Every Day I Learn
Seriously. Every single day, there is something this brings into my life that I did not know the day before.
Yesterday we did early Thanksgiving at Ryan's family's house in Mansfield. It was actually planned before my diagnosis, because Ryan's brother, Evan, will be out of town this week for actual Thanksgiving. Anyhow, I was feeling 100% fine when we got up. I ran an errand. I made stuffing. I put on make-up and a dress and even brushed my hair.
My parents planned to join us, but drove separately in case I ended up feeling cruddy and wanted to leave early. As we were preparing to leave, Ryan decided it would be fun to get his 1971 Challenger (which rarely sees the outside of the garage) out and drive that down to Mansfield (about an hour south of Cleveland). I love the Challenger. Ryan REALLY loves the Challenger. It didn't seem like a bad idea. We thought it'd put us in good moods. Be fun. Happy.
Wrong.
A little less than half way there, I started to get really carsick. And of course, it was the one time in my entire life that I had forgotten my water bottle and therefore could not take my anti-nausea medication. Ryan felt terrible for choosing to take the cool car, but how could he have known? How would either of us have known? I felt fine. I hadn't been nauseated in two days.
Well, add bumpy Ohio roads and a less than smooth-riding 70's muscle car that is more than a a little fume-y... recipe for UGH.
Ryan felt bad. I was devastated. I was sure I wouldn't make it though the family dinner. Sure that I would throw up in his parents' driveway. Sure that I'd be unable to ride in any car for any length of time for the rest of treatment. No work! No shopping! No Christmas!! Sobbing and swallowing in the crisp country air, I looked up at my beautiful husband. He said "You're fine. You're handing this really well. You are SO STRONG. This was just a mistake and now we know." He hugged me and we went inside. I took Zofran and Ativan and waited.
Eventually I was fine. I even managed to (over)eat, as one should on Thanksgiving. Turkey. Stuffing. Potatoes. Beans. Rolls. Cookies. Delicious. And nice. Good to be around the family and just hang out. I'm still worried that getting down there for Christmas may not be a possibility for me (the ride home in my parent's newer, smoother, cooshier car still made me sick later that evening, just not AS sick...) but we will cross that bridge when we get to it.
Every day is going to be a new adventure. I'm sitting in Chemo #3 as I write this and when I'm done today, I will only have 3 more chemo sessions to go. A half-way mark for something, reached. Yay! My dad (step-dad, Gary, this time... [since I call them both "dad" I will try to differentiate somehow for those following along]) went through cancer treatment himself a few years back, and he and my mum tell me the same thing... every day you learn. Every day you feel different. There's no way to prepare. No way to make plans. Just keep waiting and seeing and above all, believing.
Even with my first real negative experience down now, I am remaining positive. All I can say is "That's the only choice I have." Now, I know that there IS another choice, but it's just never been the one for me.
XXO & PMA, Phoebe
Yesterday we did early Thanksgiving at Ryan's family's house in Mansfield. It was actually planned before my diagnosis, because Ryan's brother, Evan, will be out of town this week for actual Thanksgiving. Anyhow, I was feeling 100% fine when we got up. I ran an errand. I made stuffing. I put on make-up and a dress and even brushed my hair.
My parents planned to join us, but drove separately in case I ended up feeling cruddy and wanted to leave early. As we were preparing to leave, Ryan decided it would be fun to get his 1971 Challenger (which rarely sees the outside of the garage) out and drive that down to Mansfield (about an hour south of Cleveland). I love the Challenger. Ryan REALLY loves the Challenger. It didn't seem like a bad idea. We thought it'd put us in good moods. Be fun. Happy.
Wrong.
A little less than half way there, I started to get really carsick. And of course, it was the one time in my entire life that I had forgotten my water bottle and therefore could not take my anti-nausea medication. Ryan felt terrible for choosing to take the cool car, but how could he have known? How would either of us have known? I felt fine. I hadn't been nauseated in two days.
Well, add bumpy Ohio roads and a less than smooth-riding 70's muscle car that is more than a a little fume-y... recipe for UGH.
Ryan felt bad. I was devastated. I was sure I wouldn't make it though the family dinner. Sure that I would throw up in his parents' driveway. Sure that I'd be unable to ride in any car for any length of time for the rest of treatment. No work! No shopping! No Christmas!! Sobbing and swallowing in the crisp country air, I looked up at my beautiful husband. He said "You're fine. You're handing this really well. You are SO STRONG. This was just a mistake and now we know." He hugged me and we went inside. I took Zofran and Ativan and waited.
Eventually I was fine. I even managed to (over)eat, as one should on Thanksgiving. Turkey. Stuffing. Potatoes. Beans. Rolls. Cookies. Delicious. And nice. Good to be around the family and just hang out. I'm still worried that getting down there for Christmas may not be a possibility for me (the ride home in my parent's newer, smoother, cooshier car still made me sick later that evening, just not AS sick...) but we will cross that bridge when we get to it.
Every day is going to be a new adventure. I'm sitting in Chemo #3 as I write this and when I'm done today, I will only have 3 more chemo sessions to go. A half-way mark for something, reached. Yay! My dad (step-dad, Gary, this time... [since I call them both "dad" I will try to differentiate somehow for those following along]) went through cancer treatment himself a few years back, and he and my mum tell me the same thing... every day you learn. Every day you feel different. There's no way to prepare. No way to make plans. Just keep waiting and seeing and above all, believing.
Even with my first real negative experience down now, I am remaining positive. All I can say is "That's the only choice I have." Now, I know that there IS another choice, but it's just never been the one for me.
XXO & PMA, Phoebe
Comments
Stay strong my friend you will have this beat in no time!
Symphony