My romance with IV Benadryl was short-lived. After my first faaaar out experience, it now gives me about two minutes of pleasant floating feelings, followed by several hours of extreme grogginess. Not only that, I can feel IQ points evaporating by the minute just like the hero at the end of “Flowers for Algernon.”
At Friday’s chemo, I scarfed up a People magazine from the waiting room, but once the Benadryl kicked in, it was too intellectually challenging. Even the pictures confused me as I don’t recognize any of those reality “stars.”
“This is too hard,” I complained, showing it to Mark.
He didn’t really grasp the situation.
“Here, I can read aloud to you from this book of Chekhov short stories,” he said, not realizing that “Hop on Pop” would have been more appropriate right then.
I wanted to fire off a witty come-back, or at least a lame joke like, “Sure, honey, actually Dostoevsky would be even better,” but I couldn’t remember that big long Russian name.
Instead I stared at him vacantly and eventually slurred out, “Check-off what?” an even lamer joke, and drifted off into slumber land.
When it was time to go home, I found that I’d lost even more English-language skills.
“You car,” I said, pointing at Mark. “Me pee.”
Luckily he was able to deduce that meant he should go retrieve the car from the valet (a fabulous perk at the cancer center: free valet parking) while I visited the bathroom.
At home, it was more couch time with kitties. I wonder if I could train them to massage my aura?
Then, at 3 am, the Dexamethasone, a steroid also delivered by IV during chemo, kicked in and I was fully awake, ready to spring into action on the domestic frontier like the crazed offspring of The Flash and Martha Stewart. Mark has an inconvenient attachment to sleeping at this hour, so I have to tiptoe as I plunge maniacally into my improvement projects.
Neither of these drugs are actually chemotherapy per se; they are administered to prevent chemo side effects. Benadryl forestalls allergic reactions to the Taxol; Dexamethasone prevents nausea.
If only I could switch the time when each one takes effect; days with steroid-fueled energy and nights with Benadryl drowsiness would be perfect.
I'm sitting in my mom's room while she's doing her Sudoku, and a few seconds after I'm reading your post, I'm totally laughing out loud, and she's all "What?" but I can't read her your post because I'm laughing too hard. I manage to tell her that it's your blog. Then she understands. "Yeah Carolyn is hilarious. I'll have to read it later."
ReplyDeleteThey say that laughter is the best medicine, but is making others laugh good medicine too? I certainly hope so.
Love Jordan
I also have no idea who any of the reality stars are, so either I'm just as don without drugs or that's normal. Of course I prefer to believe the latter. The good news is they seem to be doing their job.
ReplyDeleteI must read hundreds of posts and tweets each week. The most well-written & funniest by far are yours. Can't believe you haven't replaced Dave Barry yet.
Just want you to know that I look forward to reading your blogs and feel close to you because of them....I know I'll laugh and learn and I always feel that it's a story that will have a happy ending. xoxox
ReplyDeleteOh my, I think you are going to have to just "be in the moment" of your thoughts if People Magazine is hard to read. I am a snob about these publications, but when I'm in line at the supermarket I devour them until it's my turn and time to put them back in the rack, a little ratty for wear. Why do I have a terrible curiosity to see who looks "bad" in a swimsuit when I would look horrible similarly dressed?
ReplyDeleteI took my large gaming laptop with me to chemo today, intending to play some World of Warcraft, but once the Benadryl kicked in, I couldn't tell Goblins from Gnomes, or spells from emotes.
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, I am SO not looking forward to tonight's decadron insomnia. BTW, if there are typos in this comment, I'm acctually getting my chemos while I type. :D
I'm reading your blog in the early hours of the morning. I almost wish I could say I'm just home after work or that I'm should be getting ready for work but no such luck. I'm reading it because I'm wide eyed and ready to go. If I were my dog, who is lucky enough to be snoring in my bedroom, I'd be wagging my tail, ready for playtime.
ReplyDeleteI found your blog while searching for Benadryl with chemo. You guessed it. Lovely side affects. I can't sleep the day I get Chemo. Luck lucky me, I'm not quite as brain dead as you got. I'm past the chemo half way point. The first half was super nasty.
Part 2 begins. Session #5 was awful. I was in bed for 6 six days. Seriously. I go up for 3 hours a day because my back hurt. I told my husband to pretend he was living on his own. When I was up, I was a royal pain in the butt. I needed help with almost everything. I did have a bit of dignity. I had a chat with the oncologist and my chemo cocktail was changed.
So far, Chemo begins at 12:30 which gives me time to eat a sandwich before I go. I take water, gingerale, a smoothy and cut up fruit with me. The wee try beside my chair gets filled up. The first week I took a book to read. My husbands sits in the lobby and plays on his computer. Dexamethasone clicked in rather quickly and reading was useless. The weights on my eyelids got heavier and heavier as my internal voice chanted 'close, close close'. The rest of my body teased 'ha-ha - Who are you kidding? I'm not letting you sleep.' A heavy gust of frustration came out of my mouth with a sigh. I'm bored. Five minutes later, the nurses are ensuring that stuff is flushed through me. I'v learned that is the good part of the day. I learned by the second week, this thirty minute span offers a perfect opportunity to urinate. (I've just completed my third weekly treatment.)
Drug number 2 begins. Good old Benadryl. Within seconds, I'm dizzy and lightheaded. Crap. Leaning my head back makes it works. Gazing around the room, patients are sleeping, job dropped, ready to catch the flies. Family members or friends sitting with them are reading or playing on their cells. If I had to urinate and fell, I would wake up the living dead. Not a happy camper. I swear the flush makes it worse. Once again, reading is impossible. That would require my eyes to focus. Not!
Pre meds finally end and the true poison begins.
Week number two, I took downloaded music with me. Partial success, I love my music, but three solid hours to listening to it is a bit much. At home, I'm multitasking, not sitting on my arse. I'm reading a bit of my book, but only a chapter or two. I lack the focus for a good, let me sink into this story.
Week number 3, I got smart, finally. I took two downloaded fluff books and my music. Even while I feel like I belong on another planet, I can listen to something.
It is now five o'clock in the morning. If history is repeating itself, I'm up for the day. Hubby won't rise and shine for another 3 or so hours. The dog would sleep until noon if we would let her. The smell of toast and the sound of my hubby peeling his banana, or the scent, not certain which, force her out of bed.
I know what you'e thinking. Did it take her an hour to type this??? I know! Almost. I have put big self-adhesive bandages on my index fingers. The nails are super sensitive and are bruising really easily. So far, I'm not getting tingles and my feet are fine. Fingers crossed. I'm hoping keeping my index fingers wrapped will force me to use other fingers to accomplish anything and everything. Either that or I will be putting my meals in front of my husband and asking him to cut my meat for me. Good heavens, I'll be back to being an infant again. He can prepare my food once he cuts the meal up for the dog. I'll be next on the assembly line. Our 20 lb full ball rules the house.