I swear, I’m having a cancer/chemo baby. Nausea, non-stop cravings, exhaustion, change in my body, emotional upheaval, and a massive desire to change everything about the space in my home (as in “nesting”). Yesterday I ate an entire bag of brown rice chips while sitting on the step stool in my kitchen. I’m not proud of it, but it’s my new reality. The positive thing is that I have school to ground me into focus on something outside of this physical experience, and that Reen is patient with my apparent temporary insanity.
This weekend I made my way to Rudy’s Barbershop for my funky fresh look. I know it may not last long, but I’m loving the newness of my appearance. It’s so funny how a haircut can make all the difference. Will shaving my head be just as liberating? Doubt it, but the increasing nausea post infusions is taking my mind off of my obsession with hair loss. No amount of ginger or homeopathic nux vomicacan cease the disgusting waves of imbalance that I feel a couple of days after treatment. Nausea is my nemesis, and I intend to seek and destroy- hopefully without having to rely on more nasty meds to do it.
I’m trying to be present in the now- to experience this as fully as I can without focusing on the future, but this entire process begs me to seek out what the coming months hold. If only two infusions can make me feel this gurgly and imbalanced, what do I have to look forward to? Friday afternoons and evenings hooked up to an infusion pump and having to wheel around while my bladder goes into overdrive…falling asleep within a half hour of the Benadryl, and being woken up every hour or so to tell the charge nurse my name and birthdate due to some medical policy…the taste of saline as the port is cleared for another drug…the smell of alcohol, the itchiness from the bandage over my port, the pain as the bandage is removed, and the chill of the evening air as Irene escorts me to the parking garage. I am blessed and thankful, and I am also in awe of the courageous people I witness in the chairs around me when in the infusion unit. I never feel alone in this.