Digging deep

The last week has been rather trying.

Ok, it’s pretty much sucked out loud.

This time last week I was puking like a freshman pledge at a fraternity party, and the fun didn’t stop until I dosed myself with Phenergan and Zofran and conked out for the night. Little did I know that that was a harbinger of what was to come.

The preventative course of antibiotics has quite simply kicked my ass. I’ve never been one to run from a fight, until now. I’m done. I’m out. Let the countdown begin so someone can drag my sorry carcass out of the ring.

I’ve spent the vast majority of this week in my bed. The entire week. This is rather unusual for a busybody like me, but there was no way around it. My body said, enough. I got up for the necessities: sustenance, teeth-brushing, and potty breaks. Oh, and to drive carpool. Gotta go get the kiddies! Yesterday I picked up the kids in my pajamas — a first for me. I know some moms who do that on a regular basis, but I had never once done it, and today may well be a repeat performance. One of the teachers in the pick-up line, an adorable & energetic kindergarten teacher, stuck her head in my car to say hi and giggled at me in my jammies. She said,”Oooh, I want your life.” I looked her straight in the eye and said, “No, you don’t.”

Trust me on that.

Never have I been laid so low by the workings of modern medicine. Not when I had chicken pox in grade school and had to miss the school carnival (a belated thank you to Rick Dodd for bringing me cotton candy from the event). Not when I had mono in middle school and thought I was near death. Not when I got my tonsils out in high school and would have slipped quietly out of this world if someone had just pulled the sheet over my head.

I have never felt this sick.

I seriously considered calling my dear, delightful doctor yesterday to say that I highly suspect the antibiotics are poisoning me.

My whole body hurts. My bones ache. My lower back feels like it’s being pulled in all directions. My eye sockets feel too big. My tummy is in serious turmoil. The back of my mouth feels like something died in it. My tongue feels fuzzy. My brain is switched off yet my head is spinning, and the idea of making a simple decision is overwhelming. Nothing sounds good, nothing tastes good, yet I’m convinced that there’s something out there that will make this all better. Fresh-squeezed orange juice? No. A grilled cheese sandwich with spicy mustard? Sorry. An angel food smoothie with extra antioxidants? Good try, but no. Macaroni & cheese? Hah. Yogurt with lots of blueberries? Puh-leeze.

The only thing that’s gonna help me in this dire case is time. As the sage Boy George once said, “Time, oh give me time.”

Time to heal. Time for the drugs to run their course. Time to patch up my desiccated digestive system. Time to get past this latest round of shittiness.

(I really hope it happens fast, too, because my favorite girl & I have tickets to see Taylor Swift tomorrow.)

It’s time to dig deep, to look to wiser women than myself, and to seek comfort from whatever source in which it may reside. Today it’s Harriet Beecher Stowe who speaks to me, whose words assure me that I can get through this:

“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.”

I’m waiting.

8 Comments on “Digging deep”

  1. Teri says:

    How about coconut cream pie?


  2. David Benbow says:

    You didn’t mention the time that you had your wisdom teeth removed and puked chocolate milkshake all over the inside of my car.

    I’m really pulling for you during this rough patch. However, what you said about Boy George is right on the mark. You’ve just got to wait it out–TOUGH it out. And if anyone can do it, I know YOU CAN.

  3. Chris says:

    Hi, there! I just stumbled onto your blog recently. I’m another Texas girl here in a similar predicament.

    I was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer (and tested positive for the BRCA2 gene as well) this past August. I’ve just done my chemo round #6 and have 6 more to go before the mastectomy and then more chemo.

    I found myself wishing this morning that I could just be hooked up to an IV so I wouldn’t have to get out of bed to force myself to eat and drink or even think about eating and drinking. All I want to do, all I feel capable of doing, is sleeping right now…the fuzzy brain, the aches, my eyes are all wonky, the awful sensation in the mouth…yep. Just let me go back to sleep, please. But I can’t.

    A well-meaning family member stopped by yesterday bearing food. “How are you feeling today?” she asked as I stood hunched, pale, bald, and squinting. “Honestly? Not so great”. “Oh. Just so-so, huh?”
    Um, No. Not “so-so”. “So-so” is a completely different animal, thank you. A much tamer animal, actually. Thanks for stopping by.

    I’ve been needing to dig deep as well. Thank you for posting Stowe’s words and thank you for this blog (though I wish that the impetus for it didn’t exist…)

    P.S. Bananas seem to be the only thing I can seriously think of that don’t make me queasy. Maybe banana pudding?? (eh. nevermind. too sweet perhaps)

    Hoping the tide turns soon!

  4. Barb Fernald says:

    This sounds like it sucks for sure. Your poor system is saying, “Enough already!!!” I hope this passes soon. Because it will eventually. But yuck. No fun.
    Thinking of you, and hoping the next thing you eat will taste good and not make you sick.

  5. Patti Ross says:

    I wish I could make the healing move along faster, time travel so to speak. Hang in there, you are strong and will survive. I struggled through four major surgeries–only one was cancer and that recovery was actually the easiest as I did not need chemo or radiation–and each one took forever. I hated my doctors when they said the 4 month recovery was “actually speedy.” But things did improve, evere so slowly. My thoughts go out to you!

  6. PinkHeart says:

    You’ve probably heard toast and tea a million times . . . but anyway, I sincerely hope the tide turns soon for you . . . as in now. Especially so you and your daughter make it to see Taylor. (One of my biggest bitches about BC is how it has robbed me of time enjoying my kids activities.)

    Please know I get a sense of healing from laughing and crying while reading your posts — so I’m thinking maybe I can save on copays to my therapist. 🙂 Your experiences and stories are also helping me out as I leave tomorrow to travel to Mayo Clinic to meet with plastic surgeon, physiatrist, etc., to see what can be done about my own version of breast cancer surgery from hell, and get me back to the good times asap. The antibiotics are bad news for me, too. I will never whine about them again though — I only took them for 22 days — not 200+ like you. My heart goes out to you!

  7. Jan Hasak says:

    Time has been a friend to me on so many levels. I love that quote at the end…so deep and so true. Thanks for the lovely post!

  8. Lauren says:

    I am so sorry. I think toothbrushing is overrated when you are sick, maybe you should just skip it too and blow on the the teacher next time she opens the door.

    Here is what I found potato chips. Simple, delicate plain lays potato chips, slow and steady.

    Have I said I am sorry, you have been through more hell than chemo, cancer sucks nancy.

    the only way out is through.


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