Probably TMI but read on if you want to know
Now that the ordeal is over, I'm beginning to get my sense of humor back. There are many titles I could go with for this entry. Here's a few I was bouncing around:
All backed up and nowhere to go
Me and my BMs
The almost-worst week of my life
It all started last Tuesday with the news of the switch to the new chemo, Navelbine, whose major side effect is serious constipation. Then the next day came the CT with its evil gastrograffin, which I alluded to in the previous blog. I think the combination of the two substances put my bowels into a state of shock. It basically became paralyzed. From Friday until Tuesday, I suffered from the worst abdominal cramps, nausea, and lack of appetite. I felt full so I couldn't eat anything. I kept taking laxatives to try to get things moving. I tried doing jumping jacks. That's how I knew that it wasn't cancer - it was just constipation. Which made it a lot easier to take.
In the middle of this ordeal, I found out that I lost a friend to breast cancer. She was a woman I'd met in the waiting room at the cancer center, and we'd immediately bonded. She too had lymphedema, and bought a LympheDIVAs sleeve because it's totally her. She was a former graphic designer/art director and always looked fantastic. It was her goal to never look like a cancer patient. She gave me a lot of tips. She had so much grace and beauty and integrity to her. I would call her when I got scared. She'd been dealing with mets for three years, and had been through it all. In the past few weeks, Jason and I had gone to visit her at her apartment. I knew she was not doing well; chemo had failed and she'd run out of options. She decided to gracefully face cancer and let it do what it would. A week later, Jason and I returned and he fixed her front door, which made her infinitely happy. She said, "You have no idea how much this means." But I did know. That's why we did it. I was so proud of Jason for doing this for her, for making a small difference in her quickly diminishing life. She talked to me about her plans, how she didn't want hospice but wanted to be in the hospital where her friends could visit her and she'd be close to her doctors and nurses. She had made her peace with it. She asked me how I felt about that. I honestly didn't know how to answer. I said I thought it was sad. But I wish I said that I thought it was beautiful. It is beautiful to be able to plan for your dying. She did not want to be in pain, and her doctor had assured her that she wouldn't be, that instead she would get increasingly tired and would eventually die in her sleep. This is how she fantasized her death, surrounded by her friends. And this is how it came to be.
I wanted so much to visit her. The only day that I could have would have been Wednesday night after my CT scan, but I was not in good shape. I thought I'd have more time. She died Thursday night, her sleep, with her friends and family in the room.
Her death, as it was timed with the recent failure of my chemotherapy, really affected me. I miss her, of course, but it's so much deeper and scarier than that. I don't want to be there yet. I know I'm not, but I see how quickly it can happen. There are so many things I wanted to ask her about, not just about cancer but about her life. There is unfinished business that she had too, I'm sure. But maybe not. Maybe she'd made her peace with it. I hope she is resting, without pain, restored to her former beauty before cancer had robbed her.
I learned about her death on Friday. I had a feeling. I called Marie, the chemo nurse, and she told me. So this news, on top of a painful abdomin, just knocked me down further.
I kept thinking that each day would be better and would bring relief. But none came, and it just got worse. By Monday, I was barely eating, and even what I tried to eat, I couldn't keep down. I was so bloated though that I felt full. Tuesday couldn't come fast enough, and even though I was sort of afraid of having to get more chemo, I knew that they would solve my intestinal issues.
Well of course, this was a side effect they'd never really seen before, to such a great extent. My bloodwork was just barely good enough for chemo (WBC was 3, platelets 144,000, and Hemoglobin at a tenuous 8.1). But I wanted to, um, cleanse before getting treatment. So we started with lactulose, first one dose, then another, then another. Then a rectal exam. Then a suppository. Then another lactulose, and another rectal exam. And NOTHING. I swear, I have never discussed my bowel movements with so many people in one day. By 3:30, it was clear that nothing was happening. So we decided to go ahead with treatment. They sent me home with instructions to get Magnesium Citrate at the drug store. This is the liquid plumber, the dynamite of laxatives. I drank about 4 oz of the lemony sparkly stuff, followed by 8 oz of water. And did some jumping jacks. And voila. Did the trick. But the amount of liquid was just too much, so up that came. But luckily, it had already done its job. Of course, after that insult on my gut, I was in serious pain. I moaned myself to sleep, woke up around 10:30, had a tiny bite to eat, and slept until 6. Today I've had two Ensures and a bunch of Gatorade. Nothing solid. My stomach just can't take it yet. I can't even watch cooking shows, it's that bad.
