I’ve been experiencing writer’s block for a while. Not with work, mind you, as I’ve done some pretty amazing work lately – if I do say so myself. But I’ve found that it’s hard to write about me and my continuing adventures with cancer. Maybe I’m just tired or maybe it’s that I know the first part of this journey is winding down and the second is about to begin. So let’s talk about chemo, since that part of the adventure is (thankfully) almost over.

After finishing 12 weeks of the first cycle of chemo, I dove right into the second cycle. I didn’t experience too many awful side effects with the first batch, except for losing my hair, some fatigue and food not tasting quite right as we wound down. Unfortunately, I knew the second cycle wouldn’t be as forgiving, especially when I was going to be on the receiving end of doxorubicin (Adriamycin), a drug known as “the red devil.”

On Thursday, March 16, Brian and I headed back to the LMH Health Cancer Center. It was the first day of the NCAA tournament, so I was prepped and wearing my Jayhawk basketball jersey in anticipation of a win. (Spoiler alert: we won.) I got my pre-treatment drugs – some steroids (no, I didn’t Hulk out), some anti-nausea meds (thank heavens), something else that I can’t quite remember and then we were off and going. First up was Keytruda, the immunotherapy that I’d been getting every three weeks since the beginning, so no biggie there. But then it was time. Time to dance with the devil.

I make it sound worse than it actually is at that point (please note that I said at that point). My nurse came in with these two huge syringes filled with what can only be described as a Kool-Aid red colored substance. I wasn’t sure how she was going to get those things into this teeny tiny port that’d been sewn into my chest since the beginning, but I soon found out. She took a seat next to me and for the next 15 minutes, she slowly pushed the drugs into my body through the port and that was that. We followed that up with some cyclophosphamide and that was that. Three and a half hours and a Jayhawk win later, we were out of there. At least for another three weeks.

Why every three weeks, you ask? I’d love to tell you. When you get the AC cocktail – Adriamycin and cyclophosphamide – you’re only able to get it every 21 to 28 days. But why, Autumn? You got the other one every week. Yes, yes I did. The difference here is that getting AC sooner than every 21 days can cause some serious problems with your heart. I’ve got enough problems – let’s not add anything else to my plate right now. K? Thanks.

After we were done, Brian and I popped over to the brewery to grab an early dinner while I still felt like myself. From everything I’d heard about the side effects of AC, I knew this might be the last time I really felt like eating for a while. We had a fantastic dinner and headed home to relax.

The fatigue I experienced the next couple of days was unreal. I’m not sure how much I slept, but I’m pretty sure that my Apple Watch might’ve thought that I was dead. It stopped prompting me to stand every hour, if that tells you something.

But on the third day, oh boy. That’s when it all came to a head. Have you ever had a red wine hangover? Like a really, really bad one? It felt like there were a thousand tiny ninjas inside my head trying to kick their way out. My stomach was roiling and at times, I thought even water and crackers might be too much for me. It was the red wine hangover from hell but without any of the fun of the night before. (I guess a red wine hangover is an appropriate feeling, given the color of the drugs that caused it.)

As I lay on the couch, silently begging for the sweet mercy of a coma, Brian emerged from the other room. Apparently, I looked every bit as awful as I felt because he took one look at me and asked what he could do to help. I don’t usually ask for much but this time, I sent him to the store to snag some Jell-O and Diet 7-up. He quickly returned and I consumed these tiny saviors before going straight back to bed.

I awoke on the fourth day feeling much better than I had the previous three. Apparently utter exhaustion and a devil-sized hangover are the price I pay for life for a few days. I slowly gathered my strength over the next ten days and by week three, I was good to go again. You get two weeks of feeling super crappy and then kind of crappy before you’re on top of the world, only to have to repeat the cycle all over again the following week.

My second dance with AC and its aftermath was much the same, though this time my trusty companion was my dad and I was wearing an amazing new shirt from my cousin, Ginny. I’m gearing up for dance number three tomorrow and this time, my mom gets to see for herself what all the fuss is about.

After that, there’s only one more round left! Stay tuned for more information about what other fun plans cancer has in store for me this summer. I promise, I won’t keep my stories to myself as long this time.