Screw Waterboarding.... Give 'em Chemo!

This is what one of my favorite comedians, Karen Mills, once said about her time in the wonderful land of chemo.  And no truer words have ever been spoken!  Strap them SOB's in a chair and fill them with this shit and I guarantee within 48 hours they'll agree to tell you whatever you need to know, just make the pain and nausea stop! haha!

Last time I wrote, I was just 1 round in and my hair had not fallen out yet, but the clumps were coming.  I couldn't really talk chemo because it was so horrible and I was still processing it and how to deal with what was coming.... 15 more rounds....

This morning, I am almost 3 months into my 2nd cancer journey.  Beginning with surgery the day before Thanksgiving, and now am coming out on the other side of my 4th and final round of AC chemo.  I say coming out on the other side, because there is really no other way to describe what happens between infusion day and the day when you finally feel like you may actually live again each time.  My infusions thus far have all been pretty much the same, for that I can be thankful.  At least I know what's coming, right?  Although some days I'd really rather not know.

So let's talk chemo.  How it goes and the process of how I get to where I am this morning every other fucking week....  As I sit here this morning and think about Monday, I could almost start sobbing at the thought.  But I try not to think too far ahead and just take one day at a time, to concentrate on the week ahead in which I will maybe feel halfway human for at least parts of the days during my "rebound" weeks.  These are the middle weeks in between hell.  I try to go have fun and do as much "normal" stuff these weeks as possible without wearing myself out too much.  Four hours is about my limit however.

Infusion day....  Usually goes something like this.  Wake up at around 3:00 a.m. because my mind is already in full panic and insane mode.  Have a little coffee and some pills to start your chemo week regimen.  Play with the dogs and do any last minute chores.  Because you know for the next 5-7 days you will not feel like doing much of anything at all.  Then shower... because again, a shower for a few days is not a feat that will likely not happen.  Hell you can't even get out of bed at some points.  Then from there you put on your port numbing cream and put some saran wrap over it and tape it down with a couple of band aids.  This cream helps to numb your port.  This way when they go to access it with the needle to put your chemo in it won't sting quite as much.  Bet I only forget that shit ONE time!! LOL  Pack your "chemo" bag with all the crap you think you might need for a few hours of fun (blanket, snacks, ginger chews for nausea, Xanax, etc.) And off you head to the cancer center for your infusion day.

Once you arrive at the cancer center you go to the check in desk and pay your $20.  Yes if you've followed me through my whole journey on this blog, you will chuckle at the $20 reference.  When you are sick, you will go broke $20 at a time! LOL  Then you get your folder and head down to room A.  This is the lab where they draw your blood each time to make sure your counts are high enough to even get your infusion that day.  And yes you always pray they are ok because no one wants this shit delayed any longer than necessary and low counts mean at least a week delay most of the time.  I am 4 down and have been lucky so far my counts have not dropped so low that I had to be delayed.  Once the blood has been drawn you take your little folder and head for room B.  This is where they take your vitals and escort you to see your oncologist before infusion.  He will go over your blood work and just check to see how you are feeling.

Once in the exam room, the anxiety ramps up to about a million, as you know the next step is the infusion room.  Everything is a blur and you really don't hear or see anything that is going on.  You are now in infusion mode.  Because once that shit goes into your body, the next week is nothing short of a living hell I would not wish upon ANYONE!!! And at this point you know that is what is coming next.  Most of the time I want to just run out and say fuck it I'm not doing this any more.  But instead I smile and follow my oncology nurse down the hall to the infusion room.  Because well the only other option is in the ground.  And I'm not ready for that yet either!! haha

