some sort of resistance to the pain, but the more I get stuck, the worse it gets. My veins have become extremely sensitive, and sometimes they stop working. Who knew that even happened?
There have been several occasions, for example, when I’ve gotten stuck, and the nurses were unable to get a blood return. That’s right. Needles have been inserted into my veins, and no blood came out. Talk about bizarre. Other times, the needles could barely penetrate my skin because I have so much scar tissue in my arms. The constant onslaught of chemo injections has caused my veins to harden and restrict. They’ve become difficult to find and even more difficult to access. And the pain. I whine like a baby now every time I see a syringe. So much for all my boasting about being a trouper. Those days are long over.
With all the sticks cancer patients endure, I couldn’t help but wonder how intravenous drug users do this on the regular. How do they cope with needles daily, likely several times a day, and how do their blood vessels hold up? I’ve heard about users having collapsed veins, but many manage to keep up their habit for years, even decades. Natalie Cole was a heroin addict for 15 years.
I asked one of my nurses why we don’t hear about more IV drug users being hospitalized for destroyed veins. Her answer was interesting and disturbing all at the same time. “Because they’re not putting poison in their veins,” she said. And then she clarified. “Not the same kind of poison.”
Word? Since when did chemo become worse than smack? Apparently since forever. It’s far more toxic, the nurse said, and thus does more harm. Plus, heroin addicts use any and all veins possible, whereas the veins used for chemotherapy are limited to the forearm.
Since beginning my little research project on blood vessels, I’ve come to appreciate how fascinating they are. Veins are our lifeblood, literally. They range in size from 1 mm to 1.5 centimeters, yet they’re responsible for one of the body’s biggest jobs: pumping blood to all our muscles and organs. These elastic vessels can also take a lot of abuse, but they retreat when they’ve had enough.
Two months ago, after my nurses spent more than 30 minutes and three painful tries searching for mine, they suggested (more than suggested actually) that I get a port, a device placed under the skin in the chest that is connected to the jugular vein. All my chemo goes in this way now. So instead of getting several pricks a month, I get one supersize needle that looks like a pushpin, gets clicked into place, and involves numbing cream. Not the most pleasant experience. But I have to say that it feels good to give my veins a break. Maybe they’ll come back to me. One can only hope, right?
I certainly have a newfound respect for blood vessels, as well as most of my anatomy now that cancer has forced me to get acquainted with parts I never spent time thinking about before. Over the last year and half, I’ve come to realize just how delicate the body can be and, more importantly, how resilient.
When Illinois Sen. Roland Burris took office almost a year ago, he already appeared to be a lame-duck politician.
It’s looking like a promising week. The Yankees are back and so is the public option. I hope.
like this is how you conquer cancer. It’s not always about promoting new drugs and treatments. Sometimes it’s about showing solidarity. Sometimes it’s about supporting from the sidelines (pun intended). Whoever came up with this idea needs to get a promotion. Go NFL.
s who are likely to lose their hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. You work in an industry where your physical appearance is always on display. What advice would you give to women who, because of their treatment, shed the things we associate with beauty and attractiveness?
