For my most recent treatment, my oncologist gave me a heavy dose of a new steroid in an effort to cut the awful post treatment side effects I've been struggling with. Before he gave me the steroid, I asked if there were any side effects. He said "Only one... and it's not so bad... it's euphoria." I thought "that's not so bad... I think I'll like this!"
Five minutes later when I was vomiting all over myself and the exam room, I wondered if the cause was A) Pavlovian/mental response to getting the chemo injection; B) a physical reaction to the chemo drugs themselves; OR C) the horror of "Euphoria" settling back into my life.
After that little spat (which I do believe was the result of cause "A" above), I did indeed travel to a mental land of Euphoria much better than the vacation destination that we created for class. I came home, sat on the couch, and watched TV for 2 hours. I even ate something! Then I passed out for 2.5 hours (my mother did as well... we both woke up when her cell phone rang). When I realized that it was 5:30, and my "horror response period" usually ends by 6... I started to think that maybe I'd averted misery this time around. Sure enough "Euphoria" lasted about 48 hours.
Then it was back to normal... and just as a reminder... normal is NOT that great. It's fatigue and nausea... and I'm discovering that I just get weaker and weaker with each treatment. My body takes one more beating, and so does my mind.
I'm noticing this more and more with work. For the first few months, I kept up with a lot of the normal types of projects that I would do at work. Then, a few weeks ago when things started slipping for my region, my boss told me that he expected me to work my hardest and do everything when I came in the door... and unless I notified him I couldn't physically/mentally/emotionally handle something, he expected it done. It was a big step for me, but an honest admittance when I started to realize there were things I just couldn't handle. And so, I began letting him know when I reached those limitation... tasks which I just didn't feel physically or mentally strong enough to tackle. This week, I told him I'm starting to feel like the 83 year old secretary who still works for the company, even though she can't use a computer and doesn't really contribute all that much. Nevertheless, she comes in to try to be helpful so that she still feels like she's doing something. That's exactly who I've become and what work now means to me. I woke up this morning with a "I can't" attitude about lots of things... but I forced myself to go to work, because something about it proves the "I can". I may not have accomplished a ton today, but what I did achieve proves that "I can" do at least something... certainly more than I thought I could.
I'm also going to start speaking with a therapist, since this work stuff ties into a lot of other issues that have been coming up as I get weaker and weaker. Everything from body image, to not reaching my potential, to feeling helpless as life goes by, to just being tired of feeling crappy all the time. I got a lot of stuff to work through, and so I'm going to start finding the professional help I need. Then we'll see what changes I make to help me get through the next few months.
On a lighter, happier note... I went to the ER last Thursday for a suspected blood clot in my left calf. They didn't find one... just muscle pain. But that's not really the lighter, happier note, or why this has become a favorite story of many of my friends. It more has to do with "Ryan Got His Groove Back". I met a hot, gay, ER nurse named Tim who flirted with me (heavily!) pretty much the whole time I was there. He told me I was "adorable", thought my scars were sexy, and made several inappropriate remarks about getting me naked. This is the most fun I've ever had in a hospital! He told me he was only covering my section while my nurse was out on lunch, and when I frowned, he offered to be my "private nurse" (there was definitely a wink associated with that). Even after the other nurse came back, he "kept me" and continued to come over from his section to check on me. The orderlies were even asking why he was out of his section. Tragically (and I mean that as dramatically as possible), I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to him when they discharged me. He was in his section, with his back to me, talking to a doctor. No chance to thank him... or to exchange numbers! I even tried a craiglist missed connections post... but still haven't heard from him. We may never meet again... but that was TOTALLY the highlight of my April!
Guess I technically went to Euphoria a day earlier than my treatment! ::snap!::
No comments:
Post a Comment