What happens next over the next few hours is, most of the time, a blur for me.  Yes I am a pussy and need a little happy juice to get over the anxiety hump.  So you pick a chair of your liking and the next nurse comes over and gets your prepped for your rounds.  First is the prick to the port to get access to your veins.  Then comes the saline flush, followed by steroids, and then the good shit, Adivan.  Oh yeah folks, if you haven't tried it out, it's good LOL  Usually after that I'm a little groggy.  The nurse then brings over the "red devil" (yes it is red) in a tube and puts it into you, followed by the 2nd kind of chemo which drips through the bag. And then before you leave they strap the tic tac box of hell onto your arm. Neulasta.  The sheer word makes me wince and cry.  One tip, if you must do chemo, go in the morning.  They usually have some yummy breakfast choices for you!  haha  My sister always gathers me all the snacks and we have a feast hahaha!  After a few hours you're all done and ready to go home.  Or in my case usually, thanks to the Adivan, carried out, but not before a little chemo dance around the infusion room.  LOL  Yes, the Adivan makes me loopy as a drunk girl on prom night.  We be ready to par te'!  haha

Once at home day one is a blur... thank you Adivan for giving me one day of peace! haha.  Day two is the day of waiting.  Sitting around waiting for the fresh hell I know is about to come on day 3-4.  About 17 hours after infusion the tic tac box of hell beeps and at that moment you know the drugs inside of it are pouring into your body and in about 9 hours you will be sicker than you've ever been in your life.  It is a double edged sword, this drug, as it probably prevents you from having to have a blood transfusion, but man it makes you feel like you are dying for two days.  Once the box empties out, my sister then grabs her gloves and proceeds to remove the box from my arm.  Usually it bleeds a little bit from the needle that had been inserted to distribute the medicine. This medicine makes your bones make bone marrow and regenerate white blood cells at a high rate of speed because the chemo they just gave you is killing them all at a high rate of speed.  Generally speaking at about 4a.m. you wake up with what feels like someone beating the shit out of your entire body in your bones and you're so dizzy you cannot open your eyes and moving at all hurts so bad you just want to cry.  You start pumping the nausea pills and pain pills, but they just barely take the edge off.  And for about 48 hours you do not know where you are or how in the hell you're going to actually live to see the next day.

Luckily come about Friday you start to see the light and feel like you may live again.  You head into the rebound week thinking I'm not going back there.  I'm not doing this again.  Fuck it, I'll just die.  But somehow by the next Monday you're always sitting in that damn chair ready for another week of hell.

This coming Monday I will be starting a new round of chemo.  Different from the last four, and what I've been told, easier.  God I pray that is true. Although the side effects sheet they gave me is enough to scare the shit out of anyone and definitely doesn't sound like it's going to be any easier.  This will be 12 rounds every single Monday, so no rebound week.  Three solid months of pumping poison into my body every week so that I can hopefully live a long and happy life.  I sure hope it's worth it and the cancer stays gone for good this time!  I think that is my greatest fear, that I put myself through all of this only for it to return again.  But I believe this is normal and it is most survivor's greatest fear as well, so I know I am not alone.

So Monday here we go, another step closer in being finished with this part of my journey.  I am 1/4 of the way finished and even though I cannot even begin to see the finish line yet, I am one step closer.  One day at a time.

The Trifecta of Hell

Heartbreak.  Alcohol Addiction.  Cancer.

I have been struggling terribly emotionally since my new diagnosis.  I cannot seem to understand why, this time, I have had such a hard time dealing with this latest setback in my life.  Trying to stay positive is getting more difficult for me as I go through this long and painful process.

This week I had a full week alone in my house.  It has been the first time since Thanksgiving I've had the house to myself and it gave me a lot of processing time that I had, up to this point, not had.  I thought it would be wonderful and give me freedom and peace.  Instead, it left me feeling terribly alone and forced me to look at myself and to figure out why I wasn't dealing with all of this positively like I had in the past.  Thursday I had a major mental breakdown and cried for 8 hours straight. I figured a few things out about myself and what was really going on.  This is when I realized I am not just going through a cancer relapse, but I am still grieving the breakup and loss of what I thought was going to be my partner for the rest of my life.  And trying to maneuver this horrible ordeal alone without him this time.  I also realized I am grieving the loss of my go to escape friend, alcohol, as well.

