Oh. My. Word. Raw post here. Last week was horrible. If I wasn’t walking so close with Jesus I would probably fill this post with bad words. If you have not had chemotherapy, consider yourself very, very blessed. Go outside and enjoy the sunshine because your skin isn’t burning at the first drop of light hitting it. Brush and blow dry your hair over and over because your head is not itching every other second. Go to the grocery store and rub that cart raw because you’re not afraid of germs and low blood counts. This is my new normal.
Last week I felt a lot of pain. The name of the drug I take the day after my chemo is Neulasta. I’ll have to take a picture of it next time. It’s like wearing a ticking time bomb on my arm. The machine started administering the drug around 3:55 on Wednesday afternoon and lasted for about 45 minutes. That is a little pain in my side. Literally. I really can’t think of one bone that didn’t hurt. It first came through my collar bone and made it feel like it was on fire. My back and neck began aching right away. All I felt from that point until Friday night was pain. Pain in my bones. It’s been recommended to me to take Aleve and Claritin to help take the pain away, and they do help mask it for a while. But that was some serious pain.
The chemo itself didn’t make me too sick. I was given three anti-nausea medications that I took around the clock—I started them as soon as I got home from my treatment. That helped keep me off the porcelain bus. I was also able to eat small meals and snacks throughout the day, which helped as well.
The menopause. Oh boy. Here’s the reason I’m starting that train: We want to be able to try to have another baby when this is all over. To say we were surprised and devastated about our miscarriage would be an understatement. When we communicated that to my oncologist he suggested shutting down my “lady system” in order to protect it from the chemotherapy. So I agreed to monthly shots of Lupron for one year in order to possibly get pregnant again in the future. We know getting pregnant after chemotherapy will not be a cake walk, but we’re willing to do what it takes to try.
Right now my body still thinks it is pregnant. I have added in starting menopause. I am taking a medication to make my bone marrow multiply exponentially. Oh and I’m adding in poison to my body, biweekly, to kill a cancer that is spreading like wildfire. You guys need to pray for my husband. Hourly. Look at those past sentences and the cocktail of a hot-mess I am. Please keep Tim in your prayers. Cancer is really, really hard on the caregiver. Really hard.
Also, I would like to ask for prayer about this cancer and the rate it is spreading, specifically. My oncologist mentioned there is something showing up on my spine in the CT scan I had done. He won’t say whether it’s cancer or not, because he doesn’t know. He does know the amount of chemo he’s giving me will kill it none the less. But it has me freaked out. That’s three places in a very short amount of time.
A few of you have asked me some questions; I’ll answer them in the near future. If you have any questions feel free to send them my way.
The Burkeys are doing well. Thank you, thank you for your kind words and cards and well, everything. Thank you!