Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Seeking Fuzzy Pink Bathrobe

I tried to take it easy and rest this past weekend. Saturday I relaxed quite a bit and even took a nap. But I’m not so good at the whole “rest” thing and by Sunday was tired of feeling helpless. So I made myself useful and did dishes and vacuumed up dog hair. I also helped Robbie move a bed to my Mom’s house. I know that isn’t a very long list of things I accomplished, but when you’re being poisoned you are grateful for the little victories.

Anyways, on Sunday night I noticed my chemo arm was red, tender, and a bit swollen along the main vein on the interior of my arm. It’s been bruised since December, but it was definitely more inflamed than usual. Because I am an expert on my side effects due to one too many nights of insomnia and way too much Internet reading, I know that blood clots are something that chemotherapy patients often experience. And I immediately jumped to the conclusion that I had a blood clot lodged in my arm.

I shared my self-diagnosis with Robbie and we both agreed that I should call the oncology center first thing on Monday morning. Sunday night I could hardly sleep. I was sure that they would check it out, and send me right to hospital. And then I began to worry. I was worried about missing work and leaving the new girl with no training. I was also worried that my current bathrobe looks about 100 years old and that there was no way I could wear it in the hospital. This led me to wonder if Robbie would be able to pick out a new bathrobe for me to wear, and some slippers as well. I know. Crazy.

Needless to say, I am not in the hospital. The oncology nurse did have me come by so they could take a look. But it was just bruising and damage from the chemotherapy. The reaction on Sunday was most likely from using my arm more than usual.

While I was at the Doctor’s office, I did mention that my mouth was more irritated than usual, and that it had been several days and hadn’t really diminished. I was diagnosed with thrush and was prescribed an antibiotic. Chemotherapy suppresses the immune system and it is very common to develop infections. I’m just lucky that all of mine have been pretty minor.

In other news, another wig encounter today. The concierge at the building where I work asked if I had gotten a haircut. Not to be cranky, but she must really not remember what my hair looked like because it’s currently several inches LONGER than my real hair. I was in a mood, because I responded by saying “I am on chemotherapy. It’s a wig.” I should be nicer, but the whole thing is just getting old.

I am also tired of getting asked any questions regarding how much longer. I don’t have an answer. I wish I did. I hope with every hope of my being that my last treatment will be next week. But even with my last session being next week, I’ll still have at least three weeks of recovery. And it is still possible I will need radiation. I won’t know until after another scan.

Radiation would not be the end of the world. Here is the part that makes me hope I don’t have to go. It would be every single day for probably three weeks, maybe more. My side effects would be hoarseness, sore throat, and fatigue. That would so completely suck.

Whoa, this post is getting long. And frankly, I’m getting tired! Good night all.

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