They lied.
At chemo orientation they said we’d feel relatively okay the day after treatment.
Last night (Thursday night, right after treatment), I was indeed fine. Mark and I strolled to the health food store, I cheerfully chug-a-lugged water and herbal tea as directed, ate a light dinner, watched some mindless TV and collapsed into bed by 9:30 p.m.
My eyes flew open at 1 a.m. My stomach was sending out major distress signals. From tummy to throat, unhappiness reigned.
They’d explained this to me over and over. Chemo kills all fast-growing cells. Your entire GI tract is one big mucous membrane, packed with cells that are constantly dying and developing. Chemo turns the lining of your stomach raw. Your stomach signals your brain that it’s not happy. Your brain sends a signal back, “Throw it up.”
The anti-nausea drugs act by blocking one or both of these signals. And they are working a bit. I don’t actually have to vomit. I just feel queasy. Unfortunately, it’s hard to ignore.
I tried to take deep cleansing breaths and clear my brain. “In, fresh. Out, flower.”
But my evil monkey mind tortured me with images of food as if it were trying to trick me into a mad dash to the bathroom.
Embarrassingly, one of my go-to images for relaxation comes from a Clairol Herbal Essence commercial circa 1970s. A cartoon girl with Rapunzel-worthy hair flits through a verdant forest until she reaches a beautiful mountain pool where she disrobes (the hair provides discreet coverage) and takes a refreshing dip (while polluting the water with those pretty effervescent shampoo suds).
Instead of helping me unwind, that image now conjured up the thought of all the water and liquids I’m supposed to drink, 64 ounces a day. The very idea of water was enough to clench my stomach a little more. I ran through various other beverage options – all seemed unpalatable. Getting frantic, I inventoried potential light foods I might be able to stomach. All seemed downright repulsive.
I could hear my stomach warning me as if a miniature mobster from a bad B movie had taken up residence in my body, “You’d better not try to put anything down here -- or you'll be sorry.”
FRIDAY AFTERNOON UPDATE: I wrote the above in the dark hours of despair. Initially I tried one of the antinausea meds Dr. D had recommended for nighttime, because it's supposed to induce drowsiness and stop nausea, but it did neither.
At 3 am, Mark convinced me to take the heavy-duty Emend which I was supposed to save for morning. "This is morning," he pointed out, reasonably enough. It goes down along with Decadron (a steroid). I have just two Emends, which cost a whopping $110 per pill, covered by insurance but I'd gladly pay double out of pocket.
And that did the trick. The nausea finally slipped away and I was back in bed by 4.
I woke up feeling just mildly "peakish." After a lifetime of loving to eat, overnight I have developed a deep disinterest in food. Still, breakfast went down okay and I'm sipping my fluids as directed.
Some folks told me that the steroids (I had IV ones before chemo plus the Decadron) would give me a burst of energy. I had imagined that I'd be bustling around the house, finally reorganizing the linen closet and prepping the garden for winter, if not actually hitting home runs and acing the Tour de France.
No such luck.
Once more I'm pleasing the kitties by lying docilely on the couch all the day long.
Your diary inspired me to google diets while on Chemo which also led me to "managing nausea." I found these two sites: http://www.chemocare.com/managing/nausea_vomiting__chemotherapy.asp
ReplyDeleteand http://www.chemocare.com/eatingwell/tips_for_managing_eating_problems.asp
There are others of course, and you may already be taking all this advice.
(And another) Do's and Don'ts: http://www.cancernausea.com/splfeatures/diet_do_donts.asp
What I found most interesting are the number of anti-nausea drugs available. If those you are taking aren't working the way the doctors said, perhaps another couple are worth a try???
Even the word "change" probably doesn't sound good at this point. After all, it could be worse. But it might be better.
The one food I don't see on the first list (although it appears to have all of the necessary nutrients, etc.) is yogurt. And I've found it so healing for all the mucous membranes.
