When my oncologist told me I’d be starting EC chemotherapy, I’d already done my homework. I knew “EC” stood for Epirubicin and Cyclophosphamide. I knew one of them was red. I knew people called it the Red Devil. What I didn’t know was what it would actually feel like, and no amount of reading could have fully prepared me for that.

Here’s my honest account of the first two rounds.

Round 1: May 13, 2024 – “Just Do It”

I didn’t sleep great the night before, though it wasn’t really from anxiety. My head was just busy, thinking about what to do with my time during treatment, how to stay useful, how to stay myself. I eventually slept, woke up naturally, showered, had breakfast, and took my first anti-nausea medication (Dexametason, 3 tablets) before my friend arrived to take me to Ullevål Hospital.

The chemo chair looked like a dentist’s recliner. Comfortable enough. The nurse was warm and thorough. She explained side effects, placed warm pads on my arm to make the veins easier to find, then inserted the IV. A second nurse came to double-check everything was correct. They showed me the two bags of medication going in that day: one red, one white. Smaller than I’d expected from what I’d seen online.

Then came the Red Devil, the red one, Epirubicin. It went in fast. Cold feeling in the arm, the nurse explained, because the medicine is room temperature and your body is warmer. After that, the white bag. Then a saline flush. The whole thing took about an hour.

The nurse stayed with me the entire time and kept the conversation light. I felt safe and well taken care of. The white bag gave me a strange floaty sensation in my head, not a headache, more like being submerged in water. It passed quickly.

One thing nobody warned me about: your urine turns red immediately. I knew it intellectually, but seeing it was still a shock. 😟

The rest of the day I spent quietly at home. My head felt heavy, my body tired, like after a long workday followed by an evening out with friends. A little nauseous, but manageable. I even managed to fix a work spreadsheet that evening.

By 8pm I wrote in my notes: “The brain feels like it’s packed in a bag, I can feel it very clearly.” Not dizzy, just strange. I added in all caps: HOPE I DON’T FEEL WORSE THAN THIS. 😂

The days that followed were a mixed bag. The day after I managed a 3km walk. Two days after, a doctor’s appointment for the Ziextenzo injection to boost my white blood cells. Three days after, I sat through a long meeting at work.

Then came day 4. Friday, May 17th, Norway’s Constitution Day, was the worst day. Severe constipation, bone pain from the Ziextenzo, complete exhaustion. I measured my temperature multiple times, afraid of a fever, but stayed just under 38°C. I didn’t end up calling the hospital. A nap in the afternoon helped, and by evening I felt human again.

By the end of that first cycle, about 10 days after the injection, I was back to walking 5.5km in the evening and feeling almost normal. Almost.

Oh, and my hair started falling out on day 15. I’d been expecting it, but still.

Round 2: June 3, 2024 – The Nausea Hits

This time I had an early morning slot. Up at 6:20am, at the hospital by 7:40. Blood test first, and the phlebotomist struggled to find my veins, which would become a recurring theme throughout my treatment.

Before the infusion, I had an appointment with my oncologist. Good news first: my genetic test came back negative, meaning no hereditary mutation and no need for my family to be tested. The tumor had also shrunk since round one. The treatment was working. I tried not to let the relief overwhelm me right there in the office.

We also talked about side effects. I mentioned the constipation on day 4 that left me unable to get off the couch. He switched my laxative to Movicol. He told me to stop taking omega-3 multivitamins as they can interfere with chemotherapy (pure omega-3 is fine though). And then, almost in passing, he mentioned they would likely need to remove my left breast. The tumor was positioned in the center, making a full mastectomy the cleanest option, possibly followed by reconstruction.

I filed that away. There was too much to process in one appointment.

The infusion itself went as before. But when I got home, nausea hit me properly for the first time. Not during the infusion, but after. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t even watch food on TV without feeling sick. Moving from the bed to the sofa helped a little. That was about it.

The days after were harder than round one overall. Less energy, more fatigue, more time on the couch. But by day 10 I was back to functioning, picking up my wig, having friends over, feeling like myself again.

Two rounds down. Two to go.

To be continued in Part 2.

Disclaimer: I’m not a doctor and I won’t give any medical advice. Everything I share here is based on my own personal experience and my specific treatment plan. If you’re going through EC chemotherapy and want to share your story, I’d love to hear from you in the comments below. 👇