A day in the life: Undergoing chemo for breast cancer

Jenneh Onwumere started her day like she starts most days.

She got up at 6 a.m. and took a shower. She dressed and put on a little makeup before waking up her 8-year-old son, Alhassan, and heading downstairs. She made herself a smoothie — a mixture of blueberries, mango, spinach, kale and ginger — and headed out the door.

That day, however, was different than most days. That Thursday morning was the last time the 41-year-old had an appointment with The Vancouver Clinic’s Oncology, Infusion and Urology clinic. After four months of chemotherapy — every other Thursday for eight treatments — Onwumere was completing the first stage of her breast cancer treatment.

African music filled the car as Onwumere drove the 25 miles from her Woodland home to the clinic on Mill Plain Boulevard. When she arrived, Onwumere grabbed the bag of candy she purchased for the nurses and ran up the stairs to the third floor.

First, Onwumere met with her physician to discuss how she was feeling and review her blood work. Then, Onwumere took her place in a heated chair in the corner of the clinic, windows lining the wall behind her. When it was time to begin pre-meds — the medications patients are given to ward off nausea and vomiting caused by the chemo — the nurse asked Onwumere her name and date of birth.

“1-1-75,” Onwumere said.

“And your name?” registered nurse Kathryn Vandberg asked.

Onwumere paused, giving Vandberg a puzzled look.

“What is my name?” she asked herself, laughing.

After a few seconds, the fog from months of chemotherapy cleared.

“Jenneh Onwumere,” she said, laughing again.

Vandberg chuckled and connected the bags of medications to the port in Onwumere’s chest. Onwumere laughed at her own absentmindedness. She won’t miss the “chemo brain.”

Days of symptoms

After her chemotherapy appointments, Onwumere drove herself home and continued with daily chores. Sometimes, it was grocery shopping or doing laundry — whatever needed to be done that day. The Fridays following treatment were usually uneventful, until the evening hours. That’s when Onwumere began to feel minor joint pain.

The Saturdays after treatment began with minor joint pain, but by the end of the day, Onwumere was overcome by pain. The bones in her back, legs and head ached.

“It feels like shocks,” Onwumere said. “It moves like electric.”

The pain would continue throughout Sunday. Onwumere tried to rest but struggled to get comfortable.

“You try to lay down, but the more you lay down, the more you hurt,” she said.

Alhassan would sometimes try to soothe his mother’s pain by giving her a massage with shea butter lotion. Throughout the weekend, Onwumere would be sleepy and her skin would itch. Her throat would also begin to feel swollen, making it difficult to swallow food. And by Sunday, Onwumere had lost her sense of taste, as well.

“Not even when I put sugar or salt in my mouth — no taste,” she said.

But the symptoms usually started to dissipate by the Monday after treatment, and by Tuesday, Onwumere would be back to normal. She could once again eat — and taste — food and had the energy to be active again.

“I don’t want (treatment) to drag me down,” she said.

Onwumere’s oncologist drafted a treatment plan that consisted of chemotherapy followed by a double mastectomy, which is scheduled for Tuesday. If the surgery reveals the cancer spread to her lymph nodes, Onwumere will need radiation. Breast reconstruction will follow.

One last time

After an hour of pre-meds on the last day of chemo, Vandberg connected a large bag of fluid to Onwumere’s port. The liquid treatment would drip into Onwumere’s veins for three hours.

Another nurse placed a pillow behind Onwumere’s back and draped a warm blanket over her lap. Onwumere smiled as she pulled the blanket up below her chin.

Onwumere usually keeps to herself in the infusion room — “I like to mind my own business,” she said — but she passed the time watching as the nurses bustled around her, moving supply carts from patient to patient. She looked down at her hands. The chemotherapy had blackened her fingernail beds and left black spots on her tongue and feet.

One of the pre-meds made Onwumere drowsy. Her eyes got heavy, and she began to yawn. Most days, Onwumere sleeps through the majority of her treatment. She doesn’t bring books or puzzles to entertain her and she rarely has guests.

But the last day of treatment was different. Her husband, George Onwumere, drove down from his home in Olympia to sit with his wife while the chemo filled her body one last time.

He brought his work with him. He knew his wife would fall asleep. But once the chemotherapy was done, he wanted to be there to dance out of the building, celebrating with his wife.

“I was here for the first one,” George Onwumere said. “I wanted to be here for the last one.”