Day 91
General status update
Fatigue/weakness:
overwhelming. I just can’t write today. I felt fine this morning, but now I’ve been
poleaxed by tiredness, and Chemo Brian has
fogged up my thought processes. The
rest of them still haven’t come back from playing football. They’re probably in
the pub.
This much I know: the coming week is going to be gruesome.
On Tuesday I will be having root canal treatment, on Thursday
I will be having my fifth dose of chemo, and by this time next week the
steroids will have worn off, the full force of FEC5 will be unleashed, the toxins attacking all my weakest points, and I will be becoming increasingly demented - yet again. It’s happened four times already, and it’s going to happen
again: I’m tied to the railway tracks and there is nothing I can to do avoid
the oncoming FEC express thundering towards me.
This evening, I don’t feel strong enough even to contemplate all this, let alone endure it; as is
happening increasingly often, in the last couple of hours I’ve been sideswiped
by the fatigue that comes with chemo, and I’m wondering if ‘chemo brain’ is really
starting to affect me. I just can’t seem to think straight.
There’s always the possibility that it might be another
infection incubating, of course – that would
truly make this week complete, wouldn’t it?
OK, time to get a grip: early night, rest tomorrow, gather strength for the
ordeal ahead, and enough with the infection paranoia, although that’s an
occupational hazard of having chemo, especially at this time of year. It’s very
hard not to obsess over the slightest physical sign that all may not be
entirely well, when there’s so much riding on staying free of further
infection.
I’m going to lie down with Chemo Brian now; I can’t do
anything else. Maybe I’ll have more energy and be more coherent tomorrow.
I want my life back.
Please.
My heart is aching for you, Caroline. I was there only a few weeks ago - if minus the dental complication.
ReplyDeleteI wanted my brain back - and then I wanted my brain blank so I wouldn't be freaked out by everything that was happening. And I snapped at my oncologist that he had no clue what nausea was, and that there should be a new word coined for chemo nausea.
And I wanted to scream at times - and did, tho it was only a croaky, hopeless sob into my bath towel.
I wish I could say something that would help you, but you and I both know I can't.
All I can think of to say is that at times I honestly wondered if I could take any more - and yet, here I am, on the opposite side of the chemo Rubicon. I lost all my hair, I developed some ugly spider veins in my ankles, my brain still isn't quite what it was, I still have some numbness in my fingertips, and my vision is taking its own sweet time getting back to normal. But, I made it through...and you will too.
One thing I now know for an absolute certainty: It's amazing what the human spirit can endure - and yet I also know that if I had given up, my body would have been all too happy to follow suit.
DON'T GIVE UP.
This is so hard, I know that - but please try to remember there are people who love you, people who care - and one of them is in a land across the sea. Me.
Thank you, Jen - not only for today, but for all your support on all the other days - it has been a huge help xx
Deletethank you JL Fisher.. How well said.. not just well... eloquently put.. My best well wishes to
ReplyDeleteall those who have traveled Caroline's route.. For those of us who so far have not gone that path YOU give us strength for the "if ever".. thank you..
Caroline ended this post with "I want my life back. Please". And those words...suffice to say my own chemo experience is so recent, I felt her anguish to the core of my being.
DeleteWould that every oncologist was required to read this blog! They need to be made aware of the fact that chemo is not just clinical, it's all-encompassing. In my case, I never had the feeling my oncologist had the first idea what I was going through; I was just a, well...just a case.
Caroline's blog is brilliant. She is so open, so honest, so...out there. I applaud her for all this - and for her determination to post even when at her lowest (there were days when I seriously doubt I would have been able to do so).
Thank you, Vicki, for your comment.
Thoughts and prayers for you, CarFo, thoughts and prayers.
ReplyDeleteI loved the honesty of this post and I loved J.L. Fishler's response. I think all I can say to both of you is how in awe I am of you for enduring this process, and especially to Caroline for providing a window into your daily life -- painful as it sometimes is. Yes, oncologists and anyone involved in this aspect of medicine should read every word of it. I understand it's easy to get jaded caring for sick people day in and day out, but this really restores the humanity to the process. Thank you, Caroline. Hoping for a sunny day for you tomorrow, and lots of good drugs. Janet
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