“What They Don’t Tell You About the First Round”

I walked in with my head held high.

I didn’t know what was coming—

but I was ready to face it.

Blood values? Perfect.

Doctor? Calm.

Infusion? Quiet, sterile, slow.

They gave me pills for the nausea.

For the headache.

For the side effects.

I laid back.

Hospital bed.

Blankets. Snacks.

It wasn’t bad

It was… okay? Just long.

A full day, stillness stretching on.

And then it was done.

This was it?

Okay. Let’s go home.

My mom had cooked my favorite spaghetti.

The smell filled the house.

Comfort.

Warmth.

Something familiar in a sea of unknown.

I was hungry. I ate a lot. I felt… good.

But then—The plot twist.

That night, I started vomiting.

Again. And again.

Fever. Delirium. I didn’t know what was sleep, and what was the nightmare.

And under it all?

A quiet, heavy thought: This was only the first.

The next morning I woke up feeling like my own body had turned against me.

My sweat stank.

My pee burned—Literally. (They tell you to pee sitting down because the chemo chemicals can burn your skin.)

I stayed in bed for three days.

Couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Only down.