Table of Contents
ToggleWeek One: Learning the Routine
One week down. Six to go.
I won't lie—this first week was harder than I expected. Not unbearable, but harder. And it's the simple things that catch you off guard. Tasks that used to happen without thinking now require planning and effort.
Here's what week one actually looked like.
The Routine
Monday: Chemotherapy infusion plus radiation therapy (8:00 AM - 1:00 PM)
Tuesday through Friday: Radiation therapy only
Five days on, two days off. Repeat for seven weeks.
Simple on paper.
Monday: The Long Day
Monday was five hours at the hospital. The chemotherapy infusion came first—sitting in a recliner with an IV while cisplatin drips into your system. The needle hurt. Once it was in, I just waited.
Then came radiation therapy. They fit you with a custom mask that holds your head still, and the machine does its thing for 10 minutes total. The mask was fine, the process quick.
By afternoon, I was exhausted. All that waiting, the stress of finally starting—it hit me hard. I went home and slept.
Tuesday Through Friday: When Simple Gets Hard
Tuesday afternoon, the queasiness started. Constant low-level nausea. Always there.
By Wednesday, the fatigue was worse. Getting dressed took conscious effort. Making breakfast meant deciding between standing at the counter or sitting down to rest first. Walking from the bedroom to the kitchen—maybe fifty feet—left me wanting to sit.
Wednesday brought chills, too. My temperature was normal, but I couldn't get warm.
The inside of my mouth felt different—thicker mucous, strange texture. The radiation is working. I started the salt-and-baking-soda rinse four times daily. That's another task to remember, another thing to do when you're tired.
Thursday morning, I called my nurse about the chills and when to start anti-nausea medication. She said the chills were normal and to start the meds. I took them on Thursday and Friday. Haven't thrown up, but the queasiness stays even with medication.
By Friday, everything felt heavy. Showering was a project. Getting dressed afterward meant resting. Tasks I used to chain together—shower, dress, make coffee, start the day—now need breaks between each step.
This is only week one. They say it accumulates.
The Weekend: Reality Check
Saturday and Sunday meant no treatment. I thought I'd bounce back.
Saturday morning felt almost normal. I decided to walk. Nice fall day, perfect weather.
Less than two miles in, I realized this was all I had. My legs worked, my lungs worked, but everything was harder than it should be. I got home and needed to sit for twenty minutes before I could do anything else.
Sunday, I tried the indoor trainer—just easy spinning.
Twenty minutes. That's all I managed on the easiest setting. I used to do two-hour trainer rides without thinking about it.
After those twenty minutes, getting off the bike, walking upstairs, taking a shower—each thing felt like its own small challenge.
Staying on Track
I'm using a daily checklist: weight, sleep, exercise, food, symptoms, hygiene, tongue exercises, jaw exercises, and oral rinses.
When you're tired and everything takes effort, the list helps. You don't think about whether you feel like doing it. You look at the next item and do it.
Training for Life. Same as following a training plan—you don't decide, you do what's written down.
Food and Weight
I've maintained my weight. Food tastes normal, and swallowing is fine. I keep things warm, not hot.
But eating to maintain weight after two years of trying to lose it messes with my head. I still have to remind myself to eat frequently, to not think about restricting calories.
Even that—the mental work of eating differently—takes energy I don't always have.
What’s Changing
The mucous in my mouth thickened by Tuesday night. The radiation is already affecting my throat. Over the weekend, it was less noticeable. I'm using the rinse like I'm supposed to.
My mouth feels different when I wake up. Swallowing takes more attention. These small changes are easy to miss until you realize you're thinking about things you never thought about before.
What I’m Learning
Week one was about understanding that this isn't like being sick with the flu. It's not about specific symptoms you can point to.
It's about your baseline shifting. About simple things—walking, showering, making food—requiring more from you than they did last week.
The side effects are manageable right now. Queasiness, fatigue, mouth changes. But I know this is week one. Everyone says it gets harder as treatment accumulates.
What takes effort now becomes difficult. What's difficult becomes nearly impossible. And I'm already struggling with things that were easy two weeks ago.
I'm trying to be ready for that. I have my checklist, my support, my plan.
But I'm also scared. This is week one, and I'm already worn down. What does week seven look like?
What’s Ahead
Six more weeks. The routine is set now.
I have to keep showing up. Follow the checklist. Rest when I need to. Ask for help when things get harder.
One week at a time. One day at a time, when it gets bad.
Week two starts Monday.
If you found this helpful, consider subscribing.
I send email updates when I publish new articles—gear reviews, ride reports, training insights, and updates on my cancer treatment journey. I'm not going to flood your inbox. I barely have time to write the articles, let alone spam you with daily emails.
What you get: honest reviews from someone who actually uses the gear, perspective from a master's athlete who's made plenty of mistakes you can learn from, and the occasional story about why cycling at 65 is both more challenging and more rewarding than it was at 25.