If you’ve read Part 1, you know the first two rounds of EC chemotherapy knocked me around more than I expected. By round three I had a routine, but that didn’t make it easy. And by round four, I’d decided I wasn’t going to let cancer stop me from living. Here’s how it went.

Round 3: June 24, 2024 – Finding a Rhythm

By now I knew what to expect. Early morning, blood test, wait for results, see the doctor, then the infusion. My regular oncologist was on holiday so I saw a substitute. The gallbladder values in my blood work were still elevated but stable enough to proceed.

The infusion itself was actually faster this time. Just 5 minutes for the red bag, 10 for the white, the rest saline. About 45 minutes total.

What hit hardest in this cycle were the hot flashes. Wave after wave, day after day. It was an unusually hot summer in Norway that year, and combined with the Zoladex side effects, I genuinely couldn’t tell where medication ended and weather began. That summer I bought a fan for the first time in my life in Norway. It helped. Barely.

Food continued to be strange. Water tasted wrong. Porridge was flavourless. Cola Zero, of all things, somehow helped settle my stomach.

The fatigue was deep in this cycle. Some days I barely left the sofa. But I kept taking short walks whenever I could, even when I felt terrible, because moving always made me feel slightly more like myself.

Round 4: July 15, 2024 – The Last Red Devil

The last EC round. I knew what was coming and somehow that made it easier. The infusion was routine by now. I went home, slept, and noted that this time felt slightly less rough than earlier rounds. Maybe I had adapted. Maybe I just knew it was the last one.

Five days later, I was on a plane to Copenhagen with my boyfriend.

Can You Travel During EC Chemotherapy? Here’s What Happened to Us

A lot of people wonder whether it’s possible to travel between chemo cycles. The honest answer is: yes, but you have to be smart about it.

My boyfriend and I wanted a proper vacation somewhere between round four and my upcoming Taxol treatment. We had dreamed about Budapest. I’d never been and really wanted to go. But there was a real medical reason we couldn’t. During EC chemotherapy, there is a risk of developing sepsis, a life-threatening blood infection where every single hour matters. If it happens, you need to be at a hospital immediately, ideally one that knows your medical history and knows you are on EC90. Budapest felt too far, the healthcare systems not synced, the risk too high.

So we chose Denmark instead. Close enough. Safe enough.

We flew to Copenhagen, then took the train to Aarhus, then back to Copenhagen. That summer was brutally hot, both in Norway and in Denmark. For someone with no hair, the heat was its own challenge. A bare head is too exposed in the sun, but a scarf or hat is uncomfortable and suffocating in that kind of heat. There is no good solution. You just manage.

The first night in Copenhagen we went to a Korean BBQ buffet, something I had wanted for a long time since that kind of restaurant doesn’t really exist in Norway. It was everything I hoped for. A small but real joy in the middle of a very hard year.

The first day in Aarhus went well too, heat aside. Then on the second day, my boyfriend got sick. A bad cold, high fever. I was terrified. Not just for him, but for myself. Getting an infection during EC chemotherapy is not just inconvenient, it can be genuinely dangerous. My immune system was already compromised. If I caught what he had, it could mean hospitalisation, delayed treatment, serious complications.

We had no choice but to continue. We took the train back to Copenhagen with him feverish and exhausted. In our hotel room he was bedridden, sweating so much we had to keep moving around the bed to find a dry spot. I was scared for him and scared for myself. It was, honestly, a dreadful few days.

When we got back to Norway, he went to the doctor and found out he had a streptococcal infection, strep throat essentially. And then it turned out his whole office caught it too. I somehow didn’t. That still feels like a miracle.

So can you travel during chemo? Yes. I’m glad we went. The Korean BBQ alone was worth it. But go somewhere close. Go somewhere with good healthcare. Have a plan for what happens if something goes wrong. And maybe pack more than one pillow, just in case you need the dry one.

Four rounds of the Red Devil, done. On to the next chapter.

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. 👇