Last Round. Done.

Tuesday, July 1st was my last round of chemotherapy! A huge milestone, no doubt, and I am happy to be able to say that the experience of chemo is behind me. Never again (I pray) will I have to sit for hours with these chemicals coursing through my body. But, I’m not cracking the champagne yet. Realistically, it is merely the last hurdle in an event that is not yet finished, and there are additional events still looming on the horizon for me. As in track and field, the last hurdle needs to be taken cleanly and the runner still needs to land firmly on their feet and sprint across the finish line.

With the hurdles behind me, the final sprint is proving more difficult than I had imagined. I have cleared many hurdles and fought for my strength between them, seemingly just in time to clear the next hurdle. But the cumulative effect of the hurdles, chemo with its side effects, has left me weak. I was prepared, mentally, for the last round to end on July 1st, but that is just the first part of the last round – I still need to land and make it to the finish line. The drugs, along with their debilitating side effects will remain in my system for another four to six weeks, at least. I did not mentally prepare myself for that, and then, yesterday, that reality made me falter.

Going into the last round, I was already anemic, on the verge of needing a blood transfusion, and profoundly fatigued. I guess I had prepared myself to breathe a sigh of relief and move forward at this point, but the side effects hit me hard again this time, throwing me off balance.

Physically, I have never felt weaker. Small tasks sap any remaining energy I might have been able to summon. I have to stop to catch my breath halfway up a flight of stairs. The long list of things I want to do each day seems insurmountable.  Digestive problems have made it difficult to eat properly. Nothing tastes right, and my appetite is off. If I chose to eat the wrong thing, I become extremely ill. I also find it really difficult to keep hydrated, which further weakens me. Body aches and bone pain make getting around a struggle, too. Lately, I have been sleeping, hard, for fifteen or so hours a day, and it’s still not enough. Unfortunately, each round requires steroids to lessen the side effects, and with that, disruptions to the sleep I crave. Without sleep, and nourishment and water, I am finding it hard to rebuild the strength I need to cross the finish line.

Emotionally, it is taking a toll on me, too. I was not prepared for the physical effects of the final round, nor their effect on me emotionally. Chemo throws the body into sudden menopause, with its accompanying emotional moments. This week, the sleeplessness, chemo-pause, dehydration and negative external forces have been more than I was ready to handle. This weekend has been particularly hard for me and a low point on this journey.

It is the Fourth of July weekend. It is perfectly beautiful summer weather, yet I feel like I’m in someone else’s surreal life. It feels like a haze is over me. Surely, I did not just go through chemotherapy. This can’t be my body struggling to do simple things. None of it seems real. I am sad to be missing the usual celebrations that I have always shared with my kids on this holiday. There will always be an empty gap where there should have been more. Andy, who has been there for me when my own strength waivers, reminded me that missing this year’s memories to focus on getting healthy will ensure many more years of memories to come. I have to keep that thought clear in my mind when I’m feeling down. My priority right now has to be on my recovery and health, so that I will be here for all of the happy memories to come in my future.

I have a month to get back on track, rebuild and recover from the hurdles of chemotherapy before tackling my next event – radiation. I’m confident that I will be ready. Today is a new day, and I feel like I am back in my own life again and ready to reach the finish line.

 

 

 

Immunosuppression’s a Frustrating Mess

With a nod to Jimi Hendrix and Shel Silverstein. Really.

Every round of chemo has given me different side effects, including some odd symptoms that I have never experienced before. It brings to mind a Shel Silverstein poem from my childhood entitled “Sick”. My list of ailments over the past few months is almost as preposterous as Peggy Ann’s. Chemotherapy attacks all fast growing cells, including beneficial cells found in the digestive tract, mouth, hair and nails, so it throws everything out of whack. About a week post-chemo, I find myself with neutropenia, an abnormally low count of neutrophils, a type of white blood cell that helps fight off infections. This has left me susceptible to all kinds of sickness. Here are of some of the things I’ve faced:

Side Effects
Chemo has been quite a ride.
I’ve fought back with strength and pride.
Neuropathy gives my toe tingles.
I came down with a case of shingles.
Boils, pains, insomnia, and rash.
Nasty gastrointestinal distress.
Exhaustion and anemia.
Bronchitis, cold sores, and alopecia.
Flu-like symptoms, extreme fatigue,
All these things I just don’t need.
Low white blood cells cause infection,
Low red blood cells cause exhaustion.
Dehydration.
Taste sensations.
Hot Flashes! Chemopause
is their cause.
One eye twitches, one knee aches.
Now and then my fever bakes.
My lymph nodes swell where cysts dwell.
I am not well!
But all this amends
when chemo ends.

On Tuesday, I went in for my weekly labs, and we discovered that my slowly dropping red blood cell count had dropped to a level at which the doctor recommended a blood transfusion. Short on time, because I had to pick my kids up, I asked if we could postpone. I also wanted to learn more before I underwent a blood transfusion. I scheduled it for Friday and went home to ask questions. I learned that the chemo has been attacking my blood cells (as it does all rapidly growing cells). A low red blood cell count causes weakness, shortness of breath and extreme fatigue. I knew chemo was causing me fatigue, which has crept up on me cumulatively over the course of my treatment, but it has become extreme lately. I live on the second floor. I can only make it up half way before I start huffing and puffing and slowing down. I wake up after 10-12 hours of sleep needing a 3-4 hour nap. I think I could sleep all day, in fact.

I went back to the Vince Lombardi Cancer Clinic on Friday, fully prepared to spend five or so hours receiving a blood transfusion, but my labs came back showing a slight rise in my red blood cell count, taking me out of the critical zone. The doctor advised waiting on the transfusion since my body is trying to recover on its own and I only face one more round of chemo. So, armed with the information that my body is fighting back, I went home and took a three hour nap. Guess I’m just going to have to deal with extreme fatigue a while longer. Excuse me, while I take a nap.

And now, a real poem…

Sick
Shel Silverstein

“I cannot go to school today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more–that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut–my eyes are blue–
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke–
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is–what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”