Perfectly administered drugs to a perfectly down and out druggie......

I am sitting here with my back door open listening to one of the first real signs of spring in my book of "how do I know spring will ever come again?" - the "spring peepers".  I wait every year to hear them.  There is a steady happy chorus coming from the wooded area behind our house. 

My brain is finally, mostly in a place it hasn't been for what seems like forever - able to think and function somewhat. 

We are home tonight from Chemo Cycle 3, Treatment #2.  You may remember I am doing six chemo cycles, with three weeks in each cycle making a total of 18 chemo weeks in my treatment plan before surgery.  As we have found out, that is all subject to change, as in "SURPRISE!" adding some radiation 'here' and more chemo 'there' after surgery et al, is kind of par for the course, but for the most part, the way it adds up for me is this:  I  count the "carbo-weeks" - they are the worse. 

I just finished one up.  Add to that, it seems that my brain is somehow on an eight day depression cycle -- as in, last week it hit me on Monday. this past week it was yesterday - Tuesday, etc, and I melt into a blubbering mess of chemicals gone bad.

It feels chemically induced, but I'm sure there is also a little bit of issue with the carbo and the steroids and the chemicals not only messing up my "sensors and reactors" deep inside my sensitive sponge - but dang-it - it is just depressing to feel this way for a while. 

So, I'm guessing, the emotional part of depression and the chemically induced part of depression get together and go off for a tawdry affair every eight days for well over 24 hours it appears. 

While they are off "scintillating" and "fornicating" of sorts, my brain just breaks down and I cry all day long. 

Which was yesterday.  I didn't want to pray so much.  But I could feel my soul cry out for God.  I didn't want to hear my audio Bible, but could feel my soul speaking the Word to me.  I was just depressed.  When Scott got home, he just held me and I cried again.  There are no words, just grief released - and another feeling that I don't like sneaks in - and I don't want it but cannot ignore it - a feeling of being cheated and robbed. 

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During carbo weeks I double up my 'anti-nausea' drug - it's good for making your stomach and gag reflex not react; it's good for sleep - one pill can give me a good nap or most of a night's sleep; it's good for anxiety.  What I found out last week is that one of it's side-effects is also considered to be like an anesthetic - and one of the good side effects of an anesthetic is that it makes you forget.  It's an amnesia inducing drug. 

(please take a moment and listen to me drumming my fingers over this discovery....) 

It's kind of brilliant if one thinks on this for two seconds....... (and yes I used to watch every X-Files episode and the re-runs as well)  For my doctors anyways - and my type of cancer - it seems this is the best anti-nausea pill around - they love it.  They chucked my Phenergan after my first week - that is just so last-year. 

This drug is the new cancer-anti-nausea starlet.   

So if you think on that for two seconds - it's kind of brilliant - how do you get someone to come back and come back and come back to examine them for the side effects of "highest dose chemo drugs" - almost killing them in the process - but to give them amnesia drugs!!!!  

You can call me Eyeore, you can call me paranoid, but I just plain old prefer "Scully".  (by the way, just so you don't get too concerned here - I do believe the twin towers were attacked by enemy combatants)

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But the 'emotional' depression part is a lot of I-am-losing-so-much.  Whole chunks of days and then weeks and then months and I can never get those back.  Double up that sweet little pill of help and happiness for carbo week, and I feel like I am in Dr. Drew's office, just waiting for a room.  My brain is mush. 

When I double it up, I sleep too much, can't think; my cognitive skills take a really far off vacation.  I have to line up my water bottles on the counter to make sure I am drinking my "water-quota".  I can't walk straight and have to list my pills and times so I do not 'triple-up' accidentally.  I can't talk without slurring my words or get a thought out that doesn't sound backwards.  I don't want to feel like a druggie that cannot live without my next 'fix'.  I hate that sensation.  And I doubly hate it when I have to double it up. 

And to be just plain spoken honest, always with me, hiding behind depression is a little bit of "hardness of heart".  Or just plain old pity.  I went to bed in a bad place last night. 

Heavy sigh.  

Scott bounded out of bed this morning thinking he was Tigger - because he was pretty sure after seeing the hardness in my eye last night that I was maybe going to wake up as Eyeore or something - so when he bounded around on his orange striped tail and said happily, almost gleefully -  "GET UP!!!- GET YOUR WATER!!!- GET READY!!!"  I simply told him, "I don't think I am going to go today".   And I meant it with 78% of my heart. 

