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| Hopes springs eternal that I will hike the Grand Canyon someday. |
Cancer treatment is a series of physical and mental bludgeons. It’s not a stupid journey, it’s a roller coaster that threatens to derail. The end seems near, the body starts to recover, then relief gets snatched away. The train screams downward, off the cliff. A bad test result changes everything.
I assumed a run of the mill appointment with the oncologist. Not being one ease into softening the blow, he whipped out the Oncotype report and stated that my score that one point too high. The test scores the likelihood of re-occurrence of cancer and who would benefit from chemotherapy, which the doctor recommended . The one thing that had gotten me through all the tests, the surgery and radiation was doctors telling me that chemo was probably NOT needed. Now, it suddenly was.
It’s not like the original Seeds of Death had children. No tumor was present anymore. Chance of re-occurrence was a nebulous concept. My internet reading said that Oncotype is the gold standard of testing, but what if it was wrong or had a one percent error rate? Unfortunately, I couldn’t bet my life on ignoring it and had to suffer the consequences.
It was an emotional blow. Of all the nasty cancer treatments, chemo was the most dreadful with neuropathy, fatigue, hair loss and god knows what other side effects. It was medically sanctioned poison. My spring plans could be ruined–races and a trip to the Grand Canyon that I had been waiting years to do.
The terror of the unknown was the worst part. How bad would I feel? Would I be able to function some? How would my body react? How would I cope? Would permanent damage occur? Nothing was in my control. It would be a longer and more involved treatment than radiation or surgery. The fact that I had heard survivors talk about neuropathy and extreme fatigue, even after treatment was long done didn’t help.
The rest of the day was a mental daze. I thought I was done with this shit, now I had to face more discomfort and fatigue. I wanted to cry and was a nervous wreck. How had this come to past?’.
I saw a nurse for the chemo teaching and felt better. She explained procedures, the medicines and their side effects and how I would feel. She didn’t discourage physical activity, but said to listen to my body. This was a relief. Maybe I will make the Grand Canyon after all.
I got prescriptions for anti-nausea medicine. The nurse said I will feel okay the day of and two days after treatment, but the fourth day might be rough. I will have three weeks to recover, with four sessions.
FIRST TREATMENT:
My friend went with me because I wasn’t sure how my body would react. I found out they were going to use Neulasta as well. My materials had no information about it and I thought that was going to be given later, after lab tests. It’s a doser attached to my abdomen for 27 hours, at which time it injects the dose over an hour. So much for running and swimming that day. It has the side effect of bone pain because it draws white blood cells from the bone marrow. It also costs $9200 a dose, which hopefully insurance covered because that’s a hell of a lot of money.
The I.V.’s were tedious process. The mental distraction of my friend’s chatter was good to keep my mind off from pondering the implications of receiving toxic substances. It was surreal that this was actually happening. I kept my feet and hands in socks with frozen ice packs most of the time to ward off neuropathy. The first one, Taxatere was supposed to be 1.5 hours, but the tube leaked and they had to make up another one. It had steroids in it, which made me anxious and made my heart race, especially when the bag was near empty.
The second one, Cytoxan, took an hour. I stared up at the bag willing for the fluid to be gone The last one. also made me panicky. Before that dose was finished, they installed the Neulasta device on my abdomen, which stabbed me with a little metal hook device. It was awkward to wear and I feared dislodging the pricey thing. We went home when the second I.V. stopped.
I didn’t have too much nausea the rest of the day, but I was tired. Eating was possible, but I didn’t have much appetite.
The next day, my brain was foggy brained and my body was tired. I took loraditine for the Neulasta dose later. I had no nausea, but no hunger, either. I muddled through the morning, but felt better in the afternoon. The steroid pills made me feel icky. The Neulasta device went off without any problems.
For the next week, the side effects of the chemo drugs attacked my digestive system. Every pre-existing problem that I had was aggravated. Years of reflux taught me that I can’t eat fatty foods or dairy without indigestion. I had learned to adjust my diet, but now couldn’t figure out how to deal with it. The reflux flared up badly and stomach and intestine motility was sluggish, causing bloating and pain. Food that I used to love was repulsive. Tragically, chocolate tasted bad, coffee wasn’t as good and beer made me severely gassy. Hot food hurt my mouth. Even pretzels upset my stomach. To not like food wiped joy out of my life. The misery at times was unbearable.
The anti-nausea pills didn’t help the lack of appetite and I had to force myself to eat.
Exercise was still possible, but it was a struggle. Some movement was better than nothing. It maintained my muscles, kept my immunity up and saved my sanity. I wanted some sense of normalcy. After years of consistent raining, it probably wasn’t as hard to keep up as if I had let it lapsed.
For a few days after treatment, my brain still wasn’t functioning well and simple tasks took a lot of effort. The neurons weren’t firing and driving anywhere seemed risky. How I was going to get through three more sessions of this?
One day, I had a massive bout to diarrhea. I pooped 12 times before it stopped. It was violent, even more that I had gotten with any food poisoning. The doctor’s office and they said to take two tablets right away, then another for each incident. Eight a day could be taken. The mistake was following the package directions which said wait two hours after food, and only take four per day. Normal instructions didn’t work against the firestorm of my bowels and the result was bad dehydration.
My mouth by this time had developed sores and felt like the bottom of a bird cage. Acidic or hot food was painful to eat. At least sleep was better because of exhaustion. My hot flashes had thankfully disappeared for now. My temperature seems to be trending upward, though not at the point of calling it in.
The seventh day I was queasy most of the day. An anti-nausea drug didn’t help that much. I saw the oncologist and he arranged for me to have an I.V. That took another two hours, but it was necessary. I should drink more water, but it’s hard when swallowing hurts.
Since medical doctors couldn’t or wouldn’t really help my distressed mental state, I had a Reiki session the day after. It was relaxing and weird. Somehow someone waving their hands over me worked and I imaged or actually felt an energy field over my brain. The session was more relaxing than the last time I tried it. Hopefully, it will help. The therapist claimed that it was like having four hour REM sleep. I doubt I get that every night. Usually my full bladder wakes me up and I can’t get back to sleep.
By day ten my digestion was better, I had more energy and life seemed more bearable .As the second week passed, I developed an eye inflammation. Last year, the one in my right eye took four mouths to clear up. It started with severe eye pain, then redness and sensitivity to light. My retina swelled up and caused visual distortions. To avoid the other eye getting that bad, I saw my retina doctor. One more thing to deal with. The eye got better with steroid drops, but the reaction from the chemo worried me.
About this time, the whole Corona Virus thing blew up. Grocery shopping yielded empty shelves. The emptiness of the toilet paper aisle was stunning. Oatmeal or ground turkey was gone. Going swimming or go to the library was impossible anymore because they closed. Group meetings and Reiki were cancelled. The physical social world shut down. The world had an air of unreality. Being in a pandemic and immune compromised was unsettling.
I had worried about chemo ruining all my spring plans and it turned out the virus cancelled all the races and trips anyway. Mentally, I resigned to the disappointment. It can’t be this bad forever. Certainly, life will be better when the chemo ends. Hope seemed like a long way off, though.
Countering all the difficulty was friends calling, offering support on social media and even people bringing my meals and supplies. I felt guilty asking for or getting help, but decided to accept it at the urging of a friend. It restored my faith in humanity, despite the toilet paper hoarders. My thanks to all the helpers in the world.
