Many of you know my first day of chemo was yesterday. I know many of you know because I was completely inundated with love, emails, support, etc. It means so so much.
Before my mastectomy, around 10 pm the night before, I found myself in this zen like place. I knew my family was nervous but I felt oddly at peace. I knew everything was going to be just fine. I just knew it. And I felt like that, around the same time, the night before chemo. I had a little bit of a tough time when she actually put the needle in my port. Mostly because it’s still sore but also because with each new step, the unknown scares me, if only for a few minutes. But after that, it was a breeze. We had our own private room (what?), I relaxed and listened to music in my own personal reclining chair with cup holder (anyone that knows me knows this is my equivalent of heaven—before Tim and I got engaged I kept dropping hints that a chair from Brookstone would be better than any rock; unfortunately it also costs like 10 times as much. A girl can keep dreaming!). Tim brought down a slice of pizza that although neither gluten nor dairy free was made by of angel kisses. It was SOOOO good. My cantaloupe seemed disappointing in comparison. And you know how I feel about cantaloupe. It was just easy. I can’t describe it any other way.
Once we got home, I still felt fine. They front-loaded (my new favorite word) lots of anti-nauseous and anxiety drugs and the worse of it is this little paranoid voice in the back of my mind that keeps saying it’s going to get bad. But even on day two, I’m feeling good and hoping it stays that way. I continue to receive love and prayers from friends which always boosts my spirits. Some of which I haven’t spoken to in literally (sorry if that’s incorrect usage Tim) for years.
The biggest challenge since being home is the fact that for as long as the chemo chemicals are in my body, I am toxic. Like Britney Spears.
My life mantra, odd as it is, has always been “You can’t germs from communion or puppy dog kisses.” Unfortunately for me, that’s not my doctor’s mantra. As least as far as the puppies go. Everything that comes from my body for the next four days is poison. Tears, pee, spit, kisses, any type of fluid. While watching Guilt Trip last night, I cried at the end. Hello I cry at everything, but especially anything with Babs. So I immediately had to grab a kleenex, wipe myself down with Clorox wipes and then wash my hands and dry them with towels that I then throw away. When I pee, I have to lower the lid, flush it twice and then wipe with Clorox, etc. etc. It’s a little obnoxious. I feel like Tony Shalhoub in Monk.
That wouldn’t be so bad, but my dog Ichabob and I have a special relationship. He’s not like this with everyone but we LOVE to kiss. Some people may think it’s gross but to them I say, turds. It’s my life, my dog, and I love to kiss him. But now, if I were to be so selfish, I would put him at a big risk of transferring my toxicity to him. Even though it’s always closed mouth. Hello, I’m not that gross. But it’s kinda sad, because he doesn’t understand why I have to keep pushing him away. Emilio, well he could give a shit, honestly. I’m not supposed to clean his cage or kiss him obviously. When I try to kiss him, it’s just a ten percent chance that he’ll return it anyway. More likely he’ll bite me. Or hiss. He’s probably thrilled I can’t hang out with him for four months. Tim will just lower his food bowl in and fill his water and empty his litter box every few days. And Emilio will be in heaven.
Just when Lindsey was starting to get kissy with me. And Tim’s mustache is at its real peak, making not kissing on him like a cruel joke. Although I guess if this is the worse of chemo, I’m pretty damn lucky. But you better watch out when it’s over. I have some serious making up (and out) to do.