Before my recurrence back in the fall, I was finally making some major progress on the heartbreak front.  I was feeling more like myself and thought I was close to being able to possibly date again.  I was beginning to look forward to the future and finding "my one" for good this time.  Then I was suddenly thrust back into cancer world.  My future became cloudy.  And the healing process for my massive heartbreak was put on hold and in a lot of ways went backwards.  I had the support and love of my fiancé during my first go around with the beast and it made a huge difference in healing and attitude I am finding out.  This go around, without that support it is devastating and so hard.  Being sick, weak, alone and bald, the self esteem goes out the window and you're left feeling ugly and embarrassed to be in public. He's not there by my side holding on to me and telling me no matter what, you're beautiful.  Other people say that out of niceness, but it's just not the same.  I have pushed through and forced myself out a few times, but there is not a single second that is comfortable.  Will my wig fall off? My God I would die of absolute embarrassment.  And that stupid wig.  It's uncomfortable, itchy, heavy and kind of hurts your scalp.  When going through chemo your scalp is pretty sore and feels somewhat like you have a permanent sunburn on your head.  And when you're wearing a turban and not wearing your wig, the stares of pity are unbearable.  I do not want pity, I just want to be a normal person living a normal life, but that is not going to happen for a very long time it feels like right now.  So while I have the great support of a few people, without having him beside me it has been quite the rough road for me.  I realized this week I am not only going through horrible chemo and cancer treatments, I am still going through the grieving process of losing him as my main support person and cheerleader as well, making this process for me 100x harder.

Then there is the other elephant in the room.  The fact that I had been trying to get sober for almost a year.  And the fact that right before the recurrence I had fallen off the wagon big time and landed my stupid ass back in the hospital for another round of pancreatitis.  I thought I had it under control.  I had even told a guy that I had been out on a couple of dates with that I could drink wine and be okay as long as I stay away from the shots and hard liquor. LOL  silly girl   I had myself convinced that was true.  In reality there is not a single type of alcohol that is "ok" to drink at any time when you have an alcohol problem.  That wagon tips over way to easy.  You can only imagine how badly I wanted to go drink myself into oblivion once I heard those you have C words again and so many times since then.  But I haven't.  That last bout in the hospital, once again, shook me to the core and I vowed "this time" I'm done.  Today I am 74 days sober, without a single drop of alcohol.  And I can honestly say I haven't even wanted a drink.  I believe it's probably largely in part due to the fact that the side effect of this chemo I am on right now mirrors the very worst part of drinking.  It feels like that worst night of pouring whiskey and shots down your throat for hours, only to come home and lay down in your bed and the bed to begin spinning like a top.  Which then forces your drunk, weak and stumbling body to the toilet where you lay all night praying to that porcelain god.  And just when you think you've survived, you wake up to the most unbearable pain and exhaustion you've ever felt.  Well played God, well played.  If this is what it takes to make me never want to drink again, then so be it.  Because I can honestly say that after I am finished with this next round of this type of chemo and one more dance with the red devil gods next week, I do not EVER want to feel this way ever again! But as any addict knows there will be hurdles as I try to stay sober after this nightmare is over with, but I believe this experience will give me the strength to persevere through this hurdle as well.

So through my alone time this week, I realized I was not only battling cancer and chemo, but also heartbreak and addiction as well.  And this trifecta has made it that much more difficult to maneuver through this season of my life I am going through now.  No wonder I had a breakdown.  And no wonder I'm having a hell of a time dealing with it.  I had a great friend come rescue me Thursday night and gave me the best advice.  Be kind to yourself and allow people who want to love you during this to do so and don't worry about the people who do not.  This is hard for me to do, but going forward I am going to try to do better at loving myself.  I am going to try to give myself permission to be sad, to grieve, to heal and to also let people who want to love me do so.