What Chemo Actually Looks Like: Breaking Down My Cisplatin Treatment

I started chemo the week of Christmas.

Not the week after. Not "let's ease into the new year." The actual week of Christmas. There was no time to sit with it, no time to research alternatives, no time to even really feel scared yet. I was handed a pile of pamphlets, told treatment needed to start within sixty days of diagnosis, and just like that, I was in it.

If you've ever been handed a diagnosis and felt like the ground moved before you even got to catch your breath, you already know what I'm talking about.

This post is a breakdown of what my cisplatin chemo treatment actually looked like. Not the brochure version. The real one.

The Overwhelm Is Real, And You're Allowed To Just Follow The Plan

Here's something I don't think gets said enough. When you're newly diagnosed, you are not operating with a clear head. You are operating in survival mode.

I didn't question what was suggested to me. I didn't have the capacity to. I simply relied on the information I was given because that's all I had room for.

If that's where you are right now, that's okay. You don't have to have it all figured out. You just have to get through today.

One thing I'd do differently if I could go back? Record your appointments. Chemo brain is real, and it starts early. I had a conversation about a secondary cancer risk and I genuinely don't remember most of what was said. If you have a voice memo app on your phone, use it. Future you will thank present you.

The Small Things Nobody Warns You About

There's a version of chemo you imagine before you go through it, and then there's the actual experience. Mine involved a lot of unglamorous, oddly specific lessons.

Like elevating your legs. My first week, I sat with my legs down the entire time they were pumping fluid into me, and I ended up with painful, swollen legs that kept me up all night. Lesson learned. Legs up, every time, after that.

Or the crocs and socks combo. Hot outside, freezing in the treatment room. I stopped caring what I looked like and started dressing for comfort. Socks on, crocs on, blanket over one leg because I have always been someone who kicks a foot out to regulate temperature. Small thing. Made a real difference.

I also learned to pack my own food. The hospital sandwiches were fine, but some days I couldn't eat the same thing twice, so I brought my own snacks, my own water, my own hydralyte. If you're heading into a long treatment day, bring backups. You don't know what you'll be able to stomach until you're in the chair.

What The Side Effects Actually Felt Like

There were seven pages of potential side effects on my information sheet. Seven. Here's what actually showed up for me.

Nausea, yes, though I never actually vomited. Taste changes, everything went metallic for a while. Fatigue that is nothing like normal tired, the kind where you can't push through it no matter how much you want to. Hair thinning that I told myself wouldn't bother me, and then it did, more than I expected.

And chemo brain. It's real, it's frustrating, and it's still something I'm working through months later.

If you're going through treatment and comparing your experience to what's on paper, please hear me on this: your experience is your own. You don't have to have every side effect for your experience to be valid, and you don't have to be fine just because you're not experiencing the worst of it either.

The Part That Surprised Me Most

Out of everything, here's what I didn't expect going in.

Treatment shows you exactly who your people are.

I had food sent to my house. I had people show up to take my daughter to basketball so I didn't have to worry about it. Small acts, but they meant everything.

And here's the flip side of that, the part I think gets missed. It's hard being the person going through it. It's also hard being the person supporting someone through it. The person standing beside you, not knowing how to help, watching you struggle, that person needs care too. Not just gratitude after the fact. Actual care, in the moment.

If you're supporting someone right now, you're allowed to need support too. That doesn't make you less strong for them.

If You're Going Through This Right Now

A few honest things I'd want you to know:

• You are allowed to just follow the plan without questioning every detail if that's all you have capacity for
• Record your appointments if you can, your memory will not hold everything
• Pack your own food and comfort items for long treatment days
• Your side effects don't need to match anyone else's for your experience to count
• Watch for who shows up, and let them. You don't have to do this alone

I know how isolating a diagnosis can feel. I also know how much it can teach you about the people around you, if you let it.

I'd love to hear from you. Has a hard season ever shown you exactly who your real support system was?

If this resonated, listen to the full episode where I go even deeper into the day to day reality of chemo treatment. Share it with someone who might need to hear it right now, and if you want to talk through your own situation, you can always book a consultation with me directly.