I'm at the halfway mark for chemo. Just eight treatments to go in this leg of the marathon. I've discovered that it's not the poisons that get to you, but the side effects. No matter how many times the doctor, the nurses, or my husband talk about the side effects, they aren't real until they happen. It doesn't help that they give a list of 20,000 possible side effects, of which you may get ten in a number of combinations. You just have to wait and see what the chemo fairy brings you and count yourself lucky if you don't get the "sudden death" side effect.
With the previous drug, it was all about being tired and nauseated. I had a week off between those treatments to recover. The biggest side effect of that drug was muscle weakness, which means that I couldn't open things like jars of pickles and bottles of water. That had me wallowing in a vat of self-pity. It's always been a point of pride that I could do things on my own, like open jars. That tiny feeling of independence was sometimes all I had in my twenties, when I lived on my own. I would say to myself, at least I'm not so helpless and fragile that I can't open my own jars or kill a bug that needs killing. Fortunately, that side effect went away as soon as I was off that particular chemo drug, and there was much rejoicing when I was able to open a bottle of Gatorade for my son without resorting to power tools.
This current chemo drug is a weekly visit, and the side effects were non-existent the first time. I even felt hungry enough to eat afterwards! As more of the poison has been introduced, however, the side effects have become more obvious. The skin on my toes has been peeling off. My hands are swollen and blisters are popping up. I have helpless sausage fingers, that can't open necklace clasps or peel the tops off of things or unbutton things. My fingernails feel as though someone whacked them with a hammer; at night they throb painfully. It's difficult to complete any of the fine motor tasks I used to take for granted, and I find myself getting tearful when I can't hold my pen correctly, or when it hurts to type. That independence I so treasure is slipping away again.
My gums are all painful and inflamed, with sores popping up on my tongue and in my throat. It hurts to swallow, and therefore it hurts to eat, or to drink. Eating and drinking are two of my most favorite past times on the planet, and to not be able to enjoy my two favorite things has been another upset for me.
I've got eight more weeks of this. The downhill is ahead, the end is in sight. I know it's going to get worse, however, before it gets better. I am trying to keep a positive attitude. I feel as though I've fought for everything my entire life, whether that's actually true or not, and I'm still fighting, blisters in my throat be damned. I plan to keep fighting until I beat this.
But this week...
I used to stare aghast at people who survived cancer, who told me flat
out that they would rather die than go through chemo again. My own father told me that five years ago, and it just floored me. He's a fighter, too. Why would he not want to fight? I get my general stubbornness from him. It's not in
my nature to give up, ever, and it was beyond me to think of just not fighting anymore. But I get it now. This week, it makes sense. I understand that feeling now. How tired and worn out would I have to be to want to stop fighting, I wonder? I don't know, and that scares me.
This week was hard.
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pain. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Monday, March 4, 2013
Migraines Suck
They really do. I should know--I've had three in the past week.
I can't think of one nice thing to say about them. Wait...nope. Nada. If someone told me that migraines happen when little invisible demons sit on your head and start using it as an anvil, I would believe it. If I were told that migraines were evil spirits slamming about in my skull, I would believe that too. Nothing that hurts so bad can be good.
If you've never, ever had a migraine, then you are incredibly lucky. I've had them since around 18, although I can remember one humdinger of a cluster headache(which is its own special form of hell) in 8th grade. And how is that for sucking, that I remember a freakin' headache from when I was thirteen, but I can't remember if I ate breakfast?
Most of my migraines start with the aura. Sufferers have different auras, but mine are mostly the flashing light sort, like if you look into a bright light and then look away. At first I just have that sensation, like I just had a flashbulb go off near my eyes, and it is merely annoying. I then start to have visual hallucinations called fortification spectra or teichopsia--fancy words for flashing squiggly lines. Pretty quickly I start to feel as though I am blind in one eye, and the pain hasn't even started. That steam roller happens about thirty minutes after the aura goes away.
When the pain hits, you don't want to move. It hurts when you move. There may be throbbing of the head, or sensitivity to light, or both. My head starts to feel a little squishy, and if I press on my skull there's a momentary pause in the pain. Except that I can't keep up the pressure, and when I remove my fingers, the pain slams into me again. Ice packs help sometimes; they numb things a bit. Heating pads help with the muscle tension; I find myself clenching my teeth together sometimes, just to fight through, until I could get home. I used to just lay in bed in my darkened room, suffering. No more.
I got mad at the migraines. It sounds kind of silly, to be mad at a seemingly random health condition. I was missing work, which is stressful enough. I was missing weddings, and birthday parties, and dancing. Fun stuff. Things that I wanted to see. I was missing my own life because of these horrible migraines.
