I’ll preface this post by stating that drugs of my choice throughout my 27-year-old life have been limited to Tylenol PM. Particularly, after my thyroid surgery at 21, where shortly thereafter, insomnia like conditions consumed my nights and interrupted my days. The sleep aid became a remedy to assist me in functioning like a “normal” adult, allowed me to attend my 9 to 5 and ultimately walk with the living, during daylight hours.
Having said all of that, for the majority of my life I have been a complete and utter prude about introducing any ill-formed drugs into my body, including over the counter and clearly recreational drug use. My idiosyncrasy of a conscious would rear it’s ugly head and leave me with thoughts of, “I can’t do that, I’ll get in trouble…”, or “I shouldn’t do that, it could cause cancer.” Low and behold, here we are nonetheless. Irrecoverably so, I stand by my choice for being a down and out pedant when it comes to drugs and my life choices thus far.
Now here I sit, a 27-year old, rejected of any major vices, whom has Stage IV cancer and is fighting the toxins and heavy duty venoms that is chemotherapy. Today I began my fourth day of chemo, the first day thus far without the ball and chain, or fusion pack, as they prefer to call it. Almost unrecognizable to myself, the reflection is too foggy to even diagnose, I cannot identify with myself and most illusionary, the fragmented thoughts in which I am trying to possess. Chemo has hit me and it has hit me firm.
Yet again, I desensitized myself from the trajectory that is chemo. Figuring I would be the golden-child, the one that was able to get by without a funny feeling or a hiccup in the side effect line up. As history proves, my instincts were sorely miscalculated. Barely able to see outside of the mist that lands two feet in front of me, my body wants nothing more to rest, while my disseminated reflections work overtime. My legs and feet are roaring to go, as though I have been struck by the jitterbug, but contractedly so, my perplexed lower half is unable to oblige.
I want nothing more than to strike the complaints of my once ill-fitted sleep deprivation. Over the last few days, I have slept more soundly, without aid, mind you, than I have in over 6 years. Now of course, I have caught up on the last six years of sleep and I am rebutted by my blunderers sleep habits. Old habits die hard, after all.
So, as I try to manage the cancer with the poisons in which they are injecting into my body for the next six months, I give you my first few days of chemotherapy and how it has cast itself so abundantly upon me. My dearest friend, Crystal mentioned to me today that chemo is the small price I have to pay to get the cancer to go away. And you know what? She’s right. I am fortunate enough to be able to go through chemo and fight for my life, instead of surrender to the disease that is currently living deep within me. But at the end of the day, the truth is, in no eloquent terms, cancer sucks, chemo sucks and that’s the cold hard truth.
Until next time, my friends…