Beginning to Feel A Lot Like Christmas

Happy Port

     I am feeling like a mostly normal person--just tired, kinda draggy, but my brain is all here (hey, no jokes about THAT, all right).  This is thankfully turning out to be an easier recovery for me, I think for two reasons:  I have had Ambien to help me get some sleep, so I am not trying to function under such extreme sleep deprivation.  Also, because I was only on steroids for 5 days, as opposed to the entire week leading up to chemo, then having the regular dose of IV steroids with my chemo, and then having the emergency infusion of MORE steroids for the allergic reaction, and THEN the 5 days after chemo, well, I have to think that ratcheting back the level of steroids in my body has helped overall with the jittery feelings, the agitation, and the pacing.  There was still some jumpy legs, some grrrrr...snap episodes, but not the complete hijacking of my brain with drugs.  I am a little scattered, and seem to have more than the usual amount of trouble remembering why I walked into a room or what I was just about to do, but I'm still feeling like me.  So good news on all fronts there.
     Let's run through the checklist:
Dreams:  Still incredibly vivid and complex, but thankfully Mr. Cruise took a pass this time.  I would have had no patience for a Dreamland repeat on that one. 
Smell-O-Vision:  Not so far.
Cat Avoidance:  He's been cuddling up, so I must not have chemo stench.
Nausea:  Yes, more than last time, but still held in check (meaning, no upchuck); gotta stay strictly on that med schedule or it creeps right up on  you.
Mouth sores:  Just starting as I type.
Bone aches:  Oh Lordy, yes!  Ugh!  Terrible!  Hate 'em!  Those will get you to wandering even without the steroids, trying to find a comfortable position to be in...stand, sit, lay down, wander around...
Fatigue:  Yes, no way around that one.  Worse, because I don't have steroids keeping me all hopped up.
Hair falling out:  Um, well, I don't think I'm going to have to shave my legs or under my arms for a while...nice benefit, I guess.  Eyebrows and eyelashes still hanging in there, but I see things getting a wee bit patchy in EyebrowLand.
     Overall, I will take this recovery over the Steroid Nightmare any day of the week.  Infinitely preferable to feel like a human, albeit a tired one, than like a psychotic nightmare vision.

R2D2 Porkchop Assist

     Got my cool time-release Neulasta patch (or as my adorable nephew called it, my Star Wars medicine, because the patch is in the shape of R2D2) on my stomach this time--was a dork and wore long sleeves to chemo, so couldn't do the arm.  No, I am not going to show y'all a picture of R2D2 on my stomach.  I mean, I love you too much to do that to you.  No six-pack going on here, folks.  On my stomach it felt like a more robust rubber band snap when the needle went it, but it didn't hurt.  And I actually slept through the entire infusion when it was time, unaware of what was going on.  But anyway,  I wanted to show you how the patch looks when I take it off--you can see the tiny blue catheter at the top that gets poked in to infuse the medicine after the little needle stick. 
     This is just a random aside that I want to share:  In the vast array of snacks and beverages available in the Drug Den of Chemo, there are Cheetos.  I love Cheetos.  Crunchy Cheetos, original flavor, to be precise.  They are a guilty pleasure of mine.  I  know they are not healthy.  I eat them sparingly, because I have a little problem with how much I love them.  But it seems ironic to me that Cheetos are deemed worthy of being part of the chemo snack selection.  I guess making someone feel comforted while being very carefully poisoned is more important than a moment of healthy snacking.  But I just love me some Cheetos!  You GO, you awesome Chemo Den Snack Replenisher Person!  ;-P
     So I cleared up with the oncologist several questions I had--remember those irrational fears I mentioned?  Well, one thing I was worried about was the location of the tumor--was it inside my lung or adjacent to my lung and just shoving the lung out of the way on the scans?  The reason I wanted to clear that up is that I am supposed to use a CPAP machine at night for my sleep apnea.  And I haven't been wearing it since my cancer diagnosis.  I have apnea that can make me stop breathing for short periods umpteen times an hour, but for at least 90 seconds at a stretch once or twice an hour. Not wearing it can make me feel very fatigued, and research also shows that untreated apnea in people can result in them developing Alzheimer's at least 10 years earlier than their CPAP-wearing counterparts.  So all good reasons to strap on the Top Gun mask (yes, sometimes my hubs calls me Maverick--maybe THAT is the Tom Cruise link)!  But my emotional brain was somehow fixated on the idea that if the tumor developed inside my lung it was because of the CPAP machine.  Yes, it's ridiculous.  I know that.  My rational brain is fully aware that this is just a way of trying to answer that "why?" that will never be answered.  But because the oncologist confirmed that this tumor is growing from lymph nodes and just shoving and squishing its way into lung territory, and also because she discussed the importance of keeping myself oxygenated, well, that took care of that fear.
     So that left me with my one other irrational fear--again the attempt of my emotional brain to find some reason to explain this cancer.  I became fearful that because I wear a Fitbit (those little electronic activity trackers that synch wirelessly to your computer and tell you what a sloth you are during your day, I mean encourage you by making you move more, yeah, that's what it does) clipped on the same side of my chest that the tumor developed that...um...I started to think of all those stories of people developing brain tumors on the same side of their head where they press their cell phones to their ears, and I just kind of went from there.  My oncologist gently talked me off the ledge with that...well, sort of.  I don't know if my rational brain is completely in control of that one fear just yet.  But...I'll figure something out eventually.  Even though my online patient portal with the cancer center chided me about my BMI (are you effing serious?  Okay, I totally get the correlation between BMI and cancer risk, but helloooo:  I'm on CHEMO--and you put CHEETOS in the CHEMO ROOM--step OFF, why don't you?!?), I don't think I'm worrying as much right this very second about my activity tracker and my BMI  as I am about getting rid of this piece of shit tumor in my chest, thank you very much. Hand me a bag of Cheetos. The End.
   
   

Chemo Bag Reveal coming later--you will be so jealous and want to carry around your own once you see inside.

(Chemo Jams that resonated for Round 2--a little poppy, little funky, little old school--long list 'cuz it was a long day in the chair, and you can tell I was just listening in alpha order, no shuffle:  Hare Krishna by Thievery Corporation, Grenade by  Bruno Mars [yeah, go get my cancer, Bruno, get it for me!], Feelin' Alright by Joe Cocker [yep, Dad, for you], Fitzpleasure by Alt-J, Back in Black by AC/DC, Alive by Pearl Jam, Everybody Hurts by R.E.M., GFY [said straight to cancer, btw] by Shaggy, Gimme Shelter by The Rolling Stones [with a shout out to the legendary Merry Clayton], Flood by Jars of  Clay, and my mom's request to put on my Chemo Jams, Fight Song by Rachel Platten--thank you, Mama!)