Boarding the carousel.

6/8/2014

Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

All was fairly well until the 7th, the day my chemo pump came off. If I thought I was going to get off easy, I was a fool (not a new place to find myself, but I did have hopes…) The mouth continued going south: tongue, gums, sides, throat, you name it, until my mouth felt like it was paved with sores and my tongue became the size of a side of meat.

Awake most of the night before, gargling with hot salt water and issuing muzzy prayers to the Clerk of Fate which, because I don’t believe in it/him/her, exercised the option to ignore me. Peg drove me to the clinic the next morning. I am here to testify that my valiant sister was never a Boy Scout but she was prepared with all sorts of things, including a bucket which I made use of as we passed the Coffee Shack on Highway 11 — but that, so far, as been my only upchuck so far.

The chemo pump was successfully removed (I still have the port) and Peg drove me back home. If I thought the side-effects would lessen immediately the pump was removed, I was sadly mistaken. Weary beyond weariness, eating is painful but that’s okay because I have no appetite whatsoever and when I have tried to eat, my mouth has taken exception. In  contrast to yesterday, nothing tastes like anything and I find myself missing the taste of dirt.  I was prescribed a vile concoction called “Magic Mouthwash™” which I do not recommend, and which numbs things up for only a little bit. Light runs. In bed by six. Asleep a little after that, to commence the up-and-down for the rest of the night. I feel like I’m blistered throughout the crotchal area, and let’s not even discuss what my bottom feels like. When I creep back into bed, Abby whines lightly and lays her chin on my shoulder.

Radiation starts again tomorrow. Every Monday they take another X-ray of my behind and the radiation oncologist reviews it, and we talk. If this tumor has not reduced in the past week, I am going to be most displeased. In the meantime, back to bed, or the nearest approximation thereof.