Chemo

Yesterday, I had my first chemo treatment.  I slept through it, thanks to lorazepam and 40 mg. of benadryl.  I didn't even get a chance to unpack the chemo bag - i had packed books, a blanket, a notepad and pen in case I felt like writing.  I thought the infusion would take 7 hours, but some changes were made to the medications and it only took 4 hours.  Not too bad.

I feel great today.  A little headache, some chest pain that must not be anything serious, because the heart monitor didn't prompt whoever watches those things to call my primary.  Not worried about it. I went to a 3 hour dr's appt. with the radiation doc, went out to eat, and went shopping.  I could run laps around the house, i think, still on that decadron high.  And so is my blood sugar.  Mercy, when it rains, it pours, but better days are coming.  Good things are worth waiting for, and will be as abundant as cliches.

Before the first treatment, I was afraid, mostly of the unknown.  When I got there, I wasn't alone in that waiting room...there were other people awaiting their time in the chair, too. It kind of made me feel like a whiner.

I have an awesome support system - my husband, daughter, family - coworkers have come to me and said, if you need anything, let me know.  Call me, anytime.  Thank you Cindy, for sharing your experience with leukemia and offering your support.  And thanks to Tammy for doing the same, even as she fights her own battle with cancer.  I will pass this same kindess on to anyone who needs it.  This whole thing has been a terrible, yet humbling experience.

I think other patients realize how hard it is to talk honestly about this disease to others.  Family and frinds are afraid, they don't know what to say, they don't want to lose you.  And you want to be strong for your friends and family, so you cry in the bathroom if emotion overcomes you.  You avoid the topic if you can.

When my Dad was in his last months, I was the same way.  I had no idea what to say to him.  All I could do was tell him I loved him.  I moved in with him and my mom for the last two weeks of his life.  We pulled a couple of all nighters, because he either couldn't or wouldn't sleep.  I'm glad I had that time with him, still wish I had known some magical phrase that would have made things right, but instead, he was the one who comforted me.  "It's ok, I'm ready."

So journaling is good.  I can whine myself into a new perspective, think about the pro's of this disease, such as...you realize what's really important in life.  Those grandkids, for instance.  I called Sadie a couple of weeks ago, and that sweet, sweet 3-year-old said, "Can you come to our house?"  My spirits soared three feet above my body - I could have floated to Southern Pines.  And love, my friends, is indeed the best medicine in the world.