Two weeks between treatments is just enough time to think things are normal again before succumbing to the awfulness of chemo. Enough so that I’m still in a good mood as I walk into my appointment and am cheerful with the nurses.
I had chemo on Tuesday, because things were closed on Monday because of Memorial Day, and there was quite a backup of people getting treatment with me. It was crowded enough that I had to sit out in the main room with 10 or so chairs instead of a private room, which was both good and bad. It was bad because sometimes that extra bit of privacy is nice to help pass the time. It gives a little more space to feel comfortable in, and it allows me to fire up a DVD to watch and entertain myself.
It was good because you get to see how other people deal with their own treatments for whatever cancer they have. Some tried to take naps, some talked a little too much, and another woman just pulled out a laptop and started working (wish I had one so I could do the same). It’s a little depressing that I was by far the youngest person there, whereas some of the older patients looked to literally be toeing the line of death, but at one point there was another guy maybe a little older than me who came in to get some injection. He had gotten a blood transfusion so his body could tolerate the chemo, which I’m glad I’ve been able avoid. All of my blood values have been stable, and not terribly too far out of range (no hope of an EPO prescription).
But when his nurse approached him and asked how he was doing, he responded, without skipping a beat, “Well, I’m not dead yet.” Which I found hilarious, because that’s exactly what I say to myself (not aloud very often) every time someone asks me how I feel. Only I say it in my head with a British accent like in Monty Python because that’s how it’s really funny.
I was delighted to discover that I’m not ridiculous for wanting to respond like that to everyone. I know you’re all curious to know how I’m doing and are generally interested in hearing what I feel like, but it changes so much and so often that it’s not worth talking about in much detail most of the time. It just sucks. That’s all there really is to it.
On Wednesday I had to dip into my anti-nausea meds for the first time, but still went to work. I never quite felt close to 100% today either, but I worked again and just tried to speed the day along any way I could. There’s no real benchmark for how fatigued I am, or how my stomach feels, or how my head hurts, or how my mouth tastes. Don’t worry so much about my side effects, because there’s nothing anyone can do about them anyway, just don’t be caught off guard when I give sarcastic comments about how “I’m not dead”.
Oh, and I still haven’t lost my hair yet. I’m getting sick of waiting and wish it would just fall out already. My nurse said she’s never seen it stick around this long.