So yeah. Last week was HARD. But the clouds have parted somewhat, I’m physically feeling much better, and in case you are worried about me, I’m doing okay. Tired as all hell, but okay.
My dad, who has been here helping since my first chemo day, will be heading home tomorrow (mom left yesterday….someone around here has to work ; )! ) because Peter and I think we are at a place where we can handled life on our own* until my next chemo on March 23rd. That’s a big positive; at one point, one of the nurses at my oncology practice mentioned that she hoped I’d recover from round one before starting round two, so the fact that I’m feeling pretty good is a happy surprise. I guess there’s something to be said for being young and healthy. Either that or most cancer patients are just big fat babies.
When I was on R-CHOP, I had very severe cognitive side effects, in several categories. The most story-producing of these was the post-prednisone mania I experienced with increasing intensity every single round. I’m not taking prednisone at all this time, but both Peter and my parents seem to be on the lookout for crazy behavior. Since I run a little wacky under the best of circumstances, I’ve spent a lot of time in the past couple of days justifying my actions. I mean, the crisper drawers needed cleaning. Really. It is not manic and crazy to clean out the decaying bell peppers and slimy cilantro from your fridge. You’d think I was howling at the moon or something.
It turns out that the quickest way to make people think you are crazy is to tell them that you are not.
* and by “own” I mean incredibly supported by friends bringing dinners, taking the kids, and providing non-stop moral support.