May 13, 2016

Everything is a journey now. Having a baby is a journey, with the requisite stuff you have to do, which appears to include revealing your news with a professional photo shoot, sharing the sex of the baby (before you meet him or her) via an elaborate party and tons of other Pinterest-y stuff I am SO GLAD I didn't have to do.
Cancer is a really shitty journey. Apparently, there are some requisite events and frankly, I'm not interested. I didn't cry for days when I found out. I don't think I cried at all. I remember being super frustrated when I was waiting for test results and being weepy then. Some of the kindnesses people have shown me have made me tear up. And for some reason, sometimes when I'm in the car by myself the thought just pops into my head: This could kill me. It's scary. So I get a little teary-eyed and figure well, let's just get home so we're not crying behind the wheel, and the feeling is gone by the time the garage door closes.
I had surgery, and it was fine. It's healing, still, and I know I have more surgery in the future - my surgeon wants to get rid of whatever the hell is in my right breast (and I'm in favor of that), and I'll probably have to have a port put into my chest for easier chemo access. I'm cool with that. Bring it on.
But chemotherapy? So far (one treatment in, a week and two days ago), chemo is ... oh, to hell with the travel metaphor and chemotherapy being a part of the journey. Chemotherapy sucks. I hate it. I hate that it's shortened to "chemo." There should be a much more sinister, foreboding, evil-sounding name for chemotherapy. Poison therapy. Abject misery. Awful, horrible, sickness that you're doing to yourself.
The actual administration of the chemotherapy wasn't bad. The nurse got a vein on the first try, and she gave me a blanket and a popsicle to eat while she "pushed" the first drug - two huge syringes full of what looked like red Kool-Aid. One of the side effects, apparently, is getting sores in your mouth, and that can be alleviated by keeping your mouth cold while you get the medicine.
Jeff and I joked that it was kind of badass - there were big biohazard stickers on both of the syringes and the IV bag with the other medicine I'd get. We even took some photos of the warnings on the bag, and I took a selfie in my chemo chair.
I had the first treatment Wednesday (May 4) in Madison, and Jeff and I stopped at Panera for lunch afterwards. I was loaded full of dangerous drugs, anti-nausea medications and steroids - I was feeling fine. We went to Jen's band ice cream social that night with Jeff's parents, and ate at Culver's afterwards. I felt pretty smug. Look at me, going out to a concert after chemo!
That ended fast. The next morning, I couldn't sit up without feeling dizzy and lightheaded. No nausea, but I felt awful, and continued to do so all day Thursday and Friday, and into Saturday.
It's hard to describe how I felt, partially because I am unwilling to try and remember it. Jeff and I talked about whether we should or could discontinue chemotherapy. I felt like someone had pulled the plug on my life, and it had just fallen into a deep pit of misery and disappeared. I felt like a screw had come loose somewhere in my body - in my life - and everything in my life had collapsed.
Sunday, Mother's Day, had some good points. I was hungry. I suggested we go to Applebee's for lunch, but then my stomach freaked out, sending me to the bathroom and Jeff to the grocery to get some chicken to grill. I had half of a chicken breast and some quinoa/rice mix, and it was delicious.
After lunch, Jen had a surprise for me - we were going to a painting party at Higher Grounds. I've been interested in these, but hadn't worked up the nerve to sign up, so it was a very cool Mother's Day present. My stomach was still upset from lunch, so I spent some time during the party in the restroom, but Jen and I both produced passable paintings of a mother and baby elephant walking in the sunset. (Jen's was better than mine. I am not an artist.) I felt kind of conspicuous, getting up twice to use the restroom, but Jen took it in stride, filling me in on what I'd missed. We had a really good time, and picked up Tom afterwards for a trip to Union Dairy.
I hadn't been back to work since Tuesday, and being up and around on Sunday seemed to go relatively well, so I set out to go to work on Monday. I had figured out by then that getting up early and taking an anti-nausea pill, then going back to bed for an hour or so nap helped to ease the dizziness, so that's what I did, and got in to work around 8. I talked to my boss about what was happening and how I hoped to handle work during treatment, and did a little work. I was pretty dizzy, though, and went home after about 3 hours.
I made it a little longer Tuesday, and felt a little better.
Wednesday, I felt like a human! I worked about 6 1/2 hours before I needed to go home and sleep. It felt so good, though, to be walking around (albeit slowly) like a normal human! Jeff and I went to Jen's orchestra concert, and we picked up some supper on the way home. I went to bed feeling pretty good.
Thursday was a less good day - I had (fried) chicken strips for supper on Wednesday, and that didn't work out well. I worked for a half day and went home - and then Jeff and I went up to the High Noon Saloon in Madison to see Something to Do and The English Beat! I drank a bunch of water (no alcohol) and didn't move around a whole lot, but had a great time. A little voice inside my head kept saying "I'm back!!"
Today, Friday, I worked a full day - I could hardly not, after skipping out early on Thursday and then going to a concert - and had lunch with Jeff's parents. And now it's 10:30 p.m. and I'm still awake, drinking tea and finally catching up here.
We're going to continue with chemotherapy. I have an appointment next Wednesday, and an appointment with the wig salon, too. I still have my hair, but I'm afraid to do too much with it - I really dread it falling out. (Which should start around Wednesday, when the whole "feeling awful" cycle begins again, oh joy.)