As an extended coda to the digestive issues of the past two days,
By around 9 am, I couldn’t eat anything. I would just retch when I tried. At the same time, I desperately needed to eat, as I need to every 60 to 90 minutes, because when I don’t, I crash out mentally and physically. Even multiple doses of Visicol didn’t get me moving. Trying to pass, well, anything I began to retch and choke, and came within seconds of vomiting. I wound up flat on my back on the floor simultaneously speed-meditating to ward off the nausea and trying to biofeedback my colon into cooperation.
If I’d thrown up, I’d have called the oncology clinic. If I’d remained stuck at both ends, I’d have called the oncology clinic. In either case, I’d quite possibly have needed to go into the ER, as both situations would have been quite serious for me. (And I was certainly within moments of throwing up, for the first time during this whole chemo process.)
The experience was miserable, painful, and frightening. I’m virtually certain the whole business was a direct result of the Imodium two nights ago, which gives me serious pause about repeating that. Except if I don’t do the Imodium, I don’t sleep. And that is medically risky. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
Managing all this stuff is like driving a car on ice. Everything I do to correct for one thing risks overcorrection for another. This morning was about as close as I’ve come to a total spinout, and it was too damned close for me. And hey, I’ve only done three of twelve. So much more to look forward to.