Warning: This post is going to be LOADED. More loaded than a loaded baked potato.
First of all, the loaded potato. I want one right now. Sounds so gooooood! I am currently taking a steroid, which means I have "roid" rage, I am completely ravenous, I eat EVERYTHING, I think about food ALL THE TIME, I have an actual steroid baby in my belly, I watch only TV shows about food, I eat about every 2 hours, and I even eat meat. I don't eat meat. I mean, I watch Man vs. Food on a daily basis. I watch that guy, who should be dead the way he eats, eat 6 lb hamburgers, 5 lb grilled cheeses, which ultimately causes a bit of a gag reflex at first, but then since I'm on roids....I could totally eat that shit!! And win! It is insannnnnnnnn. I may even have to start using cocoa butter for stretch marks on this steroid baby.
On the flip side of 'gaining' this obsession with food, I have lost something very important to me. Something that I have grown to love, accept and embrace with pride. I have lost........my double wide booty. Gone. Flat. Non-exsistent. No where to be seen. I will even venture to say saggy:( It's like that True Life episode where people lose a shit ton of weight and have all that saggy excess skin! My sister would tell me to do but lifts, or lunges, or perhaps, take a walk. If I keep talking about it I actually might start crying. I guess my philosophy about cancer has always been to make it sexy because it's not, and what else do you have? But now that I literally have no control over my body, my face is getting fatter as I type this from the steroid and I am convinced it makes your feet fat too, I am not bringing sexy back, yet.
On February 3rd, I landed myself in the hospital, again. True to form, just like the first time, it was......a situation. I woke up the night before in excruciating pain. It was my knee. My knee? I was up every 2 hours popping liquid morphine, trying to just pass out. Finally, had to call my mom at 5:30am, or else I would have lost my brain. She came over, not that she could do anything, but I guess I did fall asleep at some point. Called the doctor and went to the office. Naturally, when I got there I had to vomit. And we all know my specific toileting vomiting rule. In the toilet is the only way to go, good thing my mom was 30 seconds too late with the little chemo vomit bag. I was sent for an x-ray and then had to go back up to the doctor to answer the inevitable question, should I be admitted to the hospital or go home? The x-ray came back clean, but I gave in and opted for the hospital to relieve the pain. Whisked away in a wheelchair by an old shaky totally trustworthy volunteer, off we finally go to the old oncology floor, 3AB.
I hop in bed and wait FOREVER for the nurses to come in and check me in, meanwhile vomiting again, this time in the little chemo vomit bag, worst. Where is the IV morphine??????? Oh, there it issssssssssssssssssssssss...................
Now I can be driven, in my bed, down to cat scan for a cat scan of my leg. Again, that comes back clean. And so begins the next 5 days of hellllllllllllllllllll. These days consisted of, being moved to a private room at some point for low white blood cells (score!), constant never-ending nausea and vomiting, while being pumped with 3 different kinds of anti-nausea medicine, which were clearly not working, and attempting to eat some foods, I think.
At the end of my stay, I was given my first dose of a new chemo called CPT 11. Side effects include: hair loss (so far I've been holding on to it!, especially since my mom seemed to imply that I prematurely shaved my head twice), and the most horrible diarrhea of your life. We will just call this side effect my 24/7 digestive dilemma. I was so out of it, I was not in the decision making process of this. But all I knew was that I soon as the last drop of that chemo was in, I was getting the hell out! Well, no surprise here, my doctor ordered the chemo at 8:30 in the morning and when do you think I actually got it....about 4pm. Coincidentally, that very day, my nurse happened to be the same nurse, I HATED, four years ago, when I was on that floor. My doctor actually confronted her about the chemo situation and asked her why I hadn't received it yet. The nurse did not respond and my doctor said, "That's your cue to speak." Awkward turtle. So glad I was "out of it" in bed for that one.
After the hospital, nothing remotely funny happens. This is where it gets really flippin' real. LOADED. With extra sour cream.
As soon as I was out of the hospital, I went to my parents and slept in bed with my mother for a month (until I couldn't take the cuddling anymore), continuing on my constant never-ending nausea/vomiting path for 2 full weeks. During this time I was also experiencing double vision, but I wasn't sure, because I was wearing my glasses all the time, which I never do. I was getting migraines and headaches, and the left half of my chin and lip went numb.
As soon as the words 'double vision' came out of my mouth at the doctor, I bought myself an MRI. Guuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh.............
I smartened up and took 2 Ativan before that bad boy. Why did I never do that before?????
I go for the MRI, hoping the technicians aren't as crappy as last time. But luckily witness this most awesome situation in the waiting room.
You cannot make this shit up! Listen carefully for the deep snores. My father kept kicking the wall to see if she would wake up!
They call me in and we have to talk about why I am there. The tech asks why I am getting the MRI and I tell him I have double vision and headaches. So he says, "The doctor wants to check for mets?" My response, "Umm, I have double vision." He says, "So the doctor is checking for mets in the brain?" My response, "Uuuh, I have double vision." Thanks for that buddy. Anyway, I asked him to talk to me during the scan, and he said we would keep me updated, "2 minutes of noise," "3 minutes of noise," etc. But I was 2 Ativan in, so it didn't really matter at that point.
Two days later, at the doctor for the results. My doctor didn't have the results in front of her, so she left to check the computer. World comes crashing dooooooooowwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnn. It was like the day I was diagnosed. But worse. Time stops. The cancer has spread to your dura mater. The dura mater is the membrane between your skull and your brain. The MRI shows activity, like a sprinkle of cancer cells all over the membrane.
?????!!!!!!!!?????!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!??!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!??????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?????!Hmmm???
Well, that is NOT what I was expecting. LOADED. It was like a hit and run. My doctor quickly explained things while I just sat there, cried and my parents listened. And then I went to get chemo. I sat in my chair just tried to act cool.
A week later, February 29th, Leap Day. Ironic how this day doesn't really exist. And this day I sat with my doctor to discuss this dura "matter." It was like and still is a bunch of phrases replaying in my head: quality of life, risks and benefits, limited options, respect your decision, no treatments, spinal tap, spinal infusion chemo, results aren't guaranteed, leaky chemo........NUMB.
WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY FUCKING TELL ME THIS WAS GOING TO FUCKING HAPPEN????
So that Stage IV Breast Cancer diagnosis was actually real, huh?
Well, naturally, since I am me, my only option...........is to KICK SOME MOTHERFUCKING ASS!
