The two-percent solution

At first, I thought the worst part of chemotherapy was listening while the nurse explained every possible horrible side effect I might experience. She encouraged me to appreciate my hair while I can because it'll be falling out in bunches before too long, but she played down other side effects. Some patients, she said, suffer a violent allergic reaction to Taxol as soon as it enters the bloodstream, but "Don't worry," she said, "only about two percent of patients have that reaction, so you'll be fine."

I was not fine. Apparently, I'm one of the lucky two percent who are allergic to the fluid in which Taxol is suspended. They stopped the infusion instantly and spent some time bringing me back to normal before starting the second drug, carboplatin--a painless experience causing no reactions except relief. Now I'm at home appreciating my hair. Maybe I should take a picture and set up a little shrine with scented candles and regular offerings of conditioner and ribbons.

I've been reading about chemotherapy drugs online and I was surprised to find that they are mostly powerful plant alkaloids of the kind you'd expect to see in a Sherlock Holmes mystery: the villain returns from a stint in some bleak colonial outpost accompanied by a maimed but loyal Lascar servant and a tiny jar containing enough powerful plant alkaloid to wipe out all of London. Taxol, which I won't be taking again, is derived from the Pacific Yew tree, while another expensive chemotherapy drug is manufactured from mayapple, a wildflower growing abundantly in my woods. Why pay thousands of dollars for each infusion when I could just go out and graze on mayapples for free?

I know the answer: these drugs are so powerful and potentially toxic that the dosage must be carefully controlled--just enough to take my hair, but not enough to take my life.