Thursday morning

The last 72 hours I've spent either sleeping in a chemo infusion chair, sleeping on the couch, or sleeping in my bed. I wake up Thursday morning wishing I could sleep the next 72 hours and wake up next week instead. Before getting out of bed I run a few tests. Am I able to open my eyes? I couldn't open them Monday afternoon due to issues with muscle control. The eyes are working. Next I check the hands and feet for numbness and tingling. Do they move when I command them to? Can I bend my legs? Everything seems to be working this morning. I check the ileostomy for diarrhea. Yes, it's back, as expected.


I get out of bed. I am wearing sweat pants, sweat shirt, gloves, and socks. Protection from the nighttime cold to prevent my nerves from sending needles into my hands, feet, and legs. 


I swallow pills with water  heated in the microwave. My stomach seems to be calm so I drink a little more hot water (you can just imagine how refreshing this is) knowing that I am dehydrated and need to get as much fluid in my body as possible. There is nothing worse than drinking heated Gatorade or Pedialyte...


Stomach remains calm, so I decide to try breakfast. I get it down and return to my spot on the couch. The  pets jump up to join me. They like all the warm clothes and blankets! All four of us drift off on the couch with the TV quietly playing in the background.


When I wake up again, the dreaded nausea has returned. It seems to be a kind of motion sickness. If I don't move I feel relatively OK, but the moment I stand up I am nauseous. I gag often, but nothing comes up. Thankfully, the pharmacist has made a phenergan compound that can be rubbed on my wrists, bypassing the stomach and knocking out the nausea. It knocks me out too, and I sleep more.


With each treatment the side effects seem to hang around longer. This doesn't really give me encouragement for the next eight treatments. I don't like this. I wonder if I can really do eight more. I am clinging to my verse of the week: "But as for me, I trust in you." Psalm 55:23


I start to cry again, but it is painful after the Neulasta injection. I have so many tears inside that can't find a way out. 


Cancer is an awful disease. Every week I see so many people suffering as they fight for their lives. Many are elderly, some are young, some have been fighting for years and years. For some it has become a chronic disease, they continue to receive chemo treatments for months and years, just to keep the tumors at bay. I honestly cannot imagine how they do it.


I pray daily that no one else in my family or extended family ever has to fight this battle. 

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”  Exodus 14:14