Tuesday, February 19, 2013

One Strand at a Time

        So it was bound to happen, but why is it so hard to accept? My hair is falling out. I woke up on Tuesday morning of last week and looked at my pillow and I saw no hair. "Yes!" I said to myself, another day that my hair is on my head. But later that day I hopped in the shower, and as I was washing my hair I saw small strands on my hands. 'Oh no! It's starting.' Why was I so shocked? This is when I figured it would happen.
        I planned for a haircut on Saturday. However, Thursday morning when I got in the shower and began washing my hair, this time clumps came out. When I finished it looked like a small animal was by the drain of my shower. Okay, change of plans, I would be getting my haircut the next day. I couldn't handle another day of this.
        Once I got out of the shower I did the only thing I could think of; I called Christina and allowed myself to cry for about a minute. I'm not really sure why I cried, maybe it's because to me the loss of my hair is another physical reminder that "you have cancer." It's just another thing I can't control during this journey.
        I could, however, control WHEN I lost it. So on Friday morning I headed off to my barber of 18 years. When it was my turn I sat down and said, "Change of plans. We are going to shave it, the cancer is back." He said, in a thick Russian accent, "Fucking cancer," which completely made my day, and proceeded to shave it. It was kind of hard watching all my hair come off, but I know that in four or five months it will all be back.
       Sometimes it's hard to look in the mirror, but when I look hard enough I see a fighter. This was just another step in my journey through cancer. No matter what I face I will face it head on. After all, fighters always fight!

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Reality Sets In

        So I finished my first round of chemo on February 1st. The week started off okay. Receiving the chemo went smoother than I could have imagined. Opting for the port was a great decision. No worrying about how my veins are going to hold up or how many times they are going to stick me. Just one quick poke and I was good to go.
        Sitting in the infusion room, however, was hard to deal with. It felt uncomforting. I felt out of place since I was the youngest person in there by at least twenty years. There is nothing to do but sit and wait out the five hours of chemo. I had my sister and my mom there but in all honesty it didn't really make anything better. I just didn't like the feel for the place. I felt sicker just being there.
        After day one I felt great physically though. I thought, 'Wow, this is going to be easier than the last time!' Day two same thing, in fact I even went to the driving range after because I felt so good. As Wednesday rolled in, however, things started to change.
        I began having "hacking" episodes because the chemo was causing an overproduction of mucus in my throat. That in turn would cause me to feel like I was choking and needed to "hack" in order to clear my throat. That Wednesday was probably my last good night. I went out to Dave n Busters with my friend Chic and my sister hoping I could still pretend that this time was going to be easier.
       Thursday and Friday were both miserable. I lost my appetite and didn't sleep much each night. I would spend hours every night just "hacking". When I returned to my sister's Friday night I didn't eat anything and just laid in bed.
       I have always taken great pride in how strong I am mentally and over the next couple of days I began to doubt it. My mind was consistently racing with thoughts and fears. All this combined with the "hacking" was making it hard for me to get any rest at all. All I wanted to do was be back in my bed at my house. I feel safe and comfortable in my bed.
       Finally Sunday arrives and I'm waiting to go home to my own bed. It had been such a long week and I was drained completely. But just before I was ready to leave my sister's, I realized that something was not right so my mother and I decided to make a pit stop at the ER. There I received 3L of fluid for my extreme dehydration and some pain meds before I finally made my way home.
       By this time it was 1030pm and I was just drained. Once my mom dropped me off I get settled in and went right to sleep. Sunday night was the fiirst good night's sleep I had in almost five days. Unfortunately, it ended there.
       Besides another sleepless night on Monday, the side effects were also getting worse. On top of feeling weak physically, I was really starting to feel it mentally. Not only was I up "hacking," I couldn't clear my head of all these crazy and odd thoughts. My mind was playing tricks on me and I didn't like it. .
       By Tuesday morning I was exhausted, and still having trouble keeping food and fluids down because of the chemo, so back to the doctor I went. There I was given another liter of fluids, some anti-nausea meds, and anxiety meds to help me sleep.
       One of the downsides to that visit was learning how much weight I had lost in such a short period of time. The week leading up to my treatment I had packed on almost ten pounds of weight in the hopes that during all this I could maintain my body weight of 132lbs. When I hopped on the scale that day, with sneakers and two fleece pullovers, I weighed 128lbs; far from the 140lbs I weighed just four days prior. I hate setting goals and not being able to achieve them. It eats me alive when that happens. Not only was I losing it mentally, but it seemed my body was losing it too.
       That night, to give my body the break it needed, I took the meds they prescribed and slept really good. By Wednesday I was slowly beginning to feel better. I could eat and drink normally, which was good because I needed to pack on some pounds. I also took my moms advice to get out of bed and move around.
       For the first time in over a week I felt like me again. I realized that I needed to handle my cancer and not have it handle me. I decided that going for a walk on my treadmill was what I needed to do. For those of you that don't know me, I'm a fitness junkie. Before getting sick I would spend hours at the gym. I loved it. It is who I am.
       Up to this point I had not worked out in about a month because I had just got the port put in and was too worried about messing it up before it healed properly. So just beginning on a treadmill, walking, had me feeling like a million dollars. I ate and drank like a champ that day and knew I was back.
       I also did some more research on my chemo drugs since this time around was a different regime than the last. The one thing I kept reading was that there was a chance that the two new drugs, Vinblastine and Ifosfamide, will cause hallucinations and other mental side effects. I felt so much better after reading this. It gave me an explanation for the weird dreams and anxiety I was experiencing for the first time ever in my life.
       I continued to take the anti-nausea and anxiety meds for one more night since the effects of the chemo started to feel like they were wearing off. No more mucus and no more bland taste in my mouth. I thought I was finally over the hurdle.
       However, Thursday morning I woke up with chills. I took my temp and it was 101.5. Great! In five previous rounds of chemo I never once had a temperature. This time, first round in, I had one. Knowing what a fever means for a chemo patient, I had my girlfriend drive me to the ER right away.
       By the time I got there I was drained. I got checked into a room and for the next six hours they did numerous blood work and scans. They were not going to miss a thing. I got the works from head to toe.     
       The one thing they did know right away was that my white blood cell count was low... real low. They sat at .2. To give you a better understanding, the average person has a white count of 6. I never had whites that low before, no wonder I was sick.
       Later that day I was finally admitted into the hospital. I hate hospitals, especially this one...bad memories. But it really didn't matter how I felt. I knew this was the best and safest place for me, especially with my whites so low and a blizzard on the way. I was there from Thursday to Monday. I think the fact I had visitors a couple of times and also that I had no expectations on when I was going home, helped me accept I was stuck there. I also pretended that my hospital room was a hotel room, and that I was stuck there on a business trip. Sounds a bit odd but it worked for me.
       Once my whites came up to 1.5 they felt I was good enough to go back home and I can tell you I for one was not going to argue. It feels great to be home and my body weight is slowly coming back up as well. I have just about two weeks left before I start chemo again, so now it's time to get stronger. I learned that no matter how prepared you think you are you can't be prepared enough. I took this second time around slightly for granted. I thought it was going to be way easier for me, but now I'm aware of what I'm going to face over the next couple of months. My guard is up and I will not underestimate my cancer.