It's been a rough, rough week. My last round of chemotherapy knocked me down -- hard.
The cumulative effect of three doses of intravenous TAC (Tamoxifen, Adriamycin, Cytoxan) chemotherapy is really taking its toll ... everywhere (body and mind).
As a matter of fact, I have now met my inner "Chemo-Sobby," i.e., I cry at the drop of a hat. Truth be told, the drop of a bread crumb could actually make me burst into tears!
Example: My husband went out one evening to a party that I really, really wanted to attend, but couldn't possibly because I was too sick. Serious bummer. No thanks to F-bomb Breast Cancer!
While he was out and our daughter, aka "Finally Five," was sleeping, I couldn't focus on a thing. Not a book, movie or magazine. All I was left with were the thoughts in my mushy, overwrought, absentminded brain combined with a series of intense hot flashes.
At some point, my husband texted (with music playing in the background): "You ok? Want me to come home?"
Of course I wanted him to come home and wallow in my misery. Of course I wanted him to be with me as I writhed in the discomfort of my relentless bone pain. Of course I wanted him to rub my feet and tell me everything was going to be ok.
Fortunately, though, I held my neuroses hostage and told him to stay and have a good time. By 11 p.m., however, I was a complete wreck, having moved from our bedroom to the library for cooler pastures that I hoped would keep my mental maladjustment at bay.
When he rolled in, I must have been quite a site: wearing a skullcap down to my nose, scarf quadruple wrapped around my neck and flannel snowman pajamas with the pants pulled up over my knees. To add to the über sexy look, my arms and legs were spread -- a la the 1978 Nestea Plunge commercials.
When he came in and saw me, he chuckled (as he justifiably should have!). Well, well, well, that little chuckle -- that tiny little chuckle -- let the wild, untamed Chemo-Sobby loose. I went into a wailing fit of tears, the likes of which frightened even me. I said: "Why are you laughing at me? How on earth could you laugh at me?"
Poor guy. An impossible position. He was forced to lie ( granted, we both knew he was lying) and say: "I'm not laughing at you, honey."
The only thing that stopped me from crying was the threat of losing more eyelashes. (That, my friends, is a highly motivating factor!) The Husband proceeded to help me to bed, tuck me in, kiss me on the forehead and tell me how much he loves me. Can you imagine? All that love after my Chemo-Sobbing. Now you will understand why his nickname is The Husband of the Year (HOTY).
While I continue to look for and always find Silver Linings in every day, I don't want to give the impression that, for one second, this is easy breezy. FBC is really f-bomb hard. The side effects are horrendous. I literally feel like throwing up every minute of every day. I am in a persistent, foggy state of forgetfulness. I don't sleep with any efficacy. And I feel like I have a jackhammer in the middle of my bones.
Despite all of this, yes, I maintain a Silver Lined attitude. Yes, I look for the positive in everyday. Yes, I ponder what it is that I can learn from these daily challenges and the FBC experience as a whole.
Why? Because Silver Linings are so beautiful. Happiness is an attitude. No amount of pain (or FBC) in the world can take that away.
Become a Possibilitarian. No matter how dark things seem to be or actually are, raise your sight and see possibilities - always see them, for they are always there.
- Norman Vincent Peale
To read more about Hollye's holistic and humorous journey over, around, above and below breast cancer, please visit her blog, Brookside Buzz (www.brooksidebuzz.com). You may email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.