On hating cancer, having opiate withdrawls & needing a keeper.

Oh, how I hate cancer, let me count the ways....

Let's see...first, I got sick. It's a real question at this point whether I got the flu, had a random attack of major chemo side effects or, less likely, got salmonella from peanut butter.

Very unlikely, that last one, although I DID indulge in a pb&c sandwich on Saturday, which I couldn't get anyone else to try. Chickens. That "C" stood for cheese. For those of you making icky gross-out faces, let me call your attention to those neon orange crackers in every vending machine at every company you've ever worked at....uh huh, those. The ones with the peanut butter in 'em. So shut up.

Anyway, so I got sick. This was Saturday night. I got the aforementioned diarrhea and vomiting acid. I wanted to die. I had a fever of 101.6 at various times, which meant shivering so hard I had to clamp down so as not to break my teeth. Got the fever broke somewhere during the wee hours of Sunday morning and THOUGHT I would spend the day in a little ball.

Somewhere in there is apparently where things went an eensy bit wrong.
Let's backtrack a bit, shall we?
For those of you who aren't aware of the daily rituals and stupidity of my life, I take a lot of pills. Not shocking, considering all the conditions I have to deal with, but sometimes it's a royal pain in the ass. Well, and sometimes, it's also such a common, normal-as-breathing part of my daily life that it just blends into the woodwork and THAT is a problem.

That bit of background brings us back to where things went an eensy bit wrong. All of the various sicknesses that were pounding on me sent me scrambling for everyone's favorite gastric fix, Imodium. It worked, for as long as it was supposed to, until it wasn't working anymore, and I needed more. I spent most of yesterday either asleep on the couch, almost asleep on the couch, or just coming out of asleep on the couch, with bathroom breaks as needed. Lots of those. I didn't want to eat much of anything, drink any more than I was required to to up my electrolyte counts.

Anyone see the problem yet?

Sunday continued in pretty well a fog, to the point that I actually managed to forget what day it was, and lose Sunday entirely. Bedtime came early and was miserable. I didn't have the high fever again, just 99.somethings, chills and the vile and violent tummy rebellion. Very little actual sleeping was done.

By 3-something am this morning, I'd developed a bit of a twitch on my left side, almost like restless legs, alternating with the sweats and chills. Sometime before 5, my twitches got bad enough that I kept bonking the dog, the dog would react, and Lloyd would grump at the dog in his sleep. Finally, I went downstairs and watched CNN and romping kittycats till sunrise. At least the diarrhea had stopped. Yay Imodium!

By normal morning times of 9-ish, I finally managed to shower, and get Lloyd up and into the shower so that I could call the cancer center.

See, these chemo side effects are vile enough that I have a list of them, and any one item on the list means you're supposed to call the doc on call at any hour. I kindasortashoulda done that Saturday night... and didn't, because I was hoping it was just the flu, right? Living an hour away from the center, I am pretty leery of calling there at 3 am and being told "come now."

But by the time Lloyd was showering, there was just no way out. I was shivering, sweating, shaking, twitching and nearly screaming at times, and calling them to hear "come now" was actually very comforting, even if I knew that the trip to get there would be hell. Lloyd did get lucky on that one though--the car ride, after the first 15 minutes, acted on sleep-deprived me like it does on sleep-deprived infants, and out I went. I slept for almost 3/4 of the trip up the mountain, sparing my poor DH the endless spasms and misery.

Thank god for the cancer center. Having the cancer center is kind of like a Disneyland Space Mountain FastPass to help. They know your name and face, they know that you have serious problems, they have your file, and they do not hesitate to stick needles in you. They also have a nice team of nurses, special nurses, physician assistant and the doctor to determine just what kinds of needles you need.

It was this wonderful team of people plus my darling and devoted husband who figured out as a team what my biggest problem was, as I sat there twitching and sweating and shaking.

Aside from Imodium, we're pretty sure that I DIDN'T TAKE A SINGLE GODDAMNED PILL from sometime Saturday evening onward.
Oops.

Major oops, but understandable, in a way. I was so sick to my stomach, the last thing I wanted was to put anything else in it....but I wasn't thinking clearly. Some of those piles of pills I'm on have some serious withdrawl issues--you do NOT just stop taking them. {Yes Mother, I DO need a keeper.} If I'd dropped off one or two things, that might have been ok, but I dropped off of everything, for well over 24 hours. I went into honest-to-god, full-on opiate withdrawl! No wonder I was having some problems!!!!

Some problems...! There's an understatement. Today was absolutely fucking miserable. When they finally brought out the big gun--morphine--to fix things, dropping off to sleep was the single greatest moment I can remember.

Tallying up, on the plus side, I am now out of withdrawl, thanks to the brilliance of Lloyd, Roni, Rhonda, Lori & Dr. Mazj. Ladies and gents, you kick ass.
On the minus, I need to make sure that something like that doesn't happen again due to me getting so overwhelmed with all the things I need to take and do.

It's really easy to get overwhelmed! I have a really big job on my hands, trying to manage the cancer treatment issues, make sure I get the right meds at the right times, go to the right appointments, worry about side effects.....I don't have a private nurse to sit here with me 24/7, and when you're sick, like, got the flu sick, all you care about is laying still and hoping it goes away. And today I learned the hard way that doesn't work, and what happens when I screw up and it scares the crap out of me. If it scares me, you don't even want to know what it does to Lloyd.

So, as I sit here in my living room, and look at the carefully collected piles of Christmas that have yet to be put away, I get very, very, very depressed. I am tired of having to "manage" all of my conditions and I sure wouldn't wish it on anyone else. I can't even just get SICK like a normal person without it turning into a multi-needle affair. And, it probably isn't "SICK" like a normal person, it's probably chemo side effects causing this all in the first place.

AND I'M ANGRY ABOUT IT ALL! I'M REALLY GODDAMMNED PISSED OFF AND TIRED OF IT ALL.

This post might not make the most sense in the world, but it conveys the main point. I don't feel good, and I'm pissed off. I want my life back. It wasn't much, but it was mine, and I want it back now.