Hurt

My nurse Carrie

Again, I struggle with how much to share.  It seems peculiar, narcissistic even, to think anyone outside my husband and parents want to know the intimate details of my dance with cancer.  After all, who am I to merit the attention, sympathy, prayers and support of so many?  Perhaps with the addiction to paparazzi and social media, the blurred lines between public and private are no longer.  Maybe it’s the rubber-necking car crash syndrome? Tell me, can you honestly say you don’t sneak a peek as you drive by?

Either way, after this last week, I am filled with the knowledge that I am genuinely loved and cherished by many. I am astonished and deeply humbled at the outpouring of love, concern, and aid.  I am overwhelmed by the messages of love and support via text, phone and Facebook.  Please keep them coming, even if I don’t have the energy to respond. right away. They really do help!  

I am eternally grateful for those that send their prayers, energy, food, scarves, books, jokes, and the really hard stuff like time and energy.  There’s Kimmy and Amber who give me their hard-pumped breast milk for Niamh.  Then, there’s cousin Ruben who takes care of the big picture stuff.  Cancer or not, I am blessed with family and friends like Jenna, Lala, Bailey, Nonnie, Auntie A, Niamhie, Nino, Aunt Terri, Damian, Marie, Becky, Melissa, Mom, Dad and so many others who tap every available resource, use their sick time, spend their days off, take breaks from their own kids, etc. to come and mind my children so I can sleep.  There are people out there I hardly know, or haven’t known well in a long time that have come to my rescue with resources, kindness, and solidarity like Chris Griffith and Aoibheann Clarke.  Rest assured my Mom instilled the importance of sending proper thank you’s.  Come hell or high water, I will thank all of you and everyone I fail to mention here as I am able with proper written notes.  In the meantime, please rest assured that every single word of encouragement, minute of time, and morsel of food is truly appreciated.  Therefore, I reluctantly continue to put the details of my fight out there for all to follow. 

It had to be blood RED! 

One week ago today, a nice enough nurse named Carrie rattled through her chemo version of the “please keep your seats and tray tables in the locked and upright position” speech for all newbie and veteran travelers alike.  Poor thing, she tried so hard to sound upbeat and genuine, even attempting some wrote jokes pocketed after years of breaking the ice with scared-shitless first-time chemo patients. Carrie makes a valiant attempt at the impossible, allaying the anxious mind of a newly diagnosed cancer patient, twenty to twenty-five years junior to anyone else in the room.  What Carrie with her pores still leaching beer from last night’s delights and quarter inch roots doesn't say is the truth. The truth is no matter how many times you hear the speech about the flotation devices and emergency exit lighting, nothing prepares you for crashing.  Mountain, desert or sea,. it doesn't really matter, you are going down.  No half-hearted pithy joke, adivan, or zofran can possibly prepare you for the mental, physical and emotional crash resulting from the large red plunger going into your arm.  You simply say your prayers, hold on tight and fight to survive.

I felt the effects within three hours of leaving the treatment center.  Until then, adrenaline, adivan, and steroids fooled me into thinking I was stronger, tougher, and more capable than is the case.  When reality set in, it hit hard. The anti-nausea drug, Zofran, was akin to throwing a bag of fireworks on a bonfire as a friend (uh huh, Jeff Pack) infamously did in high school.  It exacerbated the nausea by adding heart burn and acid reflux to the mix. Unfortunately, none of the meds designed to combat chemo symptoms did anything but make matters worse.

Then, a friend and fellow cancerite arrived with some marijuana.  I've never been much of a fan. Yes, I've tried marijuana. Yes, I've inhaled marijuana. Yes, I've even been stoned.  Ask my closest friends in high school and college, I just wasn't into it.  It never bothered me, but weed just wasn't for me.  Well, it is now baby! 

The effects and benefits are instantaneous.  I do not have to smoke much at all or get anywhere near stoned. I simply inhale once or twice at a time to feel the immediate relief from debilitating nausea, acid reflux, headache, bone pain, etc.  I called my doctor immediately to explain what I was doing. He was delighted and said “I’m glad we know what works for you now”.  He went on to apologize that he could not prescribe it himself as he is regulated by a federal body.  The synthetic version he prescribed previously only exacerbated the above mentioned symptoms.

A little bit of weed and a lot of sleep seem to be my only answer to chemo.  A lot of sleep! In the first six days post-chemo, I slept an average of 18-20 hours a day.  It is gut-wrenching to hear your children being looked after, tended to, and comforted by family and friends downstairs while the best you can do is roll over and go back to sleep.  I didn't always hear their cries, but when I did, I tried to force myself to wake up, get up, walk downstairs, put a smile on, and let them crawl on me as I sit on the couch, because picking them up was not an option. Unfortunately, nine times out of ten my body would not let me.  My husband continually reminds me that resting, sleeping, taking my drugs, and exercising when possible, is the best way I can take care of my family long term, and that is the goal; to be here long term for my family.  So, I wake up everyday with my son, go for a 3 mile walk/ jog, come home, shower, and go back to sleep for the better part of the rest of the day. 

    

Today I feel alive.  I ate; not just because my body requires something, anything to continue on.  I ate because I felt hungry and the conjuring of any sense of food didn't make me cover my mouth and run.  I held my daughter without fear of dropping her 14 pound little frame, I drove myself to my doctor’s appointment and even made it to the grocery store.  Today was a good day.  Today the Banshee is smaller than she was seven days ago.  Last Thursday, she measured 5.5cm x 7cm from the outside. Today, she came in at 5.5cm x 6cm! The bitch is going down! Today I have hope again.

Thank you!