But the good news is that my liver is getting smaller, even in just one week. Makes everything worth it.
All backed up and nowhere to go
Me and my BMs
The almost-worst week of my life
It all started last Tuesday with the news of the switch to the new chemo, Navelbine, whose major side effect is serious constipation. Then the next day came the CT with its evil gastrograffin, which I alluded to in the previous blog. I think the combination of the two substances put my bowels into a state of shock. It basically became paralyzed. From Friday until Tuesday, I suffered from the worst abdominal cramps, nausea, and lack of appetite. I felt full so I couldn't eat anything. I kept taking laxatives to try to get things moving. I tried doing jumping jacks. That's how I knew that it wasn't cancer - it was just constipation. Which made it a lot easier to take.
In the middle of this ordeal, I found out that I lost a friend to breast cancer. She was a woman I'd met in the waiting room at the cancer center, and we'd immediately bonded. She too had lymphedema, and bought a LympheDIVAs sleeve because it's totally her. She was a former graphic designer/art director and always looked fantastic. It was her goal to never look like a cancer patient. She gave me a lot of tips. She had so much grace and beauty and integrity to her. I would call her when I got scared. She'd been dealing with mets for three years, and had been through it all. In the past few weeks, Jason and I had gone to visit her at her apartment. I knew she was not doing well; chemo had failed and she'd run out of options. She decided to gracefully face cancer and let it do what it would. A week later, Jason and I returned and he fixed her front door, which made her infinitely happy. She said, "You have no idea how much this means." But I did know. That's why we did it. I was so proud of Jason for doing this for her, for making a small difference in her quickly diminishing life. She talked to me about her plans, how she didn't want hospice but wanted to be in the hospital where her friends could visit her and she'd be close to her doctors and nurses. She had made her peace with it. She asked me how I felt about that. I honestly didn't know how to answer. I said I thought it was sad. But I wish I said that I thought it was beautiful. It is beautiful to be able to plan for your dying. She did not want to be in pain, and her doctor had assured her that she wouldn't be, that instead she would get increasingly tired and would eventually die in her sleep. This is how she fantasized her death, surrounded by her friends. And this is how it came to be.
I wanted so much to visit her. The only day that I could have would have been Wednesday night after my CT scan, but I was not in good shape. I thought I'd have more time. She died Thursday night, her sleep, with her friends and family in the room.
Her death, as it was timed with the recent failure of my chemotherapy, really affected me. I miss her, of course, but it's so much deeper and scarier than that. I don't want to be there yet. I know I'm not, but I see how quickly it can happen. There are so many things I wanted to ask her about, not just about cancer but about her life. There is unfinished business that she had too, I'm sure. But maybe not. Maybe she'd made her peace with it. I hope she is resting, without pain, restored to her former beauty before cancer had robbed her.
I learned about her death on Friday. I had a feeling. I called Marie, the chemo nurse, and she told me. So this news, on top of a painful abdomin, just knocked me down further.
I kept thinking that each day would be better and would bring relief. But none came, and it just got worse. By Monday, I was barely eating, and even what I tried to eat, I couldn't keep down. I was so bloated though that I felt full. Tuesday couldn't come fast enough, and even though I was sort of afraid of having to get more chemo, I knew that they would solve my intestinal issues.
Well of course, this was a side effect they'd never really seen before, to such a great extent. My bloodwork was just barely good enough for chemo (WBC was 3, platelets 144,000, and Hemoglobin at a tenuous 8.1). But I wanted to, um, cleanse before getting treatment. So we started with lactulose, first one dose, then another, then another. Then a rectal exam. Then a suppository. Then another lactulose, and another rectal exam. And NOTHING. I swear, I have never discussed my bowel movements with so many people in one day. By 3:30, it was clear that nothing was happening. So we decided to go ahead with treatment. They sent me home with instructions to get Magnesium Citrate at the drug store. This is the liquid plumber, the dynamite of laxatives. I drank about 4 oz of the lemony sparkly stuff, followed by 8 oz of water. And did some jumping jacks. And voila. Did the trick. But the amount of liquid was just too much, so up that came. But luckily, it had already done its job. Of course, after that insult on my gut, I was in serious pain. I moaned myself to sleep, woke up around 10:30, had a tiny bite to eat, and slept until 6. Today I've had two Ensures and a bunch of Gatorade. Nothing solid. My stomach just can't take it yet. I can't even watch cooking shows, it's that bad.
But the good news is that my liver is getting smaller, even in just one week. Makes everything worth it.
posted by Rachel Troxell at 3:27 PM
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