Two weeks ago when I had my meltdown on the kitchen floor, I didn’t quite comprehend the depths of why it was happening-- that is until it started happening again. This time, it hit me at the same exact time, day 5 after chemo and I didn’t come out of it until the evening of day 6 (tonight.)
The past two days have been really hard and until now, it wasn’t making sense to me why. Here I am “relaxing” in Lake Havasu with my parents, getting the extra help with the girls, and yet I can’t seem to shake the funk of being overwhelmed, depressed, confused, and basically not myself. I have no patience, I’m exhausted (yet can’t sleep), and I can’t make simple decisions. My mom really noticed it today and raised concern. I snapped at her and said “tough, there’s nothing I can do about it!”
We went to dinner tonight and noticed the restaurant we were dining at had an early bird special for seniors, which mom noted thankfully we missed because the seniors would be out in full force! I told my mom, “What are talking about mom, you’re one of them!” She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “That’s my Frances, you’re back.” I nodded back with tears in my eyes and said, “I am. It’s hard mom. It’s really hard.”
So here I sit with insomnia trying to figure out why on earth this is hitting me this way. Where do I go and who the heck am I on day 5 and 6? Then duh! It hits me. I’m coming down.
The meds they give me after chemo are an upper. They keep me elevated and loopy so that I don’t get sick. So, for the first four days that I’m on them, I’m pretty numb. I can wander through the first four days just happy I’m not puking my guts out. But after day four, no more drugs. At least I think that’s what’s going on. I absolutely hate it and wonder if I’d be better puking my guts out than feeling so low that I feel I’ll never get out of the hole I’m in.
I’m seeing my oncologist in Seattle next Friday and I am going to talk with him about this. When I was first diagnosed he said I’d survive this as long as the meds didn’t make me crazy and make me want to stop treatment. I thought he was kidding. No fear, I’m not close to wanting to stop treatment, but perhaps they can give me something else that makes me less crazy, because right now, I feel like a loon and I’m not so fond of that.
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Those are the days for your "POWER" book! :) I can't be there to give you a hug, but I sure sent lots in your little care package. I watched mom my go through chemo, and I don't think I have forgotten a moment. Be strong my friend, and the rest of us are holding you up when you cant. Much love...E
ReplyDeleteFrances, remember at the gallery when you were doing Little Shop of Horrors and somebody would ask one of us to do something, and we'd say, "SHU-AH!" You're going to get through this, you shu-ah are. You're gorgeous, you're smart, you're young, you're loved, and one more thing.....you aren't the "poor little girl with no arms." Remember that lady? We laughed about that for weeks. We pray for you every day. S.
ReplyDeleteWe all send our love and hugs to you (and kids and Addie and family). We just learned this past weekend of your diagnosis so you just increased your cheering section by 4, plus 3 pets. Hugs, hugs, hugs are flying to you from Massachusetts.
ReplyDelete- Martha, Barry, Sidney & Leslie