Now I knew what to expect, so the fear of getting my chemo had subsided slightly. I had been going in for weekly blood counts where they drew blood to monitor my white and red blood cell counts. The day before my scheduled second treatment, the nurse informed me that treatments would be delayed due to my low white blood cell count. I begged her to let me have my treatment on time. But she insisted that they would have to wait until the counts were high enough to handle the chemo drugs, otherwise I would get really sick since my immune system was already weak. Despite the fact that it was just a brief postponement, it was very upsetting. It was the first time since surgery that I cried, this time out of frustration rather than fear. It was frustrating that I couldn’t will my body to be ready for the treatment. Once again I had no control of the situation. By saying I couldn’t have my treatments, I relinquished any power I had left. That night I visualized white blood cells growing rapidly for the next day. To humor me, the doctors took my blood cell counts again in the morning. They weren’t high enough and I would have to wait two more days.

After the second treatment, the nausea wasn't as intense, but it persisted for a couple of weeks this time. I didn't vomit, but instead suffered an upset stomach and flu-like symptoms. To add to the queasiness, I got my period which I’m definitely not complaining about. The doctors had originally told me that I would lmost likely go into menopause. Two of my friends offered to have my babies for me if I became infertile. Luckily (for all of us) it never came to that because I continued to menstruate throughout all my treatments.

On my way to work one morning, several days after my second treatment, I started sweating profusely, my body temperature changing quickly from hot to cold and back again. I was dizzy, and sat down in the middle of the subway platform, hoping I wouldn’t pass out in the middle of all these people in rush hour. People kept coming up and asking if I was ok. I nodded, with my head in my hands trying to conserve the little energy I had.

I was panicking and really didn’t know if I would be ok or not, but I didn’t feel like explaining my situation to a complete stranger. I hated feeling so vulnerable in front of all these people. What was happening to my body? “Just three more stops until the hospital,” I whispered to myself.

When the sweats lessened and my vision became clearer, I fearfully stepped onto the next train finally making it to 14th street.  I stumbled down the street to the hospital until I found a building I could hold onto to keep my balance.  Wally, the hospital receptionist, greeted me. “Asha, what are you doing back so soon? You don’t have blood counts ‘till Thursday.” “I don’t know what’s going on. I need a nurse as soon as possible,” I managed to say before falling against the wall.

He quickly called the nurse and she came running out to find me in a heap on the floor. I explained my symptoms to her as best I could. “You must be dehydrated. This happens sometimes when people go through treatment because they don’t drink enough water.” I told her that it didn't really feel like dehydration." “Believe me, many cancer patients don’t drink enough water and this is what happens.”

I didn’t have the energy to argue with her and she helped me to the chemo room, hooking me up to an IV for the next two hours. When I finished, the sweats and chills started again. By now I was really upset and on the verge of tears. I didn’t understand why they didn’t know how to fix this. I checked myself out of the hospital without saying goodbye.      I got back to work without any drama but as soon as I sat down at my large wooden desk, the sweats and chills began again. I crawled underneath, knowing that no one would see me there, until it subsided. My thoughts started up again and I called Ben from under the desk. Thankfully he answered. “I don’t get it, Ben. I thought I was different – that I could get through this without getting too sick from all the treatments.” He told me I was in denial. I didn't think I was. I knew I had cancer and had accepted that. Why did everyone think I was in denial? “I’m not saying you are in denial you have cancer, I’m saying you are in denial that any of the chemo drugs will affect you.” I was mad at him for being right so I told him I had to go and called mom. I explained my symptoms to her. “It sounds like a hot flash,” she told me. “A hot flash? There’s no way. Isn’t that for older women?” Unfortunately, as I found out later, the doctors had failed to mention that hot flashes were a normal side effect from chemotherapy. But at 24, hot flash wasn’t even in my vocabulary.