If cancer was a job, I would have given my two weeks notice after my first day. Not that it’s a position anyone in their right mind is vying for, but I am just not cut out for cancer.
I am somehow allergic to every single anti-nausea drug on the market. I am allergic to just about every medication you can think of, (including fucking Benadryl!!), thus landing myself in the E.R. more times than I’d care to remember. It’s like anything that can possibly make chemotherapy the slightest bit easier does not sit well with me. And then there’s the damn chemo itself, which seems to affect me 10 times harder than it would an average person. We’re at the point where it’s unclear what is the best course of treatment for me because I’m “so sensitive.” Jesus.
I’ve been told that I’m “sensitive” my whole life, but usually it’s referring to my personality. Maybe it’s because I become emotionally invested or that I care very deeply about things. Maybe it’s because I’m a worrier and I over analyze everything. Maybe it’s because I cry easily and fall in love hard. Maybe it’s because I’m too nice and trusting. Whatever. I never saw being sensitive as a bad thing, but in this case…being sensitive sincerely sucks!
It’d be nice for once not to have a fucking complication or an unexpected side effect while I’m trying to get through this. It’s bad enough I have to suffer through all of this shit again for a second time for whatever reason, but can’t it be somewhat bearable?! It’s times like this I wish I was anything but sensitive. That I could be a stone cold bitch who feels nothing. But alas, I’m just the same old “sensitive” gal I’ve always been and it ain’t doing me any favors right now.
It’s officially been a week since I’ve had my first treatment. They decided to start things off with an oldie but goodie, Methotrexate. That lovely neon orange yellow liquid that is the gift that keeps on giving. To many, this is considered one of the “easier” chemo drugs. Certainly according to my oncologist who was markedly insistent about the lack of adverse affects. When I started feeling nauseated after the first hour of infusion however, I seemed to prove him wrong. As much as I hoped things would be better somehow this time around, it was essentially as heinous as I remembered it. Although the truth of the matter is, I managed to block out these feelings, sensations and thoughts. You tend to forget that what you went through was a trauma, and I don’t just mean the surgeries. The cancer itself isn’t rough; it’s the cure that’s rough. The treatments that, at times, leave you so beaten down that you are silently wishing for death or anything that can put an end to the feelings of pain and suffering. While this particular round wasn’t quite that extreme, it certainly was not easy. Make no mistake; there is no “easy” chemotherapy treatment, at least none that I have ever experienced. There was nothing easy about extreme nausea, constipation, oral thrush, mouth sores that feel as though they are being bathed in acid and full body aches so intense, you feel that you were hit by a tractor-trailer. Not to mention having to document every drop of piss that comes out of your body and doing so by urinating in a measuring cup. It’s all very dignified.
Chemo is like that bad boyfriend you keep going back to even when you know you shouldn’t. You think he’ll be different this time, that he’s really changed and things will go back to being good, but he never does. He leaves you feeling just as shitty as he ever did before. The pain is always the same, no matter how much you try to block out all of the fucked up things he did to you in the past. Chemo is and will always be an asshole. He’s volatile, unpredictable and not to be trusted with your heart. Unfortunately in this instance, you do have to trust him with your life. Because somehow he’s become your only shot.