Once again on a Saturday morning I find myself dragging my
worn and beaten body out of the dregs of chemo hell-land. It is truly such a
strange place, a place that I would not wish upon anyone. It’s like a deep pit
with slippery walls. There is no way to climb out; you can’t climb up such slippery
walls. And your family and friends want to help so they throw you a ladder.
Unfortunately that ladder is also slippery, and is missing some rungs, you go
up a step or two but then fall back down only to have to start all over again.
But it’s hard to start over again when you don’t have enough energy to even
brush your teeth.
I have friends going thru to chemo right now, and I tell
them to “embrace” it. To listen to their bodies, to sleep as much as they can,
take the meds they need to ward off the horrible side effects and take double
what they need to get some rest. But do you think I could follow my own advice?
No. Why do I force myself to stay awake…especially when all I can do is stare
at the TV screen? I mean, I can’t even hold up and concentrate on a book. Am I in
some way trying to prove to myself that I am stronger than chemo? Well, if that
is what I was doing I can assure you, I am not stronger then chemo. Next time…I
sleep. Enough is enough.
And I have weighed the side effects of the Decadron against
the side effects of the chemo and it’s a tie. So I will continue on the
decreased dose of Decadron and just muddle thru the chemo side effects. Were
the chemo effects worse because of the decreased Decadron? I don’t know.
Different, that’s for sure. But I don’t know about worse. What bothered me the
most last time wasn’t as bad this time. This time it was something else,
completely normal according to the nurse at Dr. Sh office. Normal. What the
hell is normal about flooding my body with poison? Really.
Today I look like a person undergoing chemo treatments. I am
pale, so pale. Exhausted looking. Mostly bald. If you look close you will see I
am missing some eyelashes, and my eyebrows are saying a long goodbye to me. I
am feeling sorry for myself, for the person I see in the mirror. I don’t
recognize her.
Tomorrow will be better. Right?
Tomorrow - is always better. You are 1/3 done with the chemo. That is a fabulous fact to dwell on. The reaction was different and could be that way again for #3. The good news, was the bone pain was less severe. Find that silver cloud because it helps you move one foot in front of the other... It is the only path you can take so keep walking - Love ya! Lean on your support system and definitely give in yourself when you enter that fog. You know it will end. Here's another cliche - find the light at the end of the tunnel, that means the fog is starting to clear.
ReplyDelete-Melanie.