That wasn't a pothole, it was a sinkhole...

...into which I descended for the next 24 hours.  Two days later I am still slowly climbing back out of the pit.

Saturday was difficult, but Sunday was...unbearable.  The pain of Saturday had changed; no longer did I feel like I had worked out in the gym for hours and hours; now I could barely walk without wanting to collapse under my own weight.  The pain had left my upper body and was all pooled from the waist down.  Abdominal cramps reminded me of intense labor; back pain reminded me of, well, back labor.  My hips seemed to want to come apart, and my knees bent backwards, I swear.  Walking was more than a challenge, it became impossible at times.  Instead of enjoying the beautiful weather celebrating my husband's birthday, I spent the entire day in bed crying, cursing, bitching, complaining, crying, raging, and crying some more.  This didn't seem right, it certainly didn't seem fair, and I quickly realized that if this is what I would endure for the remaining five treatments, I would not be able to complete my chemo.

Ken finally convinced me to call the oncologist's office and leave a message.  Sure enough I received a call back a short time later.

"I'm in pain.  I mean, the last time I had this much pain I brought a baby home from the hospital.  I was told Taxol would be so much easier than AC - why do I hurt so much?"

"Have you taken anything for it?  Like Aleve or Motrin?"

"Well, yes, but it's not touching the pain, really...and I can't walk, I seriously had to crawl up the stairs earlier because my legs don't want to to work..."

"Most people don't have side effects like these.  You must just be one of those special people for whom Taxol is tougher."

(As a side note, if I haven't said it before:  I'm really tired of being special).

"So take more Aleve before bed, and call your clinical trial nurse tomorrow morning and let her know what's happened.  We'll give you more steroids next time, and maybe some pain medication.  You should start feeling better in a couple of days."

And that was that. 

So I took my Tylenol and a sleeping pill and crawled back into bed and prayed for sleep.  It came, in fits and starts, while the pain really conspired to keep me awake much of the night.  Surprisingly, I awoke on Monday feeling...well, better than Sunday, but still in pain.

The funny thing about pain is, when it starts to get better you assume you are getting better, so you go about your life again.  So I ate a handful of Tylenol and went to work.  On the way I called my clinical trial RN and explained what happened over the weekend.

Within three minutes, she had a prescription for Vicodin waiting for me at the doctor's office.  Bless my husband for picking it up and filling it for me, because by the time I got home I was about to crawl into the house again.

Today is better than yesterday.  I'm sure tomorrow will be better than today.  One of these days, I will feel "normal" again.

I developed a routine with AC that I can now throw out the window.  This treatment will not be a walk in the park, nor a vacation in Aruba.  It will be chemo, plain and simple.  And it will be cumulative, and it will suck, and I will hate every second of it.  But I'll continue, and finish, because that's what I need to do. 

In the meantime, if you see me and I'm cranky, just help me along with a little cheer:  "Stupid cancer."  That'll brighten my day considerably.