Chemo is tough stuff. That's what my oncologist told me the day I tracked her down on the phone and told her how awful I felt. I was weak, dizzy, pale, and as close to incoherent as I'd ever been. I was so out of sorts I was convinced I would jump out of my skin at the very moment this doctor implied all I needed was a firm grip on reality.

"Do you have enough support?" she asked. "Yep," I replied. I told her my mom lives right around the corner, my sister just a few miles away. I told her friends were delivering meals and my husband was coming home from work whenever I called for him. Help was just a phone call away, and I had plenty of it. What I didn't have was medical guidance about how my body was tolerating chemotherapy. That's why I needed her.

I hung up the phone that day having accomplished nothing. And I woke up the next morning barely able to walk. I crawled into my kitchen, grabbed a banana, sprawled out on the floor, inhaled some nutrition, and called my mom. I told her I needed to have my blood examined.

My mom transported me to my oncology clinic -- we had a genetic counseling appointment there anyway so it was convenient timing -- and before long, I was hand-delivered a mask and was swiftly escorted to my very own hospital room where I stayed for five days.

The day I was admitted to the hospital, my white blood counts were 700. My body was not tolerating chemotherapy. And I'll never know why my oncologist didn't know this, didn't call me in for an evaluation when so many signs were presenting themselves, didn't offer me more than her steadfast declaration that "chemo is tough stuff."

Yes, chemo is tough. And there are all sorts of expected side effects of the dreaded treatment that patients must endure. But there are many effects patients should not have to suck up, effects that warrant immediate medical attention and can be alleviated with the right intervention.

It took days of antibiotic treatment and a blood transfusion for my body to recover from its chemotherapy attack. I often wonder what would have happened had I toughed it out at home. I suspect the outcome could have been tragic.

If I ever have the occasion to preach about the dangers of chemotherapy, which is what I am doing here, I offer a firm warning about how difficult the treatments can be, how anyone with any string of worrisome side effects should seek medical help immediately, how any oncologist who doesn't respond to an outright cry for help should be fired.

I learned many lessons from my chemo crusade. I learned how to better help myself, and I learned to report right to the emergency room the second time my blood counts plummeted. I learned to demand the care I deserve, and I found an oncologist who is a warm and caring partner in my pursuit of health. And I learned that chemo is tougher than I ever imagined, too tough for some -- like me -- to go it alone.