It's Moving Back In ...

I've been waking up with terrible stomach aches for about a week now. Today, I realized their probable cause. We went to Knoxville, and during our several hours there, we passed numerous ambulances with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Each time we heard one, that same angry and acidic feeling hit the pit of my stomach. I feel like I need to throw up, but can't. It's like my stomach is pretzel-shaped, and someone is pulling on each loose end, making the knot in the middle tighter and tighter.

I realized that I am terribly frightened and anxious.

I'm finding it harder to face chemotherapy the second time. I know the horrors of it all too well:

• The constant vomiting -- when I sit up in the morning, in the shower, in the car, every time I smell food cooking. When I can eat, I am VERY careful to choose foods that are not absolutely disgusting coming back up. (I'll spare you the details of that one.)
• The clumps of hairs that fall from my head and cover my clothes, so much that I am afraid to prepare food or even be in the kitchen very often, and keep falling until I am bald and freakish and must wear an ill-fitting, hot, uncomfortable wig or toboggan every time I leave the house. (I absolutely refuse to cover my head at home, no matter how I look. Consider yourself forewarned if you come to visit.)
• The horrible metallic taste of food and drinks and the sores in my mouth and throat that would render eating a lost cause even if I could taste anything.
• The utter, absolute exhaustion that makes me feel like I am glued to my chair, keeps me in my nightgown all day because I lack the energy to get dressed, and forces me to keep a porta-a-potty nearby since going to the bathroom and back is an acrobatic feat.
• The low blood counts that make it risky for me to be in public, and make me ultra-paranoid about germs around the house.
• The "chemo brain" effects on my mind and memory which make me feel so stupid and incompetent that I use a calculator to figure the kids' lunch money -- when for years I was able to add the groceries in my head and calculate to the penny the amount I would need at the checkout counter. (I was a computer programmer for nearly 20 years, and now I'm lucky to remember my login password.)
• The long days in the chemo ward, surrounded by pitiful, pale, shrunken, twisted beings who are probably thinking the same thing about me. (It's so hard for Don to bear that he nearly trips over himself getting out of there after he gets me settled into a chair.)
• The bouts of fear and anxiety in the middle of the night when I feel panicked and alone, and have to calm myself and convince myself to keep breathing (although ironically, I can no more stop my own breathing than I can stop my suffering; in other words, I'm powerless against all of it anyway).

The bottom line is: I just don't want to do this again! Still, I know the cancer is growing. If I just sit here and do nothing, it WILL kill me eventually, and it will have the power to choose its own method of doing so. If I want any control over it at all (realizing, of course, that it's only pseudo-control), I have to keep fighting. Even so, it's hard to shake the "lamb to the slaughter" feeling I get every time they hook the i.v. full of poison to my chemo port.

My appointment to choose a chemo regimen and schedule its start date is Monday, January 14th at 10 a.m. Please pray that when the time comes, I will find the courage and the grace to do this again. It won't be easy, but the alternative is simply unacceptable.

:-) Sharon