When titling my previous blog I had a verb in mind. An action verb.
Chemo is a wall. And–frankly–that is the point. What sucks for me hopefully sucks for my cancer as well. All those side effects are indicators that the poison is going about its nasty little business.
What I’d like to clarify is how I’m taking this. Not lying down.
This particular chemo combo is a small misery compared to what I have experienced in the past. Fifteen years ago I was given a doublet of cisplatin and taxotere. My then oncologist explained, in the bluntest terms possible, that he intended to bring me to the brink of death and then bring me back. All in the name of eradicating my cancer.
Well he was true to his word. That shit blew. And I’d start to feel the side effects before we even got home after infusion. I spent days riding out the storm in my lazy boy chair (dubbed the lazy girl). By the fourth cycle I didn’t have a hair or an ounce of extra fat on my body and I was coughing up what looked like coffee grounds.
Now that, my friends, was hell. And it gave me some perspective. A rocky baseline if you will. Added to the mix was the fact that seven weeks earlier I’d had a lower left lobectomy, not vats but rather the old fashioned way. Ribs spread, large incision. Brutal.
So this is, relatively speaking, a walk in the park. I do feel a tad crummy. But I am also going about my business. As I live alone that means walking the dog, shopping for groceries, cooking. And, because my life is in fact over the top crazy, moving.
Yes. Again. My current situation did not work out quite as I imagined. One of my closest friends understood that this had become a source of stress for me and as fate would have it, an apartment that was located directly across the street from her opened up.
It was now or never and given the possibility that I may feel worse rather than better in the future, it was a no-brainer.
So yeah. Rather than surfing the couch I have been loading and unloading boxes. Yet again. On Wednesday my friend Melinda has arranged for a moving company to take the furniture and the books. And yet another impossible task will have been accomplished. Under ridiculous yet necessary circumstances.
I share this all so that others understand that even though chemo is undeniably unpleasant, it is also doable. This is an important concept for those who have only been on targeted therapies, and who are loathe to consider chemo, because of its bad rap.
In my case, I have a clear and unwavering agenda. It’s this: I really want to live. And I am willing to scale a million walls in order to do so.
Who knows. Maybe chemo works better if you’re not laying on a couch. I kinda doubt anyone has done any research around physical activity post infusion.
Consider this a pilot study.