I'm writing this retrospectively, since I was absent through so much of my treatment. Christmas was grim: No tree, no decorating of any kind. I don't even think I had the energy to buy gifts. I bought something early in my diagnosis for one of my office cohorts. I don't think Hubby got anything. He didn't mind. He could see how it was for me.
I felt wretched for the first 5 days after chemo. About the time I started to feel better on some level, it would be time to go back and have more poison pumped into me. I also had to take Xeloda at home as an extra chemo bonus. I think it was the Xeloda that caused the mouth sores that continued throughout the time I was taking it. I also had sores on my hands, on the skin in between my thumb and forefinger. On both hands.
I hurt all over. I felt like I weighed 300 pounds and it was 300 pounds of unassailable pain. I couldn't really pinpoint exactly where I hurt (except for the mouth and hand sores) or explain the kind of pain I had. It was definitely bearable, but bearing it took an enormous toll in my energy, concentration and memory. I did, in fact, gain about 20 pounds from the steroids. They were supposed to help with the nausea sometimes experienced by chemo patients. I never had any, so I guess it worked.
There was a me somewhere in that 300 pounds of pain, but I was hard to find most of the time. When I could find myself, it was always in the context of being a tiny speck of personhood in an enormous body. The speck was dedicated to holding on.
I held on. And on and on. Just when I thought I was almost through with chemo, I learned there was another 3 months in store for me. It was demoralizing. I had no choice. So I kept on noting what it felt like to be so sick and trying not to have any feelings or thoughts about that.
Sometimes all you can do is hold on and it takes everything you've got to do it.
