#23


there comes a point early in every cycle where i've whispered to myself, "maybe this one isn't going to be so bad". inevitably, the next day all hell breaks loose and i end my night crying myself to sleep.

today, it seems, would be that day. there's no use worrying about whether or not i am going to jinx myself. jinxes and reverse-jinxes only work in the world of sports. not in the world of chemo. this shit is poison. i know this now. as i hope it's re-educating bad cells (if there are any left) to not do bad things, it is introducing itself to the good cells, too, and wiping them out as well. the poison can't help itself. it does what it does. and it is doing its job. hopefully, the long-range benefits will far outweigh the short term inconveniences. if not, i am going to be one pissed off motherfucker. i'll also have cancer, and that will be worse.

today, i woke up and i felt pretty good. i had a normal bowel movement, which, if you've read the last couple of installments, is cause for celebration in and of itself. gross, but true. seriously, if you get anything out of reading these journals, you should totally not take it for granted when your poop is normal.

i had very little for brunch, so i don't anticipate the reflux being nearly the issue it was yesterday. watch me say that, and my heart will likely attempt to leap out of my mouth sometime during hannah's soccer practice.

my feet still have angry spots, for sure, and they will get worse as soon as they finish peeling, but they are in spots that i can dodge if i'm really thinking about how i am stepping. thinking about how you are stepping is a really funny thing. it's almost like thinking about trying to swallow. have you ever had an intensely sore throat before and tried really hard to direct food or spit down one side of your mouth so it doesn't feel like you have razorblades coating the inside of your neck only to realize that if you are thinking about swallowing, it's really fucking hard to swallow? i do that shit all the time. i'll try and think about swallowing and my whole body seizes up, and, all of a sudden, not only can't i swallow but i momentarily forget how to breathe too. i start to panic, my body instinctively takes over and i get past it all, but, in the moment, it terrifying. thinking about my gait works in similar fashion. in my head i try and keep count. step, ball, heel. step, ball, heel. step, ball, heel. then, some jackass employee (not really...they are just doing their job) will call me over the intercom and i fuck up and step on my angry heel first. my body reacts like omar from the wire just shot me in the kneecap and i've literally crumpled to the store floor like a folding chair. all because, once you are no longer a baby, you are not supposed to think about how to walk anymore. oh well, chemo problems.

as i sit out on my porch on this picture perfect tuesday afternoon banging out this entry, i can honestly say that i don't feel terrible.

that's a good thing.

#23

toxicities present:

a couple of the foot spots are turning a weird shade of purple, because that's what they do before they start to ramp up to the worst pain.

my mouth continues to dry out and i am starting to lose flavor. the inside of my lips burned last night when i was brushing my teeth. please no ulcers. please no ulcers.

hemorrhoids: i think i have two new ones. not severely painful just yet, but they are bleeding their little hearts out when they have a chance. thank god for clotting or i would have bled out in cycle three.

pain (scaled 1-10):

2