[cancer] This just in: chemo sucks more than ever

Not to put too fine a point on it, I feel like hammered shit that’s been bronzed and used for a boot scraper.

Much of this week has been characterized by extreme fatigue of the sort I usually associate with the hours immediately after coming off the needle on infusion weekends. To the point where I’ve completely stopped driving a car, as my lack of alertness and impaired reaction times would make me a meaningful danger to myself and others. I have reached a new low in exhaustion.

I’m also having serious problems with cold sensitivity/peripheral neuropathy, those delightful conjoined bastard twins of chemotherapy. The last two mornings I’ve been almost unable to walk due to cramping and numbness in my calves and feed from said issues, and I have spent much of this day in my 70+ degree house bundled up as for winter, crouched in front of a space heater. I don’t normally wear gloves indoors all day, thank you.

On top of all that, throw in some more-than-usual GI wonkiness, some life stress, and a pretty total crash of both my appetite and my taste buds. I know this is the home stretch — three more infusion sessions to go, scheduled to wrap the weekend of 6/18-6/20 — but things have gotten very, very hard here. I am quite discouraged at the degree of my debilitation this week.

Chemo sucks. Cancer sucks more. So long as I hang on to that…

5 thoughts on “[cancer] This just in: chemo sucks more than ever

  1. Blake Hutchins says:

    Dude, you are being absolutely heroic, though it surely don’t feel like that from your description. Thanks for putting yourself out there and sharing this experience, much as it sucks. You are going to kick this thing in the nutsack and come out the other side like a goddamn phoenix.

  2. Jan says:

    I can’t begin to understand what you are going through with chemo. I have had 3 cancer surgeries and luckily no radiation or chemo, at least to this point. I am on the 5 year plan – 1 year out now.

    My Mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 56. Surgery was not an option, they tried radiation to shrink the mass in hopes of surgery. All this did was make her sicker, loss of hair and bathing her was not an easy process with X marks for the radiation. In truth she was terminal from diagnosis and I believe the Drs knew it. I took care of her in the 2 1/2 years she had from diagnosis to her death when I was 23.

    I know this is hard. I know your life is ‘sheeiit’. All I hope is that you keep in your mind, and in your heart, as you go through this, that there is an end in sight and the end is health. Embrace that.

    ((HUGS)) from a current cancer survivor

  3. Rats. I’m sorry things suck. I know I hated feeling cold (in July) when I had mono a while back; so I’m sorry you’re shivering in front of a space heater. Thank you for not driving.

    Lighting a candle for you.

    – John

  4. Barbara Winter says:

    Yep, it does suck. Right down to it’s marrow-crushing core. I’m so sorry that the little nano-warriors are going overboard. They just don’t get the “enough already.”

    Thank you for sharing all you’ve been through. It’s been more helpful than you’ll ever know to others who’ve been through it but couldn’t articulate the experience the way you can.

    I’ve been so amazed by–and weirdly jealous of–the productivity, humor, and tenacity you’ve maintained. I know that how mind-boggling it is to have your body just refuse to do the simplest things.

    When I went through it, I planned to have chemo every other Thursday, take Fiday’s off, work the rest of the time. The universe just didn’t really have the same plan. After the first chemo I was so sick I was hallucinating scene’s from Alan M. Clark’s art. By the second week, I never went back to my day jobbe until chemo and surgery were over.
    So, congratulate yourself on all you’ve been able to do, and hang in there.
    Tt really, really does get better.

    Wishing you good rest, great awake time, and peaceful heart.
    Barb

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