Into the Tunnel and Back to the Light

Since my last post, I have made my first journey through the tunnel of chemotherapy. It has been hard and painful, but I can now say that I know I can do this. It will get harder each cycle, it will take a lot of strength and perseverance, but I now know that I will make it out the other side.

Chemo is a very different journey than surgery or illness. By the time my chemo was scheduled to begin, I was healed from surgery and life had returned to a normal routine (with a new cadence of doctor visits and tests). I was feeling really good and very strong. I had returned to work full time and walked to and from the ferry each day to stay fit. But the shadow of chemo hung over my summer and nothing much was planned beyond June 27.  Otherwise life was good. It is a huge leap of faith to agree to poison one's self, especially when otherwise feeling good, for the promise of killing rogue cells that may grow into new cancers someday.

Going into the chemo treatment center last Friday was not hard for me  I had an entourage with me and so many friends and family cheering me on from near and far. The center is very warm and welcoming, set up for treatments both optimistic and valiant. We were a hit in our matching chemo shirts and positive attitudes. The overall process took seven hours, but there was no pain or discomfort, just lots of waiting and boredom.

The next day was almost normal. I felt a little tired and a bit apprehensive, wondering when and what side effects would hit me. I to travel back to Seattle for a quick shot to boost my white blood cell count, an unfortunate requirement for every session given the effort required to get there and back. It essentially takes me two and a half hours of transit for a 10 minute shot. We made an adventure out of the journey and took a boat cruise to show my sisters Seattle from Kelsey's cruise line. It was a beautiful day and the trip was relaxing and fun. We were caught in a short squall on the way back to the ferry, so everyone got wet. Then the beginning effects of chemo hit. From one minute to the next, I went from feeling fine to exhausted. I suddenly could not keep my eyes open and took a short nap on Kelsey's shoulder.

From that moment, there were three and a half days where I lived in the chemo tunnel. I felt my mind and body leave me to a strange place of side effects and pain. The intense fatigue was the worst part. When it hit, I had to immediately sleep for 2-8 hours. I couldn't think or function, I just needed to drift into the tunnel and let my body and mind rest. When I awoke from these episodes, I felt better and alert, but still not quite myself. My sense of smell and taste were a constant reminder of the poison that coursed through my body. Everything was metallic and toxic. My fingers, toes, lips and tongue all tingled and felt somewhat numb. At times the numbness made it difficult to talk and eat. My head was also fuzzy, there were moments where I felt that I was looking at life from a great distance, not really in my own body or mind.

On Sunday the aches began. My bones hurt as the marrow increased production of white blood cells. It felt like a terrible flu, but without the fever or chills. Everything hurt and nothing really helped the pain, except rest and sleep. I tried to stay active, as the doctors suggested, but it was hard when I felt so strange. The support of my sisters, Joe and Kelsey helped me fight through the fog and distracted me from the effects of chemo. Anything to keep me in the moment was a huge gift as it kept me from descending into the tunnel.

My big mistake was returning to work on Tuesday. I was feeling better and ready to have some normalcy back in my schedule. On the walk from the ferry, I knew I was kidding myself. I walked slower than usual, but still felt both fatigue and a feeling that I was outside of my own body. I could not will myself back no matter how hard I tried. The tunnel pulled me in and would not release me. The work day went fine, I had gone for an HR Leadership meeting where everyone knew I was recovering and gave me a lot of grace for not being as alert and clear as usual. Still it was hard and I felt inadequate in the workplace when my body and mind were not fully present.

At home last night, the pain hit its pinnacle. I am not sure if it was the result of overdoing things or just the natural phase of chemo, but every part of me ached and struggled. Even the best pain meds from surgery were no match for the chemo tunnel. I laid in bed in the darkness, feeling the tunnel envelope me. It was dark and lonely, haunted by those who had journeyed through chemo before me. I longed for sleep to come and release me from my worst night, so far, in Cancerland. When it finally came, I slept long and woke up late.

Today started with the quiet of a summer fog in Puget Sound. The muffled sounds and cool morning was a welcome relief from a night hot with pain and struggle. A slow quiet morning allowed me to reenter the world and slowly gain my bearings. I felt better. I felt like myself, almost. The aches were gone, the fuzziness receded. By the time the sun came out in the early afternoon, I could see that I had made it out of the long tunnel. I had survived! My oncologist's nurse called to check on me and confirmed that by now the worst should be over. The sun felt like victory. I had returned.  It felt like I had traveled through the long tunnel of chemo and successfully emerged on the other side. I was back and enjoying the sunshine of a beautiful NW day.