"This feels surreal," I said to Walt as I carried my rapidly growing brown folder down the hall in the Cancer Center on Monday. After the receptionist handed me the file, I knew exactly where to go. We walked down the hall, took the second right and sat in the brown chairs along the wall. Then a nurse would come up, greet me, and tell me she'd be right back. After checking my name on her list, she would walk me to the scale and record my weight. Then she would escort me to a chair. This is my routine at least once a week. This is my reality but yet it still seems hard to believe it's really me living it. I shouldn't know what to do with a brown folder at the front desk of a cancer center. But I do. Someday it'll feel more real. Hopefully by then it'll just be a memory, something I did to get to living the life that feels more like me.
On Monday, I went in for extra fluids to try to prevent dehydration. After my weigh-in, I was led to a chair in a small portable. I prefer this set up to sharing a bigger room with another patient. It's not something I have a choice on so I learn to accept wherever I'm placed. After my blood pressure, pulse and temperature check, the nurse asked me how I was feeling. I never know how to answer her. I feel terrible but I'm managing to put one foot in front of the other to make my way here for this appointment. I hate feeling sick but it doesn't help dwelling on that. I'd prefer never having to eat or smell foods again. But, she was waiting for something to take back to the doctor on my progress, so I said I felt tired and nauseous. Nothing else new to report.
Another nurse came in and accessed my port. If I put the lidocaine, a numbing cream I apply an hour before my appointment, at just the right spot, I don't feel a thing. The port moves so sometimes I miss and it stings when the needle goes in. I didn't feel a thing, which made me smile because I scrunched up my face, expecting pain, and there wasn't any. It was a chilly morning, so I accepted the warm blankets offered to me, reclined my chair and listened to music while my body got hydrated. Walt sat nearby reading magazines.
I think the hydration helped a little. I've still felt nauseous, but I think not so bad. I ate a bit better tonight, which I usually don't do until Thursday or even Friday. In fact, last time I got really sick on Wednesday. So, when I think of where I was this time during my last cycle, I guess I'm doing much better. I'm outside on the porch typing this, though, as Walt and Ben are home from their first soccer practice and having a late dinner. The food smells are making me feeling nauseous, so I am electing to fight mosquitoes and breathe fresh air for awhile. Walt's mom is here for a couple of weeks. She is so helpful in managing the food and cleanup. Such a blessing! She's learning not to talk about food or serve leftovers, all things I can't handle now. I'm pretty sure both Walt and Lydia will call me pretty difficult right now. I hate how I am around food, too, but it's my only means to survive this week. Next week I'll be much easier to be around.
Tomorrow, Lydia and I will head back to the hospital for my Herceptin infusion and some more fluids. I'm thankful for her willingness to keep my company. I wish I could do more, have more energy for conversation or for activities right now, but I also have to remind myself that God's grace is sufficient for now. His power is made perfect in my weakness. God arms me with strength to do what I need, and sometimes the strength is just to rely on Him and others.
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