Hello, Cruel World

Wow. Oh, wow. Let me introduce you to a new word for my dictionary of "Cancer Horrors": somnolence. It means: COMA.

It's one of the rare side effects of one of the chemo drugs I received (ifosfamide). We discussed it before the treatments began, and they assured me that it only happens to elderly people who are bedridden. I pointed out that I am mobility-impaired, and they reassured me that it's extremely rare and I'm so young ...

Fast-forward to Tuesday, my 2nd day of chemo. I was watching American Idol, and the guys were singing. I fell asleep, and I was having a wonderful dream. I felt like I was whizzing through space, and it was so peaceful. What I didn't realize was that my family had been thrown into utter panic. Don went home Tuesday evening to be with the kids. When Mom could not reach me by phone on Wednesday morning, she called the nurse who said, "To be honest with you, I haven't checked on her yet today."

This was enough to send Mom straight to the hospital. When she and other family members arrived, the nursing staff was still not concerned. (I guess I was the "perfect" patient, huh?) My family was screaming at this point: "We can't wake her up!"

Finally, the medical staff clued in to the true situation. I was in a coma. Josiah was supposed to fly to Indiana that day (or the next day -- I've lost a lot of time) to receive a car that an Indiana radio station wanted to donate to him and do a concert for them. He said, "I am not leaving Mama until I know she's okay." There's a happy ending to his story. The radio station brought the car to him, and they filled it with goodies for him. He is still going to do a concert for them as soon as he is home from California.

On Thursday, Daddy and Josiah threw a fit to have the chemo disconnected. A few hours later, my dear friend Janet came to see me. This is significant because she had surgery herself just one week ago. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew something was wrong when she couldn't reach me by phone or text. She cried and prayed all night, and decided by morning that she had to come to me. The sixty-mile journey to the hospital was her first outing since surgery, and it had to be hard for her.

Some time yesterday afternoon, I became aware that she was there. Even through the thick fog of my brain, I realized what a sacrifice it must have been for her. I knew I had to speak to her. It was hard to form the words, but eventually, I said, "Janet's here." Everyone in the room started cheering and clapping. I didn't know why until they told me I had been in a coma.

The Fallout of this included:

• A lumbar puncture (spinal tap) to rule out meningitis. (Yeah, right, I just happened to get meningitis at the same time I started a new chemo? Even I couldn't be that unlucky. Well, then again ...) When the test was over, I asked how long I had to lie flat, and I heard 48 hours. About 20 hours later, when I was coherent enough to double-check, it turned that he said 4 - 8 hours.


• An MRI that took three attempts because I wasn't in my logical brain yet, and I just panicked. The MRI showed a small lesion on the brain wall, but nothing that could have caused the coma.


• Profuse vomiting, with so little warning that I often vomited all over myself.


• 2 units of plasma and now 2 bags of blood.


• X-rays of my stomach (because of the vomiting?).


• No solid food since Tuesday.


• Problems using my hands (fine motor skills).


• Weak, weak, weak body and confused mind.

So, where do we go from here? Home, first, hopefully. Then I will have to rebuild my body and re-assess the game plan. The doctor said we could lower the dose and try again, but I gave a resounding NO. I will NEVER put that stuff in my body again.

And I find myself so thankful for my family and friends. Where in the world (or out of the world) would I be without them? Here's hoping all of you are surrounded by people who love you. I've never been surer of that in my life.

Prayers and happy thoughts are certainly appreciated as I regroup and rebuild.

:-) Sharon