And that would simply not do.
So I went to see a doctor. I got medication. Mouth guards. I got injections. Nerve blocks. I got MRIs and CT scans, to eliminate other possible causes. Most importantly, I got information. Not always good information, because back then, doctors knew next to nothing about migraines. Lucky for me, there was lots of research going on, and I was able to hear about the results. I started keeping track of when my migraines were happening, what time of day, etc. Most of my migraines, it turns out, are hormonal, but I also have them due to stress, or changes in barometric pressure, or allergies.
Armed with that information, I started experimenting with what I thought might work. I talked to other people, people I didn't even know, which was difficult, but necessary. I was even a "Migraine Mentor", a program that Astra Zeneca(an extremely large pharmaceutical company) had begun, so I could talk to even more people, in different parts of the country, about their migraines. It seemed like everyone who experienced migraines had a way of dealing with them that didn't necessarily involve medication. One lady even told me that she put her feet in the toilet, because the cold water shocked the migraine away!
Slowly, I started getting things under control, even with all the other ailments I've had, like Chronic Fatigue and Fibromyalgia. I went days without migraines, then a couple of months. My way may not work for everyone, but it's worked for me. I stopped most of the medications over the years, and now just deal with good old Excedrin and an extra cup of coffee. The important thing for me is that the migraines don't win. As long as I am able to fight my way through to the other side, I call it a victory.
Do you have migraines? If so, how do you deal with them?
I can't think of one nice thing to say about them. Wait...nope. Nada. If someone told me that migraines happen when little invisible demons sit on your head and start using it as an anvil, I would believe it. If I were told that migraines were evil spirits slamming about in my skull, I would believe that too. Nothing that hurts so bad can be good.
If you've never, ever had a migraine, then you are incredibly lucky. I've had them since around 18, although I can remember one humdinger of a cluster headache(which is its own special form of hell) in 8th grade. And how is that for sucking, that I remember a freakin' headache from when I was thirteen, but I can't remember if I ate breakfast?
Most of my migraines start with the aura. Sufferers have different auras, but mine are mostly the flashing light sort, like if you look into a bright light and then look away. At first I just have that sensation, like I just had a flashbulb go off near my eyes, and it is merely annoying. I then start to have visual hallucinations called fortification spectra or teichopsia--fancy words for flashing squiggly lines. Pretty quickly I start to feel as though I am blind in one eye, and the pain hasn't even started. That steam roller happens about thirty minutes after the aura goes away.
When the pain hits, you don't want to move. It hurts when you move. There may be throbbing of the head, or sensitivity to light, or both. My head starts to feel a little squishy, and if I press on my skull there's a momentary pause in the pain. Except that I can't keep up the pressure, and when I remove my fingers, the pain slams into me again. Ice packs help sometimes; they numb things a bit. Heating pads help with the muscle tension; I find myself clenching my teeth together sometimes, just to fight through, until I could get home. I used to just lay in bed in my darkened room, suffering. No more.
I got mad at the migraines. It sounds kind of silly, to be mad at a seemingly random health condition. I was missing work, which is stressful enough. I was missing weddings, and birthday parties, and dancing. Fun stuff. Things that I wanted to see. I was missing my own life because of these horrible migraines.
And that would simply not do.
So I went to see a doctor. I got medication. Mouth guards. I got injections. Nerve blocks. I got MRIs and CT scans, to eliminate other possible causes. Most importantly, I got information. Not always good information, because back then, doctors knew next to nothing about migraines. Lucky for me, there was lots of research going on, and I was able to hear about the results. I started keeping track of when my migraines were happening, what time of day, etc. Most of my migraines, it turns out, are hormonal, but I also have them due to stress, or changes in barometric pressure, or allergies.
Armed with that information, I started experimenting with what I thought might work. I talked to other people, people I didn't even know, which was difficult, but necessary. I was even a "Migraine Mentor", a program that Astra Zeneca(an extremely large pharmaceutical company) had begun, so I could talk to even more people, in different parts of the country, about their migraines. It seemed like everyone who experienced migraines had a way of dealing with them that didn't necessarily involve medication. One lady even told me that she put her feet in the toilet, because the cold water shocked the migraine away!
Slowly, I started getting things under control, even with all the other ailments I've had, like Chronic Fatigue and Fibromyalgia. I went days without migraines, then a couple of months. My way may not work for everyone, but it's worked for me. I stopped most of the medications over the years, and now just deal with good old Excedrin and an extra cup of coffee. The important thing for me is that the migraines don't win. As long as I am able to fight my way through to the other side, I call it a victory.
Do you have migraines? If so, how do you deal with them?
