Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Blissful Bathroom Floor

I had such extreme dizzyness, heat flashes, room spinning today, I had to just drop to the floor. Face down on my kitchen and bathroom floors are not places you'd ordinarily want to be, but it was nirvana. Cool floor against my face dousing heat waves as the room slowly, methodically, stopped spinning. Extreme enough to send me to the hospital to get rehydrated and checked out. Grateful to neighbors where J can hang out at a moments notice and also proximity of hospital for rides. Even better when neighbor has puppy.

Nurse Eileen is my favorite, she says it like it is. She said "hey, you just had your last Adriamycin and the effects are cumulative and the last one kicks your ass, you're normal." Music to my ears "you're normal" how often do I get to hear that?

Home now, feeling a little better, but not tons and still have the jitters, so I'm googling. Turns out that the anti-nausea med that warns of sleepiness on the bottle, the one on which I should not operate heavy machinery is also known for giving the jitters, crud. Bad call, I'm going back to the one that gives me headaches.

I realized today that I'm the only one in the chemo ward that comes alone. I prefer it that way, but I wonder if due to experience I've become too lone-wolfish. I'm used to doing things alone, it's normal for me. I wonder if having someone in my life for so long who did not wish to be included and did not want to include me has made me this way and is it a bad thing? Is it something I should work on? But as for chemo, I just get comfy in the chair and close my eyes and chill or read or catch up on my Words with Friends turns which are many {and I must stop mistakenly calling Friends with Benefits}, I truly don't need someone there staring at me for hours on end. Very appreciative of the rides home and end of chemo visits by my driver du jour, but that's really all I need. It bothers me that my doctor and nurses all feel sorry for me, I don't see myself as pathetic at all, but apparently, going to chemo alone makes you the object of sympathy, which I think is unfair.

A beautiful friend came over yesterday to give me a pep talk and showed me her mastectomy. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought, it wasn't bad looking at all except for the horrible chafing from radiation which will go away. I'd seen a picture once on-line, I suppose, where the mastectomy looked all disfigured like a bad burn, so I feel better about this avenue of consideration. Maybe my boobs have played their part and they can leave in peace, we'll see. My hypothetical, future, on-line dating profile is pretty much shot by now anyway.

1 comment:

  1. i've known the comfort of the cold bathroom, kitchen, hospital room floor...hate the people who always insist on picking you up. the floor is's the most stable and unspinning place.
    forget the dating profile...everyone lies. so're not missing anything!