I noticed a distinctive difference in myself starting on Wednesday this week. I woke up and for the first time since July didn’t feel seriously nauseous. I was able to eat breakfast, have a snack and some lunch and still eat dinner without incident. The best part, I even had more energy than normal. I took the stairs at work and caught myself dancing and singing with the radio. I couldn’t remember the last time I had done those things. The last time I felt well enough to do anything at all, energy and eating wise, was family reunion and even then it wasn’t perfect. There were moments even then I wasn’t feeling this well.
Thursday, I was tentative when I woke; what if the feelings of Wednesday were just some sort of mirage and I was going to be paying for it? I lucked out; it was real. I was able to eat and still dance to the radio. I had enough energy that for the first time in months I cooked dinner for Milo. I could even help with chores. I know this all sounds immensely silly and possibly unimportant, but when you are used to being so exhausted that at two in the afternoon it took a nap and keeping food down means you take about half a sandwich and pray a whole lot that the Ativan works…well, you get me. I was so happy to have a piece of my life back, to feel good, that I started to think maybe I had been crazy. This has all been some wicked nightmare and I didn’t actually have cancer; I’ve been fine and the doctors are wrong –delusions are so nice, aren’t they? But really, I’m fine…
Then, Friday came. While I was feeling well enough, breakfast apparently was a bit much on my stomach and I felt rather nauseous. When we arrived at the doctor’s, my previously good mood (because, hey, when you’re finally feeling good your spirits start to soar!) was ruined. I walked in, was greeted by a man dressed in a skin tone unitard that was “streaking” since they were doing a tribute to the 60s this week (I had forgotten about that), and took my seat. I slumped in my chair and nearly cried. It was still real; I still had cancer and toxins were still going to be pumped into my blood. Milo and I still can’t work on having a family yet. It was a lot to take after two days of feeling so well.
Chemo was uneventful, as always, though the nurse was a little concerned by my down attitude. I perked up eventually and even managed to have some lunch, which made Carla, my nurse, very happy. Dinner even went down without issue. Milo and I were really excited by the progress, even if the doctor didn’t seem to be. He was concerned that I still spent the better part of two weeks feeling nauseous (though I kept insisting I had been sick like that before chemo!) Dr. Brooks decided it was in my best interest to decrease the doses back to normal ranges rather than pushing our luck. I didn’t necessary agree, but I didn’t get much of a say either. He did say I could travel for Thanksgiving if I wanted, but I need to keep in mind that I might not feel well. And, he decided when my next MRI would be: September 30th. We’ll see what is going on with the liver mass then and sometime soon do a chest x-ray to see what is going on with the mets to my lungs. Fingers crossed.