#9 Gut Shots

Any day you start with a text saying there's a potential nuclear issue 10km from where your child is at her father's is not a good start. This was today. I freaked, obviously because I'm not there and I have the iodine pills they sent out years ago at my old place...and I couldn't get them to her if there was an emergency. So all of this, caused me feel nauseous and anxious because I have no filter right now. Jason had to talk me off the ledge. And I had to take my pills and then hope they worked to make the churning in my stomach and body go away. I then had to administer my needle of European Mistletoe to myself. Which I inject into my stomach. I've talked about this treatment before and I believe my symptoms would be worse without it. For sure.

Regardless, chemo leaves you with no immune system, which also includes a minimal response to stressors, so any little thing can set you off. It's a volatile existence during which your body is under siege and trying to constantly repair while being constantly challenged. I feel the tumour and it doesn't feel any smaller. My nipple hurts too...I don't know what to make of that. I try not to focus on it. I am sure the chemo is in there, doing it's best. It's only been three days, it feels like a few more than that. I try to forget about the cancer in there. Bad cancer. I won't even think of you.

So, today I had to go for the $3000 Immuno-booster. This is a shot that stimulates your bone marrow to start producing white blood cells. These white blood cells (WBCs) are the front line of defense against invading germs and viruses. The side effects of this shot are numerous, from spleen rupture, to kidney issues to anaphylaxis and a few others that are equally scary. However, my white blood cell count was low to start so it wasn't an option. My WBCs have to be at a certain level to continue chemo, or the chemo would kill me.

I had to go to the Community Nursing Centre to learn to subcutaneously inject myself in the presence of a nurse. The cuts to social programs don't allow the nurses to come to you anymore so every second Sunday I have to go do this. Here I am looking very much like someone with cancer. I am signing my name beside each potential side effect, saying I accept the possibility it could happen to me. It's scary.

My hair is getting patchy already and my eyelashes drop onto my cheek like fall leaves. I've lost a substantial portion of muscle in my legs, and about 10lbs overall, but my belly is round and puffy. I don't feel at all like myself at all in these moments when I'm signing these papers to add to the binder you see there beside me filled with papers just like them and tests and schedules are scary moment. It's just new me hoping none of these things will happen with no guarantee. There are no guarantees.

And then she showed me how to inject this into my stomach for the second time today and sat in the waiting room for 20 minutes to see if my throat would close and I'd have to be rushed to emergency. Nothing happened so home we went.

The afternoon was a sore and tired one. I am depressed today. So many ups and downs...not all days are funny.

My kids go to Dads on the weekend so they were due back around 7 and when my sweet Ari came home she had a headache and a fever, so this meant that I had to put on a mask and we have to disinfect and take extra precautions because even a simple illness could land me in hospital and the shot isn't working fast enough yet. So here I am while she's around.

It's awful because I just want to hug and kiss my babies and tell them it's going to be ok, but now I have to keep my distance and disinfect and be at arm's length. I had a cry. Not because they didn't understand. I know they do. Because there are days I don't know how many more days I have with them, and I don't want them remembering the days I couldn't kiss them. I want them to feel love. AND I want to hug my children. This is another thing cancer takes.

Since I'm keeping it real here on the blog, I'll say today was a tough day, nausea, bone pain from the shot and real irritability and inability to deal with any stress.

I have a little of the chemo fog they talk about where you can't remember words and you feel just slow. I've never been slow or achy. I've always been quick witted and quick moving and able to do so many things at once. Today I had to ask Jason to do everything and although he doesn't complain, I see it's a lot for anyone to do. And I can't make it better by helping. I just sit here. Or lay in bed. It's frustrating but I'm learning to let go.

That's the message here today I guess. I need to let go. Of the expectations I have, (beside that of my complete cure), but the expectation that I can do anything more than what I physically and emotionally can bear. Today, that wasn't much. And that I need to lean on my partner and ask for help without feeling guilty. I also need to understand that my children will know I love them and they know because of the mother I have been for the last 11 years.

Unless I reduce my stress and learn to really accept I can no longer do it all, my chances of beating this reduce.

Tonight when I crawled into bed I cried because I couldn't kiss my babies goodnight and that is what I fear more than anything that this disease will take from me. I won't give that thought too much power but it hurts, and I feel for them. It isn't easy to see your mom go from the mom you always knew bustling around, busy and healthy...to someone in a bed or a chair, weak and unable to kiss or snug. It's hard.

I won't dwell on it, and I'll try to focus on getting better for them. My babies, Jason and my family, my friends.

Today cancer sucked and I had a few gut shots - panic, worry and ACTUAL shots and sadness, and not one of them put me down. I'm still writing, and I'm still here.

All those gut shots...just making me stronger.