After the infusion last week I felt nauseated and tired. A couple of hours after the treatment and most of the week, actually. How good I feel right now has made it very clear how potent that treatment is and I'm definitely not looking forward to next week. Though my appetite has returned in full swing...dangit, so much for weight loss. Maybe I'll maintain.
By the time my counseling appointment rolled around on Wednesday, I decided, okay I'll just go to work on Thursday. I should be feeling better by then. Wrong! That is when it increased horribly on the pain and suffering scale. The nausea meds only curbed the vomiting, but didn't stop the nausea. I'm unsure where to go with the details on this as to not overshare more than I already do. (Please keep in mind, I'm chatty and I'm a writer, so if the information is more than you want to know, please don't read. However, I promise I won't let it get too graphic.)
So constipation was the next thing to kick in. (And here, I just said I wasn't going to let it get too graphic. ha!) I was getting worried and the nurse line at the hospital also joined me on the worry train. They told me (as I was already taking "softners" since the day of infusion) to take this "magnesium citrate"? I love that they try to give a fun flavor of cherry to it. As I drank it I imagined if this is what that red devil chemo tasted like, and wondered if it did the same things to my veins as this citrate was doing to my esophagus. Like drinking the blood of the aliens from the movie, well.. Aliens. You know, pure acid. And then Milk of Magnesia mixed with prune juice was next. It sounds grosser than it tastes and it was a nice relief after the burning of the citrate. Did I mention that already? Okay, I'll move on. One thing I can't debate is that either one or the both worked. I could finally move on with my life. Or so I thought...
Not only did work become this impossible feat, but they wanted me to move around daily. How on earth was I to move around when I was nauseated, constipated, tired, and beginning to feel depressed? My poor daughter was home with me at times too because I couldn't get her to daycare. I wouldn't trust my ability to drive the way I was feeling. This likely added to the depression knowing that I was subjecting her to this. Shockingly, it still was to get worse.
Saturday, the heartburn began to rear it's ugly head. I think I had been doing great with the water and taking my meds, but I won't lie... the food...not great. I kind of eat whatever if I'm hungry because the first few days I'm not hungry at all. (I talk as if I have been doing this for weeks. Solely based on one week, this is what I have discovered.)
Just to preface, I had been taking tums each night at this point, and now the heartburn was continuing to increase and literally burn through those sardonic "mints". Radiating beams of pain would shoot across my chest and down to my stomach each time I swallowed. Nothing I took seem to help. Milk extinguished the flames for a minute. I would lay my head to one side and I would try to sleep for about a half an hour before it started again. The moment I moved my head the heat would rise. Tears popped into the corners of my eyes and frustration burned hotter than the reflux.
I began to cry each time and my chest would expand out and contort. Somewhere in my mind this seemed to make it less painful. I called the doctor and they prescribed a strong medication. I was going to wait for Kevin to get home from work, but as it rolled around to 200 pm I couldn't take it anymore. My daughter was playing nurse, but this couldn't go on. (Literally, it couldn't go on. She isn't trained or educated. And cute as it was, a blanket being pulled up to my neck really did little more than distract me from my self pity and pain.) My stepdad finally grabbed my little brother and my prescription and dropped them both off at my house. My daughter's birthday party was the next day and my little brother was scheduled to join us anyway.
I immediately took the pill and laid back down on the couch, waiting for the sweet relief of modern science. An hour later my thoughtful fiance arrived home and tried to console me by rubbing my head, but nothing had changed. I was still in immense pain and maybe now scaring and scarring the 14 year old brother with my breathing and chest contorting that likely resembled an exorcism.
Kevin got into his home pj outfit and relaxed in the garage, but I got on the phone. I couldn't take it anymore. After the many hours of writhing in agony (yes, I'm exaggerating...but what a boring story without it. I'm very dramatic and in hindsight it explains my daughter. Sometimes you are just to close to it. Anyhoo...), they wanted me to go to the emergency room. (that's not an exaggeration)
I didn't want to go anywhere, but I couldn't be in this pain anymore. We got bundled up and left my brother to watch my daughter, not realizing how long this might take. (My smart mother ended up picking them both up later for the night, and took them to Applebees...man, that sounds so yummy!)
As we were on our way it struck me that I was likely going to be stuck with a bunch of needles again. I knew there was no way around it. FUUUDDDGGGEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm done with needles already and the more times I'm stuck the more my fear and anxiety about them increases. Honestly, if they want to do a hand IV to me again, they will likely have to punch me in the face or hold me down. And even though the port was no big deal pain wise, I'm oddly afraid of the next time they have to access it.
Lucky for me, (wait..what?) the continuing chest pain helped me forget my fear of needles the rest of the drive in. We entered the emergency room and I was checked in right away. After a brief EKG I was given a room. They believed it to be heartburn, but being a cancer patient they had to be safe and be sure that it wasn't heart issues or a blood clot in the lungs. So, we got settled in for a long night and I got that damn IV. But in my arm..good veins and not very painful of a process. Whew! But every time they came in the room, I braced myself for another poke. Sure they could have used my port, but like I said...scared again. I'll have to use it next week, so I better get over it before then.
After a long night of sitting/laying, getting an X Ray, blood tests, and liquid Novocaine/lydocaine it was determined to be extremely (medical term) bad heartburn. A stronger medication was added. Though I still had the pain, once I took the chalky giant pill it wasn't long before it finally calmed down and I could sleep.
The next morning I felt so much better and was able to take my daughter to play for her birthday as scheduled. Every so often, I can feel the heartburn trying to break out again, but I have felt so good the last few days. The new found symptom of mouth sores and dryness is not a fun thing to experience, but hey, I can converse with people, go to work, play with my daughter, write this blog and have a sense of humor about it.
There have been several times already that I justed wanted to stop this treatment. Whenever it's horrible or I think it's at the worst, I think, What in the hell? Why am I doing this to myself? Who needs an additional 5% survivability? (Seriously, one week and I have thought this several times already). I try to remember, best case scenario, grandchildren, etc...keep moving forward.
I know my experience isn't the worst that can be experienced. But I do have to stop feeling bad about feeling bad too. I have to stop worrying about what others might think. A friend told me that this journey would change me and I can see how it will. It's cheesy and it's overused, but life is short and at the same time it's long. Life should be lived to the fullest. Not like someone who wants to live forever and not like someone who expects to die tomorrow, but just enjoying the moments you have, and not stressing about the things you simply can't control.
No comments:
Post a Comment