Well, shucks
Today I went in for my routine labs and my bi-monthly bones-of-steel injection. The Cancer Center was a hopping place! There were zero empty chairs in the waiting room for the infusion center, but luckily those of us just there for shorter treatments have our own area to wait in. I got to enjoy the heated chairs today, as well as the complimentary juice. A regular spa day!
While I was waiting to be called back, I overheard two other patients talking about the side effects of their treatments. They were commiserating over the fatigue. One said, "It's like you get out of bed and by the time you've made it to the bedroom door, you need to go back to bed again." I wanted to jump into their conversation and say, "Me too! Me too!" I cannot tell you how validating it was to hear them say this.
My fatigue has been much worse recently, but when people ask how you're feeling and you say, "Tired," they usually respond that they're tired, too. It's very nice of them to sympathize with me, but their "tired" is not the same as my "tired." I don't know exactly how to explain the difference, but the feelings are not the same.
Some have said it's like they're trying to walk through Jello. I say it's like your limbs are made of lead; they feel heavy even when you're not using them and the slightest movements take great energy. I have taken 3-hour naps almost every day for the past week and I still go to bed by 10:00 and sleep through the night. Fatigue colors everything blue. I think about all the things I want to do and I just want to cry.
But, besides the validation from my fellow patients, I also got some unexpected medical validation from my appointment today. I said earlier that I had my routine labs done today. I wasn't even sure if I would have them done today. There's usually some kind of notice when I check in, but I don't get a separate appointment for the lab work, so I never know for sure ahead of time.
I have been to the lab so often that the sweet receptionist knows me by name and checks me in without making me go through the name and birthdate spiel they usually require. In all my many visits to the lab over the past four years, even through chemo, I have never had an issue with my white blood cells. I'm almost always anemic (low red blood cells), but my white blood cells have been rock stars. Today, for the first time ever, the nurse called to tell me my white blood cells are too low. I need to stop Ibrance today and wait a week to see if my counts improve.
When you have low white blood cells, specifically low neutrophils, it's called neutropenia, and puts you at greater risk for infection, so it's important to get my counts back up. The nurse said that if my counts are back in the normal range next week, I'll probably be able to resume Ibrance, but at a lower dosage. I know women in my online support group who have had to delay treatment or switch to a lower dose of Ibrance and are still doing well, so this is not cause for alarm. But maybe it explains my fatigue.
I didn't know today would be eventful in this way, but you never know what a day will hold. I heard a singer on the radio say that whenever someone asks her dad how his day is going, he responds that it's not his day but the Lord's - "This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it" (Ps. 118:24). I may feel more like crying than rejoicing, but I think that the author of this psalm knows a little about that. He says, "Let us rejoice," not "This day is so awesome that I can't stop rejoicing!" When you're already happy, you don't have to give yourself a pep talk or talk yourself into rejoicing. I think the psalmist is choosing joy, perhaps even eucharisteo. So I will try to say that with the psalmist - "let us rejoice" - and see how the joy follows.
While I was waiting to be called back, I overheard two other patients talking about the side effects of their treatments. They were commiserating over the fatigue. One said, "It's like you get out of bed and by the time you've made it to the bedroom door, you need to go back to bed again." I wanted to jump into their conversation and say, "Me too! Me too!" I cannot tell you how validating it was to hear them say this.
My fatigue has been much worse recently, but when people ask how you're feeling and you say, "Tired," they usually respond that they're tired, too. It's very nice of them to sympathize with me, but their "tired" is not the same as my "tired." I don't know exactly how to explain the difference, but the feelings are not the same.
Some have said it's like they're trying to walk through Jello. I say it's like your limbs are made of lead; they feel heavy even when you're not using them and the slightest movements take great energy. I have taken 3-hour naps almost every day for the past week and I still go to bed by 10:00 and sleep through the night. Fatigue colors everything blue. I think about all the things I want to do and I just want to cry.
But, besides the validation from my fellow patients, I also got some unexpected medical validation from my appointment today. I said earlier that I had my routine labs done today. I wasn't even sure if I would have them done today. There's usually some kind of notice when I check in, but I don't get a separate appointment for the lab work, so I never know for sure ahead of time.
I have been to the lab so often that the sweet receptionist knows me by name and checks me in without making me go through the name and birthdate spiel they usually require. In all my many visits to the lab over the past four years, even through chemo, I have never had an issue with my white blood cells. I'm almost always anemic (low red blood cells), but my white blood cells have been rock stars. Today, for the first time ever, the nurse called to tell me my white blood cells are too low. I need to stop Ibrance today and wait a week to see if my counts improve.
When you have low white blood cells, specifically low neutrophils, it's called neutropenia, and puts you at greater risk for infection, so it's important to get my counts back up. The nurse said that if my counts are back in the normal range next week, I'll probably be able to resume Ibrance, but at a lower dosage. I know women in my online support group who have had to delay treatment or switch to a lower dose of Ibrance and are still doing well, so this is not cause for alarm. But maybe it explains my fatigue.
I didn't know today would be eventful in this way, but you never know what a day will hold. I heard a singer on the radio say that whenever someone asks her dad how his day is going, he responds that it's not his day but the Lord's - "This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it" (Ps. 118:24). I may feel more like crying than rejoicing, but I think that the author of this psalm knows a little about that. He says, "Let us rejoice," not "This day is so awesome that I can't stop rejoicing!" When you're already happy, you don't have to give yourself a pep talk or talk yourself into rejoicing. I think the psalmist is choosing joy, perhaps even eucharisteo. So I will try to say that with the psalmist - "let us rejoice" - and see how the joy follows.
Thank you so much for the blessings you publish, Katherine. They keep us focused.
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