Tangoing with the Red Devil
It feels like decades have passed since I sat down to write my last blog post. From my body’s perspective, it has been decades. From a shared consciousness perspective, it has been about four months. In that time, chemo started off not all that bad. I kept my hair for the first four weeks or so, the weekly Taxol treatments had me down for about three days at a time, and the monthly Carbo infusions were intense on the nausea but not insurmountable. I developed about two mouth sores in total and experienced some neuropathy in my fingers, making it tough to open cans and do the dishes (not sure if I’ll ever bounce back from that one, sorry Nate. Just kidding, I already have, unfortunately for me).
As you all know from my sister Mary’s tireless blog efforts, I started new chemo medications four weeks ago, Adriamycin and Cyclophosphomide. I’ve heard from several cancer survivors that this is the hard stuff, the “bad ones”. My mother-in-law’s dear friend Kathy, who battled breast cancer many years ago, refers to it as the Red Devil. This is the most accurate description of late.
Two days after my first dose of the Red Devil, I ended up in the ER. The anti-nausea medicine prescribed to one tangoing with the Red Devil is called Zyprexa, a drug primarily used as an antipsychotic. One dose of Zyprexa had me asleep for 18 hours straight. When I woke up, I lost my vision and then lost consciousness. I learned quickly that sleeping that long without fluids is a big no-no, as my blood pressure was extremely low and, compounded by the dehydration, there temporarily wasn’t enough blood flow to my brain, causing me to pass out. Six hours in the ER and two liters of fluids later, my biggest ailment shifted to nausea for six days. That Devil bastard doesn’t mess around.
I thought round two with the Red Devil would be a little easier. Boy was I wrong, though I did hold out for an ER visit for six days (progress?!). Apparently day six is when the Red Devil strikes my white blood cells the hardest, leaving me most vulnerable to infection. I developed a fever and went back to see my friends at the ER. Luckily for me, all my tests and labs came back normal (well, chemo-normal) and I was sent home after six hours or so. At one point there was a possibility of me having to stay there for three days if I was neutropenic, but my labs were good enough to discharge me the same day. Thus, six hours seemed like getting off easy— take that ya Devil!
The next morning I woke up and my fever (and nausea) was gone. I was overjoyed, so I naturally wanted to celebrate by making a Dutch Baby (look it up on the NYT cooking app, you won’t be disappointed). Midway through my breakfast prep, I lost my vision and went down. After touching base with my oncologist, it appeared another ER visit was in my future. I made sure to eat a very healthy portion of my Dutch Baby before heading out, yet again, for a long day at the ER.
My third visit to the ER was a bit more pleasant in some respects. My call button worked for the first time (hooray!), I got my own bathroom (the upside to potentially having sepsis), and my nurse was confident accessing a port. It felt like winning the world’s shittiest lottery, but in a good way. Many blood and heart tests later it appeared the problem was a very low hemoglobin level. I was given a blood transfusion and after (yes, you guessed it) six hours I was discharged.
Chemo is like getting punched in the face, falling down, and getting up again to only be punched in the face harder and with more bruising, making it take longer to get up again for the next punch. Luckily for me, I only have two more punches left. They are going to hurt like hell, but I know I’ll be better off when the bruises heal.
I don’t want to give you the wrong idea though: I’m in great spirits and when the Red Devil wears off, I feel like a very close version of myself, albeit a slower walker and shamelessly bald.
One of the main things getting me through these taxing weeks has been you all, my community. I’ve heard from so many close friends, family, and colleagues, in addition to friends, relatives, and acquaintances that I haven’t spoken to in years. Between the well wishes, texts, calls, emails, Facebook and social media messages, letters and cards, packages, and (very extremely) generous donations, I have never felt alone in this fight, not even for a second nor during COVID, one of the most lonely times of our collective generations. While I hope I have the time and energy to thank each and every one of you individually for your support, please know that you have been instrumental in keeping up my momentum and giving me the courage to face each day’s new challenges. My BAYS group, which I mentioned in my first post, is also a significant part of my community and serves as a major emotional and mental support. Having dozens of friends to lean on who are around my age, living in the Bay Area, and experiencing breast cancer in real time is a godsend (albeit a sad silver lining of the high cancer rates of today’s world).
When I’m not spending my time at Kaiser Richmond’s Emergency Department, I’ve been able to go on some quality walks with Nate and Bernie, host girl’s nights with the Marys, and play Mah Jongg with the greater pod. The rest of my days are filled with a mix of crafting, reading, movies, baths, yoga, mushroom hunting on occasion, cooking when I’m up to it, cursing out Instacart when I’m not, and lots of “pig snuggles” with Bernie and hang time with Nate, my MVP.
Here’s to hoping the Red Devil eases up its grip for my final two rounds. Full steam ahead!
With love and gratitude,
Katie