And 99.98% of my brain. 

He pushed me to the shower; got everything ready because I was in no mood to make sure I took along anything let alone my bottle of experimental chemo drugs that they send home with the patient to finish up on Thursday and Friday - but it's pretty down-the-river awful if you forget to take them back on Chemo-Wednesday..... He got my phone, the computer, the plugs, the applesauce, the water, my extra hat for when I get my IV and freeze practically to death until they bring in the white heated blankets; he packed up the car, including me, and we left. 

I was not happy about this trip.  I had just given up a whole week of my life last week again to their devices there in that wonderful land of cancer treatments, and I was not wanting to do this over again.  

I have emails to answer that I couldn't read last week.  I have a pile of thank you notes to finish.  I have sorting to do and Christmas decorations still on top of my desk.  The only thing I could do well last week Scott noted, was watch , um, sleep through, re-runs of Law and Order from 1998 that I am pretty sure I have seen a few times already.  And try to figure out the Home Shopping Network.   In controlled-substance-foggy-cloud-land, it's pretty unique.  I don't buy, but am curious why it is such a darned good sales technique.   

I simply.did.not.want.to.do.this.for. another.week.  

Enter my newest nurse Michelle.  Michelle took me immediately to a bed, and after seeing and hearing my vein situation, went to find "Lea" - "who was the best" and "could IV anyone".  She noted my last hope of an IV today was going to be on my wrist, and instead of the heat packs and firm massaging that the OSU ladies do to pop up a vein - Lea put the heating pad on  it - snapped it three times - and I do mean snap it - and that vein popped up and said "yes ma'am". 

She does a very nice "slide-in" with the needle - my vein didn't even try to offer up any defense.  She's the boss.  

My blood work came back at the borderline - which is good after carbo week - so we jumped into the treatment.  I mentioned to Michelle that the slower the Benadryl and Steroids are administered, the better I respond.  She took maybe 15 minutes to give me the steroids.  I slept for over an hour and the only reason i woke up was because she said it was time to "unhook". 

The rest of the afternoon was completely different.  We stopped and got the Thai food again that they cook with gloves on in front of Scott - and I ate it all.  We even stopped in to see my two favorite little ones in Westerville, and there was a little sadness with me that things are not where I would like them to be with our relationships - but it was still so good and so sweet to see them. 

And now I am "roiding" in a good way, and probably won't sleep tonight, but I'm glad I went.  Unwillingly albeit, but I went.  

All because of a good nurse administering good drugs well, and good ears to pick up on how to "tweak" dosages to make my life bearably good again.   Honestly, they are a little too busy there to give that kind of attention, but they do, and especially Michelle did today, and I have some semblance of "good things" in my life again...

And Scott is happy that the 100 Acre Wood is in good working order again.  He wants us all - Tigger and Eyeore and Roo and Pooh Bear and Christopher Robin to be happy.  It may not be all good and we are missing a lot of what we called "life", but we have been given our 100 Acre Wood, and we do need to explore it and have adventures and not, not ever give up. 

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The data news of the day:  My hemoglobin is stepping down some each week, which explains my beef craving probably; and I was warned again of last week's Carbo's last evil kiss good-by that usually lands on day 14 - it tanks your platelets - which is next Wednesday.  So I see a day or two of sleep and and lethargy coming around the bend, but all in all, my blood didn't look so wimpy today.  Or as wimpy as it could have. 

And I credit all of that to the throne of Grace and the prayers of the Saints.   Thank you. 

And I cannot close without telling you this as well - Scott has shored up my hope and faith where it is weak.  He prayed over me several times last night - I would move and he was just there, with his hands on me, praying. Others texted and emailed today that they prayed as well - and I do not know why God chose such a weakling as me to journey this, but I do know he has given me a lot of help along the way, even when I feel depressed, or lose sight of Him - others are there to "buff" me up - "steroid" me up - and to point the way. 

The biggest celebration today was that I was able to continue treatment after having had 3 straight treatments, the last one being carbo.  I don't think they even thought it was going to happen. 

So not only is my soul and spirit "buffed" up and revived by the prayers of those standing about me - but my body as well it seems.  And I do believe that on a level now that I have not before.... What kind of God do we serve?