I woke up Wednesday morning
with anxiety as I had on Monday, the originally scheduled appointment. I was
6 appointments in and the anxiety about treatment as well as the despair about
continued chemo were mounting. I cancelled Monday with elated joy as I realized
my cold was still hanging on and I didn’t want to risk getting more sick from
chemo with having a cold. I don’t know if it’s a real thing, but I didn’t want
to chance it. (Okay, and I really didn’t want to go) My daughter was also sick.
I have been feeling down
and depressed the last week and a half about so many things. Again, I hate to
turn this blog into something sad and dark, but I think there are these moments
for all of us. Some of us do well with treatment the majority of the time with
bouts of sadness and some of them of us are doing poorly the majority of time
with bouts of happy times. I think I’m somewhere in between, but I didn’t even
realize how sad I was until this last week.
The first Taxol was
awesome, or so I thought. I realized after the second round that the comparison
of Red Devil to Taxol made the first Taxol seem
awesome. The second round I started to feel the effects of the Taxol, itself.
And for some reason I began to feel depressed. I didn’t want to leave the
house. I know I gained weight again. I feel like no matter what I do, I get
nothing done. I worry about my finances and when I return to work. My eyebrows
are slowly disappearing as are my eyelashes – and I still haven’t figured out
how to do the fake lashes yet. I hate taking showers because I hate touching my
body or seeing it at all, and I haven’t even had a mastectomy. Which makes me
feel selfish for feeling so sorry for myself when I haven’t experienced the
level to which others have. It makes me think of my brother and all that he
went through.
I have dreams about him,
followed by nightmares of my own fears of death. After conversations with my fiancé
I have finally started scheduling my counseling appointments again. I forgot to
schedule another one after the holidays. I just don’t know how to grieve the
loss of Jake at all at this point because my own cancer came up so quickly
after. It’s coming in bits and pieces. My 5 year old randomly cries about her
uncle and she wants to give him a hug and a kiss. It breaks my heart.
Anyway, (tears wiped)…back
to the appointment. I had my guest of honor all set up for Monday, my bestie
Melissa, however, with my cancellation she lost the ability to go with me due
to her work schedule. And I knew that was a possibility. Wednesday, I went
alone. I had another new nurse that would be accessing my port for the first
time, (meaning it was my first time having this particular nurse access my port,
which always sends my hands into fits of the nervous sweats). Even with the
numbing cream on my skin, it really hurt. And I have a mark now…that’s
new. Anyway, right away I thought,
“Great! Next time I’m going to be so afraid of this part.” Quite honestly, I’m
always afraid of this part, but now it’s going to be so much worse knowing that
it truly can hurt. Tears ran down my cheeks as I knew in that moment that the
remaining treatments would bring with it increased anxiety and it was not
likely to dissipate.
As I mentioned before there was a mark on my skin. I thought,
perhaps it was seeing what was being inserted into the port for the first time
ever. I always squeeze my eyes shut
tight to NEVER see and I try to avoid looking at all of the medical equipment
laid out in front of them. This time I looked, for some insane reason, and it
was in my head. Surely, I freaked myself out.
However, two days later there is a lump and a mark. A sure sign that something wasn’t done
right. The last time the nurse did an
awesome job, and I didn’t feel a thing. I guess I’m paying my dues on that one.
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