This is week two on full time chemo
It isn't for the faint of heart. I will say that.
I have been through chemo three times now. The first time was when I had breast cancer in 2015. My treatment was given intravenously every two weeks. Then I had two weeks off to recover and prepare for the next round.
It was brutal. I recall that the first three days were the worst. This was made harder by the fact that I was still working full time. Puking. Sleeping, but not restfully. Sleep was filled with bright colored hallucinogenic images. Scary clowns and jumping, jagged colors. Waking up and trying to eat. Throwing it up. After that, it slowly got better as the chemo wore off. And then it would start up again. I had six rounds of it, followed by three months of radiation. And then I was supposedly cured. Tests showed no sign of cancer.
The second time was chemo accompanied by arsenic for treatment for leukemia. I still find it hard to talk about those eight months. It made my first chemo sessions seem almost easy. I was fairly sure that I would die. Some nights, I prayed to die. The stomach cramps alone were scream inducing.
Enough. Moving on.
Now, I am on a different sort of chemo. I get shots every two weeks. Two in each hip. This was not too bad. In fact, I was almost lulled into thinking that everything would be okay. I traveled to California on vacation. The puking was minimal. The bone pain was not fun, but it wasn't crunching. When I came home from California, I started the second part of chemo the next day.
December 28th. My fifth wedding anniversary. A pill. Taken each night before bedtime, because one of the common side effects was dizziness and extreme fatigue. Other side effects could be puking, diarrhea or constipation (take your pick!), bone pain, and a warning not to drive or operate machinery until you see how that pill works on you.
No shit, Sherlock.
I am in half life mode. Thankfully, the nausea has been minimal. What I had somehow forgotten was what extreme fatigue feels like.
Now, I remember. It has taken me over an hour to type this out. My mind wanders. I find myself typing and then just sitting and staring for long periods of time. The fatigue is almost unimaginable. I wonder if my white blood cells are okay. I hope that the leukemia has not been triggered. Mostly, I just don't care because I sit in chairs with books laying open on my lap.
That book that I waited for three months to come at the library and is finally here? It sits in my lap, unread. Or underread. I read a paragraph and then stop. Realize that I am not comprehending. Read it again. Better. I do this over and over.
My body aches for sleep but when I lay down, sleep evades me. Instead, I go into sort of a drug induced slide. I think about days long gone. People long gone. Old commercial jingles saunter around in my head.
I wish I was an Oscar Mayer wiener
That is what I truly want to be...eee eeee
I can bring home the bacon
Fry it up in a pan....
Hey, Culligan Man!
Everyone knows it's slinky!
Ho! Ho! Ho! Green Giant!
Rice a Roni! The San Francisco Treat!
Plop, plop, fizz fizz. Oh, what a relief it is!
They go 'round and 'round.
I feel stupid and old. Occasionally, I rouse myself to look at Facebook or Twitter. This is easy because it is served in small bites. I shake my head and try to go back to my book. My brain wants engagement. My body says no. It is whining.
I'm too tired. Leave me be.....
T suggests outings. Visits to see our new great nieces. Twin babies. I hold them and am suddenly embarrassed because I am fighting tears. Huge tears. The smallness of those hands. That sweet face. I remember this. The sweetness of it all. I remember holding that tiny body and being enthralled by the true beauty of it. I would watch others hold her and think, "Oh, for god sakes. Give her back to me. She HATES it when you joggle her like that. She likes her head nestled against your chest and small pats on her bottom. THAT is why she is whimpering. She wants ME."
I hold the babies, tears streaming. Their parents understand and allow it. I'm sure they think it is some bizarro cancer thing. The terminally ill old woman crying over the sweetness of the baby's coos.
Actually, I don't really know why I am crying. I cry so easily these days. Everything is so fuzzy and it is all so frustrating. I feel so alone in this place. I am hungry for faces that I love and impatient with those that I do not.
Stop wasting my bloody time.
I am not myself. It is chemo related, I know this.
What scares me is this: In all the times before, I knew that there was an endpoint to the chemo. Six rounds. Remission. This time, there is no end point. I must stay on the chemo until it stops working, stops holding back the cancer growth. Then...move on to another drug. See if that one works. There will be no respite. No end.
Well....there will be an end. But, this time it will be a journey end, not a battle victory.
This makes the fight harder. But, I carry on. I know this sounds pretentious. Like....hey, look at how brave I am!
Well, okay....then. So be it. Take a look, dude. I am brave. This is taking so much out of me. You know what would really help?
Don't kick me when I am down. Give me that gift. I don't want or need your pity, but I do deserve the grace of being treated with kindness. I've known so many mean girls in my lifetime and I really need all of you who deserve that moniker to just.....stop.
Full time chemo sucks donkey balls.
