I Hate Running...Thoughts On Chemo #1

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I'll be honest. I laughed out loud when I read the above card because it is so darn true!! This whole process is a marathon, not a sprint, and I truly do hate running with a passion. I want nothing more than to be a runner, but I've decided it just isn't part of the Lord's plan for me. 

I'm less than 24 hours away from my second round of chemo, and I currently have very mixed emotions for I'm about to embark on for the second time. 

Simply put, chemo sucks. The actual appointment for chemo is not bad. I sat in a relatively comfy chair for a few hours with my electric blanket and cozy socks while working on my laptop. Easy peasy! They give you anti-nausea meds plus steroids before the chemo. And having a port is a life saver. I did not feel a single needle stick because of some numbing cream. I left last Friday thinking, "Wow, that was easy! This is going to be fine!"

I'm beginning to question if my positivity is actually a version of delusion. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Saturday morning I woke up, went to Reid's basketball game, and then mom and I drove to Louisville to pick up my wig. I waltzed in the little boutique proudly proclaiming I had chemo the day before and felt FINE! Heidi, the sweet little owner of the store, immediately said, "Ok, I'm going to get all mama bear on you right now. You feel good because of the steroids. Sit down and drink lots of water. Here, here's an entire gallon. Just keep filling up your cup." 

Heidi knows her shit.

Saturday afternoon came and I realized I was running out of energy and needed to take a nap. Sunday morning came and I realized my bones were beginning to hurt (thanks, Neulasta). And by Sunday night, holy Toledo, the "chemo fatigue" the pharmacist talked about was beginning to rear its ugly head. 

My plan for the upcoming week was to work from home to avoid all the illnesses running rampant at school. Monday morning I had an MRI scheduled and woke up feeling fairly queasy. I took my anti-nausea meds because I knew I needed to stay away from any nausea I was feeling. I drove myself to my mom's office and had her drive me to the MRI because the anti-nausea meds make me super sleepy. I ended up working from home for the remainder of the day, still not feeling great, but able to do basic tasks that needed to be done. 

Tuesday came, and I woke up feeling better. And this was the first big lesson I learned about chemo: you will have moments where you feel "normal," only to discover at a future, inopportune time that you actually do NOT feel "normal." Chemo fatigue is like driving on the interstate, blindfolded. You will be flying along at 70MPH, sometimes slowing down, and sometimes speeding up, but you actually have no idea where you're going and end up crashing. The daytime hours on Tuesday were doable, but I hit a wall that evening. 

Then Willhite's Not So Wonderful Wednesday came. I had every intent to go to work that day, but that plan quickly went out the window when I tried to shower that morning. Halfway through, my ears started ringing and my brain immediately went into survival mode. All I could think was, "Do not pass out in the shower and go crashing through the glass shower doors! You do not need to add embedded glass in your body to the list of things you are dealing with right now!" 😂 I managed to get out unscathed, only to crawl into bed and try and talk any fear out of my mind. I quickly realized I was not going to be able to drive Lincoln to school that morning, so I texted a dear friend asking if she could come pick him up. She was more than happy to, and arrived about 30 minutes later. 

Once she arrived, that's when it hit me that I felt bad. Like, really bad. Not nauseous (I've had an appetite and have slept well the entire time), but just absolute exhaustion. Like pregnancy exhaustion plus the flu exhaustion plus I've just been awake for the last 24 hours (although I just woke up from 9 hours sleep) exhaustion. She asked me how I was, and that's when I had a moment of self pity. "What the hell is this life I am living? This sucks. I hate not being able to plan for anything. I hate not knowing how I'm going to feel each day. I hate not being at work and around people I genuinely enjoy spending time with. I hate being a sleeping lump under a blanket that is of no help to anyone." I like to feel effective, efficient, and on the go the majority of my day, so being swept off my feet like this is not a feeling I'm familiar with. 

I ended up taking a sick day that day because the thought of opening up a laptop and composing an email made my entire body tired. I know that sounds insanely dramatic, but it is the truth. I laid in bed all day. Literally - all.day. And in hindsight, that is exactly what I needed to do. Thursday and Friday were not great, but definitely better. And by Saturday I was feeling more like a normal person. However, this past week has been amazing and I feel like ME again! 

But we get to repeat this cycle all over again tomorrow. And that makes me insanely frustrated. Willhite's Not So Wonderful Wednesday will be on Christmas, and I am praying so specifically for a better Wednesday this time around. I want to be able to enjoy the day watching my boys open up their presents and truly spend time with my people. I do not want to be laid up in a bed unable to move. 

But, then again...if that's what happens, then that's what happens. It will be well with my soul. I have learned a lot of lessons in the last eight weeks. More in the last eight weeks than probably the last eight years. None of us have as much control as we think we do. None of us have any guarantees. I was at Disney World this time last year, walking 25,000 steps. Now I'm preparing for round two of chemo. 

We are all just doing the best we can given our circumstances. But it's also up to us to determine how we will handle our circumstances. I very easily could have taken a leave of absence from work and lay around my house all day in a puddle of tears afraid of my diagnosis. But truly, tell me this - how would that have helped? Would that response change anything? No. NO! Guys, we have one life to live. ONE. And if I have to face something that is trying to kill me, I will be damn sure to enjoy my days a lot more than I used to. 

So, this whole journey really is a marathon, not a sprint. And for someone who hates running, I am not thrilled about this. I am more a 100 meter dash kind of girl. Knowing I'm in this for the long haul and it won't be a quick fix is really teaching me the importance of hope, patience, and trusting in His plan for me. Guess it's time to find some more comfortable running shoes 😊