I read everything I could get my hands on, but I still had no idea what was coming. Cancer behaves differently in every person, every treatment is different, and every body reacts in its own way. I like having a plan. I like knowing what’s ahead. I like being in control.

This wasn’t one of those situations.

On Monday, I was scheduled to have a port inserted, the device through which my chemotherapy would be delivered. The idea is to spare the veins in your arms from repeated infusions and from drugs that can damage them over time.

A nurse and a young trainee accompanied me to the procedure room. The doctor explained everything in detail and kept talking me through the procedure as she worked. After a while, I noticed I could actually see my arm reflected in the large surgical light above me. Excitedly, I announced this discovery because I was curious about what was happening and quite happy to be able to watch.

Of course, I couldn’t feel a thing thanks to the local anaesthetic. Apparently, the trainee had seen enough. She started to faint. One of the nurses had to escort the poor girl to a bed nearby while I continued happily observing the procedure. I watched as the doctor made a small incision in my right arm and inserted a PICC line with a catheter that runs all the way to the superior vena cava near the heart. Blood flows very quickly there, allowing the drugs to be diluted immediately. The catheter is 38 centimetres long.

Thirty-eight.

It’s slightly unsettling when you realize there’s that much tubing inside your body. After the procedure, they wheeled me back to my room. It was quite a long journey through the hospital corridors. A little later, my dad picked me up, and after eighteen days, my hospital stay finally came to an end. To be honest, I had grown rather fond of the hospital.

It was quiet.

Peaceful.

A good place to sleep, work, and think.

Going home made me more nervous than I expected. At home, I’d have to start functioning again. I’d have to be a mum. I’d have to be present for everyone else. Privacy would become a luxury again. I had one week to prepare for chemotherapy. Naturally, I researched everything in advance. I found countless patient stories and followed people through their treatment journeys. Even so, I still had absolutely no idea what to expect. Some people seemed to get through it relatively well. Others spent days vomiting, sleeping, or struggling to get out of bed. One woman went on a beach holiday immediately afterwards. Most lost their hair. Some lost weight. Others gained it.

Every treatment is different.

Some people go every week. Some stay in hospital. Different cancers require different drugs. Different drugs bring different side effects.

And every body writes its own story.

My treatment plan is chemotherapy every twenty-one days for three or four cycles. I’ll be receiving two drugs. The first is paclitaxel, which interferes with cell division. The goal is to stop the cancer cells from multiplying and spreading further. The second is carboplatin, which damages the DNA of cancer cells so they can no longer repair themselves. In simple terms, one drug puts the brakes on. The other knocks the cancer flat on its backside.

At least that’s the plan.

If you’re going through chemotherapy right now, or if you’ve already been through it, what was it like for you?