Chemo-Dreams - WTF!
4:30 am and I’m awake. In my own bed, a huge relief; however, I’m misted head-to-toe in sweat. Disoriented from another night of apocalyptic-style nightmares. They started during my stay at the hospital, and when I started my chemo infusions.
In the nightmares, I’m always trying to get ‘home’ to go to sleep. I get trapped in some horror-filled funhouse. Baby dolls without eyes are a recurring (disturbing) motif. One time, I was trying to get out of a house-turned-museum for some forgotten performer and couldn’t get past the broken glass. Another time, I was trying to pitch a video game storyline in a writer’s workshop, and no one believed I was a writer. It didn’t help that this workshop was in a bog, and I was stuck in thick mud up to my knees.
Last night, big trucks were crashing into each other as I watched from ‘above’ and liquids of red and clouds of dust filled the air, and swaths of gold jewelry flew like meteors across a doomed sky.
I’m grateful when I wake up. I reach a sweaty hand out and touch Fred curled into my side, and when I open my eyes, I also see George’s outline, keeping watch at the end of the bed. My mom shuffles in from the other room to check on me. I’m safe, albeit tired.
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Since I’m awake, an update wouldn’t hurt:
Firstly, thank you for the continued check-ins and the positive thoughts of healing that arrive like much-needed starbursts. Admittedly, I chew on a bit of anxiety knowing I can’t quite respond in full to them the way I wish. Please know I’ve read them, stored them in my heart, and send back love as well.
It’s because of the indescribable exhaustion. I’m sleeping A LOT. And when I wake up, my energy level allows for not much more than a snack and keeping my meds straight.
Each box represents a specific infusion, and the heart means "we crushed it!"
The first couple of days home were wobbly and painful. My body, she was going through it. It felt simultaneously like taking vitamins on an empty stomach while fire-pops of pain punctured every part of my body from my teeth to my toes. It took us a minute to get the pain managed, and thankfully, the nurses doubled down on the anti-nausea med prescription.
I’ve been told this is normal, after an intense 4-day chemo-infusion, the final day being the hardest on my body. I’ve also been told that it will pass and that during the 2-3 weeks between each chemo-infusion, I will touch and taste ‘normal’ days. I experienced a glimpse of that yesterday, when I ate chicken tenders and French fries with my mom and watched the most recent episode of Survivor. I felt it when I was giving Fred and George their midday treats.
Fred & George moonlight as bouncers. Keeping night terrors somewhat at bay (still in training)
How am I feeling? Strange. Numb. It wasn’t until we were driving away from the hospital after 16 days that I cried for the first time because my brain registered that I have cancer. I feel grateful to be in the familiarity of my own apartment AND already feel oddly anchored to another temporary home - the 20th floor filled with the nurses who will be there when I return for cycle 2.
The truth is, it will never be the ‘before’ again (and that is a life-truth). There will be peaks and valleys and thickets of darkness. I will walk through them (not alone). I will taste joy as much as I learn to taste fear. I will feel it all (and survive).
With love for each one of you -
Sincerely, Nutmeg
