A Week Into Round Two Of Chemotherapy

I guess it’s not really a week, though.  The math makes no sense to me.  Chemo is Day 1, Tuesday.  But today is Monday and it hasn’t been a week, but it’s Day 7.  There are seven days in a week, but I’m only counting six days. 

Welcome to every day in my head.  Maybe it’s just “new math.”

Really, that is about how it has been the last 6/7 days.  One fog after another mixed in with some nausea, CRAZY taste buds, a face rash, fistfuls and comb-fuls of hair, a dry nose that bleeds at the drop of a hat and fatigue that drops me to my knees (actually, to the waterbed, my head covered with a blanket and pillow).  

They sound the chemo rounds are cumulative.  Round One didn’t necessarily leave my body and then wait for Round Two.  Apparently there was some leftover Round One for Round Two to stack on top of.  And stack it did.  

The Nuelasta shot so far has been a God-send.  First off, no daily trips to Evergreen.  Second, I started Claritin for the bone pain on Sunday even though Nuelasta wasn’t until Tuesday.  Good move.  I had some bone pain in the butt and legs (sort of like I had worked out really hard the day before – yeah right, hard work out), and I felt like a little old lady for a couple days.  I also did not have the swollen tongue or rash all over my back, shoulders and chest (some on the face; might be a result of the Noxzema – no one’s ever sure).  Knock on wood, please Jesus, let that be it.  I was also on steroids for an extra three days to stave off some of the side effects. 

Worked for a while. 

Biggest one was the fog.  The fog is real, people.  My parents came to see me during the treatment.  Sorry mom and dad, but I have no idea what I talked about, or you talked about, or the nurse talked about.  I felt really out of it.  After treatment we went to Costco and I literally did the toddler walk-cross-wise-in-front-of-every-grown-up move.  Apologizing to toddlers as I did it.  Later on in the week Jeff and I would go out to grocery shop and I would stand in front of something and just stare at it.  Jeff later said, “You used to be in and out of stores.  Now you wander.”  Luckily this does pass and toward the end of the week I get back to more “normal.”  

Until the next dose. 

Chemo.  Toxins that take me to the brink, to cure one little quarter size mass that could really mess up my life.  

Circles.  Always circles.