Only a few people have seen it. I haven't left the house since Tuesday's unfortunate CVS excursion. Everything feels like a threat. I don't know what to take seriously and what I can brush off. I don't know what I'm taking too seriously and what I'm not giving enough attention to. I feel like the boy who cried wolf every time something comes up.
I already had another (very small) scare this week. I've had high blood pressure since I was 20. Up until 30, I refused meds, insisting I could bring it down naturally. I could not. Mine seems to be mostly due to genetics. At 30 my doctor explained to me that since I wasn't overweight, and was relatively healthy, my hypertension would not cause a heart attack in me. Unfortunately, a stroke was much more probable, and while it was not likely to kill me, it could cause permanent damage like slurring, drooping, loss of coordination, etc. And I, a just-turned-30-year-old woman on birth control with high blood pressure and a history of smoking moved into that non-life-threatening-stroke-that-could-permanently-disfigure-and-or-debilitate-me category. Checkmate, Doc. I'll take your g-damn medication. So I've been on that for 7 years.
For some reason or another, chemo lowers blood pressure. (Oh wait! I know why. It's because f**k me.) While in the hospital, I was getting low readings. Like 105/60. Medicated, I'm usually around 125/75. So that's pretty low for me. In fact they almost didn't let me leave because Tuesday morning's reading was 92/58, but they let me take a minute and try again so I could pass the 100 mark and go home. They advised me to stop taking my hypertension meds and keep an eye on my numbers. I listened to the first part, but not the latter.
Thursday, I woke up shaking and with a bad headache. I took an OTC sinus congestion pill, stayed in bed all day, sent out a few work emails, and took it easy. By 3:30, the headache let up, but I was still shaking- kinda like a tremor in my hands. I remembered the "keep an eye on my numbers" thing, and also that decongestants raise BP. So I pulled out my electronic cuff and got a reading. It seemed really high so I tried the other arm and got a similar number. It was 160/103. I found my meds, took one as originally prescribed, and sat down to meditated for 25 minutes to calm my heart down.
David talked me into calling the doctor's office. I spoke with her, felt better, and then broke down. Again. And my sweet, strong, amazing fiancé lifted me up. Again.
This so far has been the hardest part for me. The loss of self-reliance, self-sufficiency. I've been on my own for a long time. I moved to NYC 5 months after I turned 18 and have been taking care of myself since then. I'm not saying I did a great job. (Sara once discovered a half eaten moldy birthday cake -not a slice; one half of a whole cake- in the microwave...approximately 3 months after my birthday. Don't ask because I don't know. Maybe I tried to hide it. Maybe I tried to heat it up. I'm also not sure why the microwave sat unused for three months. I have a lot of questions too.) But the point is I was fiercely independent. I did everything myself. This new way of living; asking for help; crying on shoulders; wondering who to call for the latest crisis or favor; this feels needy. It feels dramatic. I feel like a burden. I feel weak.
I hate having to call Nurse Nicole almost every day because now everything scares me. Is a fever normal? How high is too high blood pressure? What about a resting heart rate of 97? Didn't you say the chemo drugs can damage my heart? And then feeling unsure about whether I should be scared or validated when the answer is no, that's not normal.
But we knew it'd be like this. We didn't know what exactly but we knew there'd be twists and turns. And I thought I was ready. I was at a point where I almost would have been disappointed if my hair didn't fall out. Like I was ready for the challenge. I got this. But it was an incredibly optimistic, conditional "Bring it!" More like, "Bring it, if you promise I'll live through it. Bring it, as long as my hair grows back. Bring it, and please let me keep my breast. Bring it, because you'll take it away after it's all over too, right?" But then it gets real. A common cold puts me in the hospital for two days or I run my fingers through my "super cute" new haircut and come out with fistfuls of hair. I back pedal. My confidence wanes a bit. Now I'm afraid to wash what's left of my hair because I'm afraid I'll lose it all, or at least enough that'll require that final shave. And I know. I know it's going to happen soon anyway, but just not yet, please. I'm not going to be ready. I change my mind. That roller coaster rhythm comes chugging back...no no no no no no no no.
People keep telling me I'm brave, but I don't have a choice. I have to scream, "Come at me!" and ignore the what ifs because I don't know what the alternative is. What else is there to do but keep moving forward? Curl up? Mope around sad and droopy? I can't afford to cry that much. Hydration is very important these days. The other day, I called cancer "a bump in the road." An older, much wiser friend replied, "It's a big bump. Don't minimize it." Lesson learned, Week 3. I'm taking it all seriously. I get it. I don't get to call the shots. This isn't going to happen on my terms. So you just bring whatever I have coming. I'll call Nurse Nicole as they pop up, and I'll wear the damn mask. 😷
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Three final things:
- I set up a twitter account so I can shout out when a new post is up. There's a link on my contact page.
*I found another great place to send hair called Matter of Trust. These guys are good because they'll take ANY hair- no specific length; grey is fine; processed is fine. They weave it to make a mat or a broom and use those to soak up oil spills and to clean contaminated water. So if you've been wondering what to do with all that unnecessary back hair...just saying...
-Pro:
No one would dare call me out for not washing my hair for 4 days.
