Soooo, big fat fail on my last day of chemo being a no biggie. Just thought I could swoop on in there and get in over like it never really mattered to start. Stupid, stupid girl. Here's a catchup, I failed my chemo two weeks ago.... at least that is how I term it. Every week is a test of my endurance, and this particular week, I failed it. My platelets were too low to get my chemo for the week so I was sent away. I had been feeling so terrible that I secretly wondered how they could safely give chemo to me, so I knew before I knew. With a week off, my platelets rebounded, my hemoglobin did not, which has been sinking a point nearly every week. So, by this week I knew I would be at transfusion level, which is where I didn't want to be through this whole endeavor. But, there I was on my supposed last day, where all the nurses are to come and gather round, singing in congratulation style for you. But not this day, I got extra this, and that, more pills and pokes (the original IV didn't take so they had to go for the other arm which they had been avoiding due to phlebitis and it took the dear sweet nurse three attempts, they bring her out for the shitty sticks which everyone agrees I am.) Then, the sick comes. The overwhelming sickness of all the poison inside me. My nurse tells me I look green, puts an ativan under my tongue and we wait. She says sweetly after a while "Its not easy being green, is it?" No, it isn't. This is about five hours in and still no transfusion, but we only have time to hang one bag of blood tonight, so they want me back tomorrow after my last radiation and to prevent the horror of the poke-fest I am to keep the IV in during the night.
Not every second of the day was a wrenching sob or a wince filled face. In fact, aside from all the super-sonic crap I spent most of the day hanging, talking learning and crying with my new chemo buddy Sam. He is only 24, and every time I see his face I feel like crying for the mere chance that any of his possibility could be stolen. We spent our time together, in that place and shared our history, or pain and the smiles that come from sharing. When the chemo gets so strong and the sicko of it is just to much, we were in our separate pods, doing what humans getting chemo do. Groan, cry, try not to puke, wish they could puke, talk to forget, forget what they were saying.
Not my last day of chemo. Not my last day.