BOSTON -- OK world, chemo is not fun. Did I really think it would be? Well, I saw so many optimistic postings from moms who never missed any of their kids' activities that I thought I might feel like myself. Maybe the problem is that I’m usually going so fast this all feels way too slow for me to handle.

The actual chemo infusion wasn't too bad. I went to Dana Farber Cancer Institute at 8:45 a.m. Monday. I had my blood drawn and then went for an unexpected electrocardiogram. Apparently, my heart scan showed an extra beat. Fortunately, everything is OK.

Cancer patients get used to bone scans, computerized tomography scans, heart scans, brain scans and positron emissions tomography scans. All can induce a huge amount of anxiety -- as if your primary cancer isn't scary enough. At one point doctors thought they saw a spot where my thigh bone meets my hip. That resulted in a two-hour magnetic resonance imaging scan on a Thursday night. A lot of stress presurgery, but it appears the spot was nothing.

So before chemo, my oncologist, her nurse and my oncology nurse did everything they could to help me understand what to expect. They also prepped me on all the amazing anti-nausea drugs available to me. And it was a local cancer patient who is a week ahead of me in treatment who helped me prepare for the scariest moment.

That's when the nurse actually injects you with three syringes of Adriamycin. These toxic drugs require the nurse to wear protective gear and manually inject them into your vein. It's an orange-reddish substance that looks quite scary. Once that was over, a bag of Cytoxan went in through a slow intravenous drip.

I felt fine during the whole thing until the end. Then I started to feel a little out of it. I was steady enough to walk, but would not have wanted to drive a car. I was pretty tired when I got home around 2 p.m. I took a nap until 4 p.m. and woke up feeling pretty yucky. I went to bed around 8 p.m. and slept fine.

I woke up and felt OK, much better once I took all the anti-nausea drugs. I know in the past, people felt horrible. I know I should feel lucky. But I hate feeling this tired, and it feels strange to be so queasy. I never felt queasy when I was pregnant. I have always been so healthy. I have very little appetite. I’m just trying to get down small meals. Not much appeals to me.

My spirits are OK. I just feel like a bit of a zombie in my house. I'm here, but I'm not really here. I'm struggling to stay engaged with what's going on. I went to bed at 8 p.m. again last night. I'm hoping by Thursday I'll feel better. I know I shouldn't look ahead, but one of my doctors told me chemo's effects can be cumulative. One day at a time.

All of your wonderful support has lifted my spirits. It's an amazing experience to have hundreds of e-mails to read giving me information or making me smile during the dark moments. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Last week, one of my exam rooms at Dana Farber looked out over Children's Hospital. I could see cute pictures in the windows and a Jimmy Fund sign. I sat there thinking about what those young children endure. What do I have to feel down about? I'm 36. I have had incredible experiences so far in my life. I just wish the same for each and every one of those young patients. If they can be brave, so can I.