My apologies, but do not equate absence with inactivity. I have been very busy, actually, feeling like garbage.
OK, that is not totally true. My mom was back in town and went with me to Chemo Thursday, and I took the second Atavan of my now full-blown addiction (I think I've had four) in order to get through the last LIVE! DIRECT FROM HELL! THIS IS SPINAL TAP!
No more Taps for a month; pause while my yawp of triumph stumbles into a little sob...OK I'm back
The tap went alright, not as good as the last one but pretty good nonetheless. And considering that they had to drain 6cc of fluid to check for Central Nervous System infiltration, and that I have not had the headaches, I am happy.
The Yippee pill and the relatively quick rest of chemo that day--just a bag of Vinchristine after the final tap--made for an OK afternoon. I sensed that I would pay eventually (prescient, you are, young old Jedi) so went for an early dinner at Outback, and I did more damage to a steak and potatoes that I had been able to for weeks. A pal even managed to swing by for a brief visit with her spawn, who was decidedly less drooly and inert this time.
We got home to N, who had taken a much deserved and much needed rest while we were out, and the evening ended soon thereafter.
Friday...well, Friday, as George Carlin says about sex: "I don't wanna get into that now, heh heh heh, because I think it takes too long, har har har."
Friday was the beginning of a very long weekend of increasing nausea, decreasing energy, and the newly arrived bonus pack of restless-leg syndrome and upper-GI dry heaves.
But to those in a minute.
First, the good stuff. As you can see from the above photo unless you are a moron, we have set up the bike trainer, and I have actually ridden it. I managed 20 minutes the first day, then 10, then 30, then 15 again intermittently in the days since. I am finally voiding the hours and hours of DVR'd cycling races--mostly the Tour de Suisse--from our home unit so we can tape really valuable stuff again, like Lie to Me and Formula One Qualifying.
And second of all, you people have been shouting at me.
Since my post about my Atavan issues I have gotten a large number of volubly supportive emails from friends and family and acquaintances across the board. Most could be summed up as "N is right, you need this for now, so take the damn pills and then leave it behind you."
It isn't even the message, it is the method. People saying that they would call but they know they'd cry. People saying that I had done such work over the years convincing them that I was straightedge that they would be crushed if I came out the other side a pill-popper, so I better get it figured out. And people battling their own medical issues. People whom I know have pharmacological needs and masters in a way I cannot understand. People whose kindness flings their own woes and worries aside when they see someone else in need and who plant their feet and say "shut up, N's right, take the damn pills and get it behind you."
This kind of generosity of spirit is something to which I can only aspire. And I do, and I will.
All the talk of getting past it makes me think I should have some sort of pill-burning party when this is all over. I wont flush them down the drain: AND YOU SHOULDN'T EITHER: there are Carp with boobs and Bluegill with eating disorders because of all the meds we flush down the toilet.
And, sadly, no, I won't just give the fun stuff to my friends who really like that kind of evening. You know, a canapé, some Dilauded, some Atavan, and a Jan Michael Vincent film.
No, I'll sit there by you as you make that choice, but I'm not fucking helping.
I Know! We'll burn the pill bottles, then sell the good pills to local schoolkids...and give the money to The Red Devils.
Ah. I feel much better now.
I'm not on anything right now, by the way. Unless Valtrex, Fluoconazole, Diflucan, Protonix, and Bactrim count.
So thank you one and all for the support. Simple, but true. Thanks. I needed it.
As I said, the rest of the weekend was bad. Well, Friday was bad, then Saturday got her panties in a bunch that Friday was getting all the attention and so poured a whole barrel of un-good into me all day. That's when I discovered that I have the odd ability to eat, say, an apple, and then ten minutes later retch like crazy over the can and having nothing come out. Same thing goes for Turkish Lentil soup, so it isn't an apple thing (for those two fools who were thinking that it might have been Transylvanian Apple-Specific Phantom Vomit). I guess it is somewhat reassuring that when I feel nauseous to that extent these days it is as likely to be a huge and extremely unpleasant burp and not 3-D Food Network programming, but still, it feels pretty bad.
And my legs. Unless I am on the trainer, already asleep, or walking around a bit, my legs have the agitation of Woddy Allen's early films, like you are rushing to get the half-dozen bagels you left on the counter at H&H--five pumpernickel and one 'everything' for your goy nephew-by-marriage--but you have to get home before your mother arrives with an oily paper sack of Hamantashen and a walleyed girl from Larchmont she insist is 'holding up lovely considering everything she went through with that schmendrick.'
I will jump out of bed just to walk to the other end of the apartment, where I find, oddly enough, the other end of the apartment, so I walk back...and that's 40 seconds killed right there.
It has gotten a bit better of late, and I may be doing some stretching that helps, but it is still weird.
So this week I hope to feel good enough for long enough to finish the audiobook my extremely understanding employers have given me, and then go from there. Thursday morning we go and I get labs, and if my numbers are high enough it means that I have started doing a good job of raising my White Blood and Hemoglobin counts on my own...which wins me the prize of getting donkey-punched with the next month of phase II, month One through which I just emerged.
But hey, that's what's on the menu, right? Tuck in.
