66
It is 4:50AM. I have hellacious acid reflux. I have consumed too many antacids. My remaining option is to sit upright for a while with a cup of tea. I think it is helping. Chemo yesterday. I am now seeing a pattern to the first day of a cycle: increasing fatigue and headache on the way home. Terrible headache and fatigue by the time we get home. Now reflux which is intense even for a seasoned GERD veteran like me.
While lying in bed, it occurred to me that my body feels a bit like Route 66. Not the famous one. The infamous one. People who live near DC will know what I am talking about. Bill and I traverse this road to reach Georgetown University Hospital, where I am receiving treatment. I have lived in the DC area for decades, and I have never seen 66 not under construction. I am sure I never will. But, there is presently a new level of chaos which seems to have no limits.
Early in the mornings, on our 90-minute drives (on good days), I am typically asleep by the time we are approaching the city. My alarm clock is the slowing of the car on the off ramp, and the gradual opening of my eyes which reveals a new landscape above. Tall buildings, sculptures, traffic lights on the sides of the roads. Yesterday, it was not until approaching the hospital that I sat upright and reluctantly grabbed a mask from the glove box. A minute later, Bill dropped me off at the turn-around in front of the building and I made my way inside, lined up with everyone else, 6 feet apart, going through the COVID rigmarole to get my purple wristband, identifying me as a patient rightfully in the building.
I am sure that I look the way I feel. My first visit after quarantine, security asked me if I was staff or patient. They don’t ask me that now. I’ll spare the visual details here as I am already sharing the train wreck of how I feel. You understand. Chemo has left me looking different than I did 2 months ago, and I didn’t look wonderful then.
Let me back up a few miles here and describe Route 66 from east of Manassas, VA into Washington, DC. If I were to count, the roadside tally of cranes would be in the dozens. Hundreds of work trucks park inside ugly Jersey walls as cars fly by. Port-o-Potties dot the construction area, and hundreds of masked men in yellow vests and hard hats move around like worker ants among the dirt, concrete, twisted rebar, and construction vehicles. Imagine the noise. The ultimate goal seems to be widening the road and erecting those huge concrete walls that go along highways which are flanked by stores and neighborhoods. Fitting, I suppose, in this time of political and physical separation. So, if you made it this far in the essay, you now know what I mean by feeling like Route 66. Presently, my body is a host of chaos, confusion, noise, and discomfort. Not a pleasant place to be.
But, in the midst of it all, I received some good news yesterday. Several people close to me prophesied without knowing when they mistakenly referred to this chemo cycle as my last. This is cycle 3. Cycle 4 is scheduled to end July 27. Before going to my infusion yesterday, Oncology informed me that my liver numbers are trending down. This has not happened in years! Overall, my response has been good, and the doctor has ordered scans following cycle 3! So, my life-speaking friends and family were correct. Today I will be cancelling Cycle 4! Only one more treatment remaining and I will be ringing that chemo bell!
What is ahead for me: I must take oral chemo drugs (Xeloda) until transplant. I must have 3 weeks daily radiation. I must have several surgeries before transplant to remove stent, implant gold for Y90 embolization radiation, stage “cancer.”
I also have my Disability Hearing coming up in a few weeks. Can you imagine? Whole other story.
66 is the year my life began. It is the number of the miserable highway we travel to sustain my life. My hope and belief is that our travels on this road will soon come to an end as I will have a new liver and a re-birthday before this year is over. Something good is bound to come out of 2020. Suck it up, 66! I’ll reach my finish line before you do!
Side note: my acid reflux is gone and the sun is up.
