A New Normal

Today is Day 9 post-chemo.  Over the last week, I've learned that this process - this treatment - creates a New Normal.  It's definitely new, but it isn't normal at all - but it is, and will continue to be, the way things are for at least the next 20 weeks.  Oh joy...

In many respects I've had a good first ten days.  With the exception of being a little more tired than usual, and mildly nauseous a couple of morning, life in general was pretty good.  I had a four-day bout of unpleasantness because I was dehydrated and not eating enough fiber (I'll leave it at that), but was able to resolve that fairly easily, too. 

In the early days, the steroids fueled a love-hate relationship with sleep, dreams and exhaustion.  My body would fall asleep but my brain never turned off, and even with the help of sleep aids I found myself awake multiple times during the night after having odd, weird, or downright bad dreams.  I would lie awake in bed for an hour, sleep fitfully for an hour, wake again, and finally crawl out of bed around 4:00 each morning.  I was elated to wake, rested and peaceful, at 5:30 on Wednesday morning.  I worked every day this week; it was my last week as Case Aid at FSCA and so I said goodbye to my clients, both big and small.  I thought that it was smooth sailing from there. 

On Friday morning I woke with a jolt at 2:30 am and could not go back to sleep.  My dream was so vivid I had tears in my eyes.  In the middle of this treatment, I dreamt, they found more cancer.  Giant tumors that needed to be removed, but doing so would likely kill me.  I was visiting all of my children, explaining this to them, telling them I loved them, saying goodbye... 

All week people had been asking me how I was doing, and my standard response was

"Good, really good." 
"Fine, really great."
"Like a rock star!"

And it was all true.  Because physically, I was feeling so much better than I had expected.  But emotionally, I had not let the reality of my New Normal sink in. 

I have cancer.  I am not cancer-free - not now, maybe not ever.  Surgery has removed the tumor, but there is always the possibility of a free-roaming, rogue cancer cell left behind.  The aggressive nature of my cancer cells means I am at high risk for recurrence, in my breast or somewhere else in my body.  This treatment will hopefully eradicate any single last cell of cancer still wandering around, rent-free in my body.  But it could come back - in six months, in a year, in three years, in 10 years.  I don't know if or when it'll return.  But it could, and I had yet to process that truth.

Thank goodness for dreams - except when they're really scary nightmares.  Still cheaper than a therapist, except I can't skip a session I don't want to deal with

Friday ended up being the first "bad" day.  Besides lack of sleep, I had been fighting a mild cold which, when you are doing chemo, makes you feel more like you have the flu.  And then later, when you're really tired and still can't sleep, it makes you feel like you've been hit by a bus.  Which in turns reminds you that, gosh, you still get to be hit by a bus nine more times before this is all over. 

If you knew you were going to be hit by a bus when you walked out the front door, would you ever want to leave the house again? 

It all just caught up with me, and I fell apart a little.  I even skipped school today, which I never do and am feeling guilty about.  But I still feel like hell, and decided that indulging in some self-care was worth having to make up lectures and homework. 

I really am okay; I really do feel like a rock star.  This chemo thing - it's a lot of hard work, and with every treatment the side effects will be cumulative.  I feel great now; I don't know how I'll feel next week, or in six weeks, or in two months.  This New Normal takes some getting used to - but I've never been "normal" anyway.  Every day is a new day, and a new chance to explore being normal.