My second round of chemo started out as it did the previous time. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was given the two immunotherapies without any consequence, followed by the chemo.
And then I started sneezing. And then I started coughing. And then I started throwing up.
That is all I can remember from that day, besides little snippets. I remember chaos, but not much else. I remember there were two or three nurses there, squeezing clear syringes of liquid into my IV. I remember seeing my doctor there, which was odd to me at the time since he is never usually there. I remember someone telling me to stop coughing and to take deep breaths. But all I can think is:
help I can't stop help I can't breathe help help help
My husband tells me that at one point my heart rate shot to 150 (I felt like I was having a heart attack). I was throwing up for almost an hour. They stopped giving me the chemo halfway through, and I was given two doses of ativan in order to sedate me. Apparently I begged them to keep going with the chemo. That sounds like something I would say. I have no recollection of coming home. My memories were stolen from me.
It's been four days. Since I didn't have that extra shot of neulasta, I have no bone pain (thank God). Since I had only a half dose of chemo, the ashy taste is minimal and there aren't any sores in my mouth and throat, at least not yet. In theory, compared to last time, the recovery period seems like it should be easier.
But... I don't know how to explain it. I feel like I'm living in thick, heavy fog. I have lost all sense of time, of space, of me. My head is cloudy, and I can't think or see straight. Waves of exhaustion and minor nausea roll over me and I am overcome with a need to lie down, even if I don't want to sleep. And when I finally manage to pull myself out of bed, my body is sluggish and I can barely lift my feet to walk. The cough is better, thanks to a super-strong syrup laced with codeine, but I've somehow contracted a sinus infection this time around.
But, I mean, it could be worse. It could always be worse.
Everyday my daughter asks me, "Mommy, why do you have cancer?" And the only response I have is, "I don't know. It just happened." What else can I say? There is so much confusion and complication surrounding this whole ordeal. There are times when I wish things were different, that I had an uneventful life, that this cancer had never found me. But there's no use in dwelling on the "what if's." And so I keep moving forward, despite the corporeal protests. I don't have any other choice. I have to remember that although I am losing control over my life, all is not lost.
I'm taking the road less traveled by, and hopefully it makes a difference to someone, somewhere.
(On a side note, my friend's mom passed away this week after an 8-year battle with breast cancer. Her funeral is tomorrow. It hits close to home for obvious reasons. I am angry that such a kind, wonderful spirit is gone and heartbroken for her childrens' loss and scared that I'm next and determined that I won't be next - not now, not ever.)
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