We had a long, hot summer--or at least so I inferred from the fact that we turned on our a/c on June 1st, and it's still running this morning. I didn't actually venture out into the heat--a few doctors' appointments, a few lunches or dinners with friends--very often. It was a hard summer with one thing after another coming up.
There was one set of problems around G-I issues. The chemo causes almost non-stop diarrhea, and although I take a week off after three weeks on, my body doesn't really seem to know the difference. It's further confused by the fact that the Percocet is an opioid, which causes constipation. The two effects don't cancel each other out; they just make regular but unpredictable appearances. The chemo also raises my blood pressure. During the three weeks I'm on, I take two meds to reduce hypertension, and they seem to work well. But during the week that is off, I cut out at least one of those, but then I have days of what seems like severe hypotension. Meanwhile, whether or not I'll have an appetite is always an open question, as is how much nausea I'll have and how it will manifest itself. I have all sorts of anti-nausea drugs, but they don't seem to work in any consistent fashion.
Another set of problems involves physical pain from what seems like completely random places. As I recounted earlier, several weeks ago I woke up after my morning nap with a right leg that refused to move. After hoping for the best, we finally spent seven hours in the ER. I had two MRIs, a CT scan, and x-rays, none of which revealed anything, so seven hours later I went home in just as much pain and immobility as when I went. That passed...and moved up into my right hip. We didn't even bother to go to the hospital. That, too, passed... this time into my left buttock, which has now made my left leg immobile. Getting in and out of bed, standing or sitting...all are very painful.
And over all of this is a complete lack of energy. Awake for two or three hours and then my body and brain cease to function. This happens in the morning, when I fall back into bed around ten. I stay awake for lunch (if I eat) and my intellectual stimulation for the day, "The Bold and the Beautful." And then it's back to bed for another 90 minutes. Usually around 6 p.m. I have another, though shorter, collapse.
Mohamed does even more than before for me. Otherwise, I'd just sit here in a lump. He's frustrated as he can't do more, though it's not possible that he's going to create an appetite or calm my stomach. It's also frustrating to know that things aren't going to get better. For once, this, too, isn't going to pass.
To add insult to injury:
Seven months ago, we submitted all the information to Customs and Immigration--financial statements, well-written letters of support from friends--and then we've been waiting impatiently for the results. Mohamed, like everyone else, was given a provisional green card for two years; then he had to apply for "removal of conditions," i.e. making the green card permanent. It all seemed routine until a letter finally arrived from USCIS, with no green card but with a demand for further evidence. I have no idea what we can supply that we already didn't. They thoughtfully included a teeny envelope for our several years of tax returns, credit card info, bank statements, etc.
And then a couple of days later, while I was munching on some granola, a crown snapped off one of my back molars.
Excitement for this week:
Monday (tomorrow) we go for CT scans.
Tuesday it's time for the dentist.
Wednesday we see Dr. Hashmi, the oncologist.
I won't wait so long for the next post, since this week should produce some info.
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