Just let me get on with it and stay out of my way.
Thanks.
I have been through chemo three times now. The first time was when I had breast cancer in 2015. My treatment was given intravenously every two weeks. Then I had two weeks off to recover and prepare for the next round.
It was brutal. I recall that the first three days were the worst. This was made harder by the fact that I was still working full time. Puking. Sleeping, but not restfully. Sleep was filled with bright colored hallucinogenic images. Scary clowns and jumping, jagged colors. Waking up and trying to eat. Throwing it up. After that, it slowly got better as the chemo wore off. And then it would start up again. I had six rounds of it, followed by three months of radiation. And then I was supposedly cured. Tests showed no sign of cancer.
The second time was chemo accompanied by arsenic for treatment for leukemia. I still find it hard to talk about those eight months. It made my first chemo sessions seem almost easy. I was fairly sure that I would die. Some nights, I prayed to die. The stomach cramps alone were scream inducing.
Enough. Moving on.
Now, I am on a different sort of chemo. I get shots every two weeks. Two in each hip. This was not too bad. In fact, I was almost lulled into thinking that everything would be okay. I traveled to California on vacation. The puking was minimal. The bone pain was not fun, but it wasn't crunching. When I came home from California, I started the second part of chemo the next day.
December 28th. My fifth wedding anniversary. A pill. Taken each night before bedtime, because one of the common side effects was dizziness and extreme fatigue. Other side effects could be puking, diarrhea or constipation (take your pick!), bone pain, and a warning not to drive or operate machinery until you see how that pill works on you.
No shit, Sherlock.
I am in half life mode. Thankfully, the nausea has been minimal. What I had somehow forgotten was what extreme fatigue feels like.
Now, I remember. It has taken me over an hour to type this out. My mind wanders. I find myself typing and then just sitting and staring for long periods of time. The fatigue is almost unimaginable. I wonder if my white blood cells are okay. I hope that the leukemia has not been triggered. Mostly, I just don't care because I sit in chairs with books laying open on my lap.
That book that I waited for three months to come at the library and is finally here? It sits in my lap, unread. Or underread. I read a paragraph and then stop. Realize that I am not comprehending. Read it again. Better. I do this over and over.
My body aches for sleep but when I lay down, sleep evades me. Instead, I go into sort of a drug induced slide. I think about days long gone. People long gone. Old commercial jingles saunter around in my head.
I wish I was an Oscar Mayer wiener
That is what I truly want to be...eee eeee
I can bring home the bacon
Fry it up in a pan....
Hey, Culligan Man!
Everyone knows it's slinky!
Ho! Ho! Ho! Green Giant!
Rice a Roni! The San Francisco Treat!
Plop, plop, fizz fizz. Oh, what a relief it is!
They go 'round and 'round.
I feel stupid and old. Occasionally, I rouse myself to look at Facebook or Twitter. This is easy because it is served in small bites. I shake my head and try to go back to my book. My brain wants engagement. My body says no. It is whining.
I'm too tired. Leave me be.....
T suggests outings. Visits to see our new great nieces. Twin babies. I hold them and am suddenly embarrassed because I am fighting tears. Huge tears. The smallness of those hands. That sweet face. I remember this. The sweetness of it all. I remember holding that tiny body and being enthralled by the true beauty of it. I would watch others hold her and think, "Oh, for god sakes. Give her back to me. She HATES it when you joggle her like that. She likes her head nestled against your chest and small pats on her bottom. THAT is why she is whimpering. She wants ME."
I hold the babies, tears streaming. Their parents understand and allow it. I'm sure they think it is some bizarro cancer thing. The terminally ill old woman crying over the sweetness of the baby's coos.
Actually, I don't really know why I am crying. I cry so easily these days. Everything is so fuzzy and it is all so frustrating. I feel so alone in this place. I am hungry for faces that I love and impatient with those that I do not.
Stop wasting my bloody time.
I am not myself. It is chemo related, I know this.
What scares me is this: In all the times before, I knew that there was an endpoint to the chemo. Six rounds. Remission. This time, there is no end point. I must stay on the chemo until it stops working, stops holding back the cancer growth. Then...move on to another drug. See if that one works. There will be no respite. No end.
Well....there will be an end. But, this time it will be a journey end, not a battle victory.
This makes the fight harder. But, I carry on. I know this sounds pretentious. Like....hey, look at how brave I am!
Well, okay....then. So be it. Take a look, dude. I am brave. This is taking so much out of me. You know what would really help?
Don't kick me when I am down. Give me that gift. I don't want or need your pity, but I do deserve the grace of being treated with kindness. I've known so many mean girls in my lifetime and I really need all of you who deserve that moniker to just.....stop.
Full time chemo sucks donkey balls.
Just let me get on with it and stay out of my way.
Thanks.
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