Last week's chemo blew chunks.
I had another allergic reaction. Kidney pain, shooting up and down my back. When this happens, there's no way you can sit or stand that feels even remotely comfortable. It feels like being in active labor. So then, pain meds, dilaudid again, which made me paranoid, sweaty, and nauseous. Strung-out. To keep the reaction manageable, they s-l-o-w-e-d d-o-w-n the rate of the the drip to an o-b-n-o-x-i-o-u-s t-r-i-c-k-l-e. What should have taken six hours ended up taking about 13. THIRTEEN HOURS IN A CHAIR.
AND. Because they were giving me the chemo drugs at such a slow rate, the clinic closed. LAST CALL! So I had to be admitted to the hospital to finish it up. Neil and I spent Thursday night on the oncology floor, just so I could receive all my chemo. Lacks a certain joie de vivre, that place.
I rang in the new year gagging and shuddering, hooked up to that stupid crap. Not feeling sorry for myself, more just annoyed and a little angry. Trying to be patient, but running out of patience. Reading Facebook posts from people proclaiming that this is going to be the best year ever! And let's booze it up, friends! And God bless 'em all, they SHOULD be happy. But so should I.
THEN. I received a call from my doctor telling me that for ALL future chemo appointments, I will report to the hospital for an overnight stay. DO NOT PASS GO. Because it just takes too long to complete it within the clinic's working hours. So, bi-weekly, overnight hospital stays in my future, from now til... June?
This is getting old.
Because we have brains and souls, I don't think we humans are particularly well suited for the cancer experience. We're too logical, and we have too many emotional chinks in our armor. Cancer takes all kinds of cheap shots, and it doesn't follow any rules. You have to be endlessly adaptive, constantly seeking out a hopeful perspective, or you'll go mad. So, regroup, and get up again.
I often feel like Cool Hand Luke in the famous boxing scene, where he's totally outmatched by that big bully but he keeps on taking more hits. I keep on getting back up again, and blindly, almost pathetically, I continue swinging my fists at the air.