Friday, September 16, 2011
Red Dress Club: Not Yet
Prompt: This week we’d like you to explore romantic heartbreak. For you fiction writers, here’s a chance to really delve into the psyche of your character. For you non-fiction folk, well, maybe it’s into your psyche you must delve. We all remember that first love, just like we all remember when our hearts broke for the first time. This is fiction.
There was something on my chest. A gargantuan, invisible demon was standing on my chest, it seemed. I could not even take a shallow breathe; the weight of the words fell on me like body blows.
My focus became pinpointed on the idea that I needed. To. Breathe. I would be okay if I could breathe.
"...and I think that this is something that I need to do, for myself. You just don't fulfill my needs anymore. Candace really gets me. She anticipates my wants and she brings them to me. You won't. I will come back tomorrow to get my things, when you aren't here. I can't even stand to look at you anymore. Candace is waiting for me in the car." Scott looked at me, as if he were expecting something.
That angry demon was reaching into my chest and wrapping their hands around my heart. Squeezing. I could feel claws sinking into me. I could not form a coherent thought, so I simply stared, my eyes wide with shock. My eyes were starting to tear from the pain.
Not yet.
"Aren't you going to say something?" Scott's face took on a familiar sneer. He stepped closer.
"Hello! I am breaking up with you! Don't you get it? Don't you have anything to say?"
The patronizing tone snapped me upright, my shoulders back, my chin high. Difficult to manage with claws deeply embedded in my chest, but I did it. I stood tall, even though I felt like crumpling to the floor.
Not yet.
"Well?" another sneer at me, as if I were too stupid to understand, when I understood all too well.
Demon claws squeezed ever tighter.
Not yet.
I walked to the front door and opened it, pretending calm. I could see Scott's Jeep at the curb, a silhouette sitting in the passenger seat.
I should have been angry. I should have yelled, thrown things, punched someone in the face. Instead, I stood there at the open door and showed no reaction at all. I inclined my head toward the door and tried to keep myself breathing, even as my chest seemed to constrict.
Not yet.
"I am so out of here." Scott walked out of my life, disgusted with my silence. I watched him drive off with a squeal of tires. As I locked the door, I was finally able to take that breath I'd been wanting.
Now.
Those waiting claws ripped into my heart with the malice of the past ten minutes. I felt as though my heart had been eviscerated, yet it was still beating. The pain threw me to the floor, and my numbed reactions now came spilling out of me, an avalanche of anger, fear, hurt. As I lay there, crying, I could finally speak, and I just needed to say the words.
"Don't go."
There was something on my chest. A gargantuan, invisible demon was standing on my chest, it seemed. I could not even take a shallow breathe; the weight of the words fell on me like body blows.
My focus became pinpointed on the idea that I needed. To. Breathe. I would be okay if I could breathe.
"...and I think that this is something that I need to do, for myself. You just don't fulfill my needs anymore. Candace really gets me. She anticipates my wants and she brings them to me. You won't. I will come back tomorrow to get my things, when you aren't here. I can't even stand to look at you anymore. Candace is waiting for me in the car." Scott looked at me, as if he were expecting something.
That angry demon was reaching into my chest and wrapping their hands around my heart. Squeezing. I could feel claws sinking into me. I could not form a coherent thought, so I simply stared, my eyes wide with shock. My eyes were starting to tear from the pain.
Not yet.
"Aren't you going to say something?" Scott's face took on a familiar sneer. He stepped closer.
"Hello! I am breaking up with you! Don't you get it? Don't you have anything to say?"
The patronizing tone snapped me upright, my shoulders back, my chin high. Difficult to manage with claws deeply embedded in my chest, but I did it. I stood tall, even though I felt like crumpling to the floor.
Not yet.
"Well?" another sneer at me, as if I were too stupid to understand, when I understood all too well.
Demon claws squeezed ever tighter.
Not yet.
I walked to the front door and opened it, pretending calm. I could see Scott's Jeep at the curb, a silhouette sitting in the passenger seat.
I should have been angry. I should have yelled, thrown things, punched someone in the face. Instead, I stood there at the open door and showed no reaction at all. I inclined my head toward the door and tried to keep myself breathing, even as my chest seemed to constrict.
Not yet.
"I am so out of here." Scott walked out of my life, disgusted with my silence. I watched him drive off with a squeal of tires. As I locked the door, I was finally able to take that breath I'd been wanting.
Now.
Those waiting claws ripped into my heart with the malice of the past ten minutes. I felt as though my heart had been eviscerated, yet it was still beating. The pain threw me to the floor, and my numbed reactions now came spilling out of me, an avalanche of anger, fear, hurt. As I lay there, crying, I could finally speak, and I just needed to say the words.
"Don't go."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)