Anyway, last week was the sh*#s. I've been on methotrexate shots - in my bum, it is so pleasant - for the last 10 weeks, and it seems like there's barely any improvement. Chris is ever positive, at least on the outside, to cancel me out, but I'm tough to crack because I'm bitter that he hasn't been the one having to roll over and get stuck in the ass every week, followed by losing his appetite and ability to stay awake for the next 18 hours. I know, I'm a bad person. He HAS been to every shot he possibly can, which helps a bajillion. (A bajillion what? I have no idea.) The doc at the beginning of this never-ending story said this would take, average, 6-8 weeks, and it's been 10. Then the other doctor had to recap what a bell curve looks like. Thanks, doc. I took stats already. Still having night terrors. Then, my HCG levels went up. Significantly. If you haven't been following my post "pregnancy" saga, this is BAD NEWS BEARS. My goodness, now this chemo isn't working? What the hell?
They called us from the hospital to tell us the bad news, and by then I was on my way to bed. Literally, two steps away from blissful naptime. If there's a surefire way to piss me off, it's cutting off my direct path to sleep. I'm still not sure why I want to be a mom so badly, for this reason alone. "You'll need to come back up," they said. "These levels are too high to ignore," they said. "We need to do another, different treatment, today," they said. "Mother%!#*&$" I said. An hour later, the receptionist is wondering why we're back, the phlebotamy lab smell is making me sick, and I go to sit on a table so that my doctor and his 3 residents tell me, "Let's wait this out one more week. We'll see what happens then. But your body is definitely doing something weird."
Oh, you mean like the time that it was supposed to make a fetus but instead made me cancer? They're not calling it that, but it's growths where they're not supposed to be, and I'm being treated with chemo. If it looks like a duck and quacks like one.... Or when it was supposed to reject all the leftover tissue after not one, but two surgeries? And now, after 800mg of chemo that's designed to kill it, it still isn't doing anything?
I was frustrated. By this point, it was never going to end. In my mind, 10 years down the road, I was going to be going to the same hospital with my 3 adopted kids, still getting these shots.
Enter my husband. My ever-loving, kind, eternally patient husband, who gives me a figurative slap upside the head. He tells me, "don't you remember when the doctor told you explicitly that this is 100% curable? Not 99, or 98, but one hundred percent. You don't have a choice. You ARE going to beat this. And this WILL end. There is nothing you can do about it. Soon, your body will be healed, and you won't ever have to worry about this again. So you might as well be positive about it, because it can't hurt anything, and you're not helping yourself the way things are."
Can't you just let me be pissed?!?!?! No? Oh, because I've been a self-absorbed B@#^& the last three months? Are you getting sick of me? I guess I can't blame him. I'd have been done with him a looooong time ago.
So I thought about this for a bit, knowing deep, deep, deep....deep, deep down that he was right. But I couldn't say it yet, so instead, I said, "After I say this, I don't want you to say anything. I needed to hear that. BUT. It doesn't mean I'm going to be happy about this from now on, or that I should be expected to right away. But I'm glad you said something."
It was all I could do not to take it back, but Chris respected me and immediately started talking about something else.
SO. Positive things. 1)The doctor asked me if I needed any pills. Nausea, sleeping aids, etc. I'm not normally one to accept meds on the fly but oh my gosh I can't even eat normally anymore, and I obviously can't suffer in silence. I begged for nausea meds, and he wrote me some up right away. Score! 2)The nurse who made us come back gave is $16 to the delicious hospital restaurant. Not a complete tank of gas, but close enough. 3)We have the technology to cure this. 30 years ago, this literally would have killed me. 4)The doctors and nurses are concerned about me, and doing everything they can to make sure they don't go too drastic. I like that. 5)Family and friends have been incredibly supportive, which means the world to me.It really does, and if you're one of them, or any member of my family - thank you. From every part of my heart.
But so help me Oden, if I have to shave my head.......positivepositivepositive. Ok. At least it's summer, and will help me cool down. And I'll match all my baby friends.
And I know this seems a lot TMI for the internets but I am sick of hearing about the metaphorical pastor's wife who got cancer and was soooo positive the whole time. Uuuhhhhh she's lying. I want to be relatable. And reinforce that I'm not perfect. Just so you know. I know. I fooled myself for a while.