| 3. | a continuous dull pain
Most days I wake up before the sun rises. I'm like sludge in the morning; groggily preparing a cup of coffee, shuffling around in slipper peds and whatever random clothes I threw on over my jammies in the dark. I used to sleep well and late. At least later. But my morning disposition has always been the same. I'm a vision to behold; disheveled clothing, yesterday's makeup smudged across my face, bride-of-Frankenstein's hair (ok - so maybe that's different now-a-days). If you'd asked me last November when I looked my worst, I'd have told you it was in the mornings. But even then, when I was feeling silly or needed to perk myself up, or laugh, I'd look in the mirror, bat my eyelashes, pout my lips and pretend to be sexy. That doesn't happen anymore. Ever.
If you are on Facebook with me, you know that my mom, Bob and Doug surprised me at the infusion center with cake, flowers, a banner, gifts, and a "last chemo" sign on the morning of my last treatment. I was so impressed because it really is hard to surprise me and I had NO CLUE.
Best nursing team ever!!
My last chemo was less eventful than I'd expected and I am SO grateful for that! Most of the "normal" side effects happened, but the bone pain wasn't as severe and didn't last as long. The joint pains are still hanging around, but even they aren't happening as often (though the severity is still there - and it sucks! Nothing like a severe jolting pain in your hip joint to stop you in your tracks). I did spend a full day and a half in bed trying to remain perfectly still with no light and no sound, desperately trying to avoid vomiting again and again. I was only somewhat successful. The coating in my mouth was particularly awful this time and I struggled a lot in the first few days after treatment, trying to figure out what to drink and eat. I'm showing signs of lymphedema in my left arm and hand (treatment for that will start June 3rd). Nearly two weeks post-final-infusion and I'm feeling pretty good, physically. Really just the normal aches and pains I've grown accustomed to.
It's been 6 months and 3 days since my diagnosis. In that time, I've had 3 surgical procedures, all of which have left scars. I've endured the chemo and ALL of the side effects. I've had painful physical therapy (which was well worth it). I've had shingles and pneumonia. I have lost the hair on my head, most of my body, and now on my face (most of my eyelashes are gone now and my eyebrows are cloaked in invisibility mode). Cancer has affected me physically in these ways. It's also affected my cognitive abilities. Chemo brain is real. I'm so forgetful now, easily distracted, can't think of the words I want to say when having a conversation. It took a lot of work and time to try and clear the fog so I could finish up my end of the semester tasks.
I know. Really, I know. I am blessed in countless ways. I thank God for those blessings daily, usually starting each morning with a "Thank you for another day." It's just hard, friends. It's hard to look in the mirror and see this strange face looking back at me. It's hard to stare at these scars, to feel them even when they aren't visible. It's hard to get dressed every day in clothes that don't fit right because I've gained 30 pounds in 6 months and there is a 4-inch gap where my cleavage used to be (ya know, because my boobs-on-the-way have made their way into my armpits instead of behaving and facing forward). It's hard to go out in public and feel everyone's eyes on me, wondering what's wrong with me, wondering why I look so far from "normal." A few weeks ago, at Costco, the man in line in front of me stared at me so long that I nearly confronted him (and I'm NOT the confrontational type). At lunch last weekend, every diner in the restaurant stopped and watched me as I walked to the table, and then again as I walked out after we ate. Just this evening, one of my daughter's friends from preschool told me "You look different. You look like somebody's grandma."
The emotional anguish of losing any and all of the things that once made me feel beautiful may be among the hardest of cancer's punches. I'm resilient. I get that. My hair will come back. I have no idea what it will look like, but it will come back and I will be happy with whatever I get. I will work hard to lose the weight I've gained. It will be a long fought battle because of the physical limitations I face, but I will get back to a comfortable weight. And, by January of 2015, my foobs (fake boobs) will look normal, at least under clothing.
In the meantime, I ache for normal. Right about now, I'd give anything to feel attractive, to look in the mirror, pout my lips, bat my... oh-wait-I-don't-have-those-anymore.
|
No comments:
Post a Comment