Thursdays

Up until Memorial Day, my chemotherapy treatments were on Tuesdays and Thursdays were my worst days in terms of recovery. I called them my “down days.” I meant that I was down on the couch, not that I was feeling down, though Thursday evenings I usually wanted to start canceling any plans I’d made, feeling like I’d reached the point where I wouldn’t “recover” fully until after the chemotherapy was over. I made myself not make any decisions on Thursdays. Fridays were always better. Aside from the anemia fatigue, things did perk up on Friday.

I even looked forward to these two weeks off treatment, thinking I’d be up and going on Monday and have a few good days at work and then the conference, which starts this coming Monday.

But Thursday night I was apologizing to my body. It was a full week and a day since I’d had a treatment, and I was still “down” on the couch. I was full of regret. It felt like this time I’d gone too far– the triple dose was too much, and this damage might be permanent. That’s the awful thing about these particular side effects: the neuropathy that has gripped my feet and fingers so that I’m unsteady walking and have trouble opening a jar; the chemical burning in my nasal passages and sinuses; my burning skin no matter how many balms I put on it. And my mind takes over from there– what have I done to my bones and bone marrow? What did I let them do? I am so sorry, body. Hadn’t I been told that neuropathy sometimes never completely goes away? Did I not take this treatment seriously enough?

But Friday was better. Most of all my mind and sight cleared. The poisoning had let go of my face. I could see farther and concentrate better.

I drove myself to the appointment for a blood draw in the morning and waited for the results. One of the nurses who saw me sitting in the waiting room gave me a pep talk, saying that it would definitely be better for next week. My oncology nurse came out smiling– all the blood counts were in normal range. I have immunity back. I have good hemoglobin numbers. The transfusion and the Neulasta were doing their job.

I was able to work on getting together my printed notes (a guard against chemo brain) and polishing my presentations. I was able to work over the phone with my student worker and get important things done. I did a load of laundry, hung it on the line, took it off the line when dry. I harvested some lettuce and pulled some weeds. I ate well. I drank my 3 quarts of water and continued to move the poison out. I tended to my skin.

Today, Saturday, is better still. I still have the neuropathy, my skin still burns, but I am coming back to myself. Really what Thursday is about is the struggle, the fighting, fighting the cancer and processing the chemotherapy. This time around it was a week of Thursdays, taking me down and down to my low point, Thursday night. But then Friday came, and when I opened my eyes I could tell the damage would not be permanent. I could tell things were ever so slowly turning around. I was going to be OK. Again.