My third chemo session proved to be the worst so far.

First, my porta-cathe (that metal port surgically inserted in my chest to facilitate the introduction of chemo drugs) got clogged, and this did not allow any fluids to enter my body through the port. The five residents who tried to insert an inch-long needle through my chest did not realize it was clogged. So they tried to insert the fucking needle seven times. Seven stabs through my chest.

This would be no problem if the needle were thin, or that if I healed quickly. The needle was as thick as your mechanical pencil's lead, and it takes me two weeks to heal a puncture wound as small as a needle prick. Think seven of these puncture wounds are on my chest, one dangerously sitting beside the other. One can literally scoop out my flesh with a fingernail.

Second, the last surgeon who tried to poke a hole into me flushed my clogged porta-cathe with saline solution. Since it was clogged, the fluid collected in my chest, and my right chest swelled. I practically had a breast of bruise, blood, and water. Apart from the aesthetic horror, the risk of infection was so high, it could have been fatal. The porta-cathe is directly connected to my heart; any infection directly poisons my heart. I am now on antibiotics just in case the infection gets out of control.

Third, since my porta-cathe was not available, the chemo drugs had to be introduced through my arm. The blasted chemicals went through my arm like a bitch, and my veins were burning for the entire five hours. It did not help that I was partly sedated, as I could not scream out the burning pain that was in my arm. Five endless hours of burning inside my veins, and I could not even scream.

My arms and legs are now thick with water retention, and my migraines and body aches are starting. Of course, the vomiting is a staple to the chemotherapy.

I remember screaming at the nurses and the residents during my first night at the hospital. It felt awful, because I knew it was not really their fault, and they did not want any of that to happen. It's just that I was in so much pain, I hated everyone.

It didn't help that I was alone that night. I felt so alone and had nobody to talk to who could be strong enough for my ailing faith.

I do not wish cancer on anyone. Really, no experience has ever made me feel more alone than this one. I know everyone wants to help, but when it comes to experiences like this, I'm all alone.