The only downside to reading your exquisite prose is that unlike being there in person, I can't nod (and know you see me); I can't put my arms around you (and know that you are comforted by my love); I cannot kiss away the tears. At some level, we are forced to abide in our faith that each understand the other's deepest feelings.
Dear Carolyn...anyone that knows me..knows that I'm rarely (or never) speechless. These last two blog entries of yours..left me without words. So this comment is about not being able to use words. I felt that if I just write about not being able to write that I'd be like one of those writers with a "writers block" that just babbles on..until something meaningful shows up. The most meaningful thing I can think of right now is that you finally had your first treatment and you know what to expect...oh hurrah...that's a wonderful thing to think about. Saying that Larry and I are with you and thinking about you and loving you is the best I can do right now. You are the most brave and wonderful sister/friend that I have in this world right now...right now..right now...our love is holding you.
ReplyDeleteLarry wrote tooooooooo:
ReplyDeleteThanks Carolyn for keeping us up to date. It makes us feel a little bit closer to what you are dealing with which is where we want to be. Right by your side physically or in thought. Your journey is our journey. You are our guide and we are with you. Fellow travelers all the way.
You are such an amazing writer. And your words are getting read by many other people. I've been forwarding them to my survivor friend in Oregon who is sending them to others. So once again just like your writing at the Chron your words are reaching and helping many people you won't ever see. Who knows how many people you saved from financial disaster by your insightful writing on the mortgage stuff.
We can really sympathize with the stress of waiting all the time for medical services. Sue and I have waited so much in medical offices it makes us feel like we are in the play Waiting for Godot. Also since we are expert and seasoned waiters we are going to start a new business called We'll Wait For You! Our service is that we wait in Doctors offices as the surrogates for people. Then when the actual do something time arrives we call the person on their cell phone and they come there. We also tie up the doctors temporarily so they can't leave. We predict that with a few tie ups appointments will be more on time. We think this is a real money maker. Sue has read everything on the walls of the doctor's offices so now she is waiting to get her advanced medical degree. Did you know you can bypass medical school by becoming an expert in waiting?
Keep us as up to date as you feel like and know your words are helpful to us even though we wince when we read them. We want to know whats happening. We're all family you know.\
Love
Larry
Honey Bunny,
ReplyDeleteWe are here with you throughout this crazy journey. Thank you so much for letting us into your heart, mind and all your beautiful other parts.Finally. the writing about you that's long been brewing. I wish I could give you a different journey, but since this is what it is, I'm grateful to get closer to you. xoxo,Limor
You made it through the first (and scariest, because it was the first) visit to the the Chemo Cocktail Lounge. You also made it through that first post-chemo "dark night of the soul" which invevitably follows.
ReplyDeleteThree hurrahs and a whole lotta props for that, Sweet Carolyn. As unappealing as it may seem, do keep drinking fluids. In hindsight, I realize that because I had to work through treatment and couldn't leave my classroom full of kids to do the Restroom Gallop, some of my nastier side effects probably resulted from dehydration. If you can avoid that by drinking, do it!
So chug away, Little One, as we supporters at the Lounge cheer you on (is there a metaphor there? Answer comes there none). Chug, chug, CHUG!!!
Your remarkable prose and spirit continue to amaze and inspire me. II feel as though you are writing my story from six years ago, but a whole lot more articulately than I ever could. I are keeping you close in my heart. Remember: stay curious. And drink. A lot. Love!
Whoops. "I ARE?" Guess I've been holding up the bar in the Chemo Cocktail Lounge a bit longer than I thought.
ReplyDeleteSigh. Last call. Drink up!
Love you lots.
LoriLeigh
Not much to add to what others have said, except that I am loving the Clairol Herbal Essence visual! I often wonder whether the sunny beach I imagine when I need a 'happy place' visual isn't really from a Corona commercial. I don't even like Corona. But real beaches have sandflies and inconvenient parking, and the fictional ones are trouble-free.
ReplyDelete