April 24--Second chemo slightly less terrifying

We’re into the second round of chemo now, and this time it’s slightly less scary, since we know a little of the lay of the land.  My sense of taste is pretty much gone again. But the first time that happened, it was terrifying—I didn’t know when or if it would come back.  It came back in about a week.  I know that now.

I’m learning how to manage the war room of my brain.  The ebb and flow of all the drugs and hours is quite complicated, but I am finding patterns in it now, and learning to roll with them.

For example, the first week I did chemo, I was ambushed at 4am on Sunday morning by a killer migraine.  Now, I’ve been getting migraines since I was 14 years old.  I’ve never had one wake me up before.  I dreamed I couldn’t see.  I woke up.  I couldn’t see.  I get migraines “with aura,” which means blinking lights and visual disturbances that arrive before the actual pain.  This time, it was crazy.  Fireworks were going off across my whole field of vision, and I couldn’t get them to stop, eyes open, eyes closed.

I woke John up, cursing.

“*&^^%$ migraine,” I swore.  “What do I do?”

I started going through my neat, military list of all the things that could be causing me a migraine right then.  It was a long list.  Was my blood pressure up?  Was I stroking out?

Was it the stupid ovaries?  I was told the chemo could shut them down overnight.

“Ovaries?  Come in, ovaries, do you read?”

Nothing?

“Ovaries, you there?  Jesus Christ.”

“Ovaries, here, ma’am, you want us to start another period again?  But we just did that a week ago,” they whined.

“At ease,”  I shouted to them.  Stupid ovaries.

Was the Benadryl I was taking for my allergy to the Taxotere crashing into the stuff I was taking for the pain from the Neulasta?  Or maybe this WAS the pain from the Neulasta, and I should have gotten that prescription for the Vicodin after all?

Then a small voice, a lowly staff sergeant, whispers in my ear that I’ve been too sick to drink much coffee for two or three days…Could this be a caffeine-management issue?  Just wondering?

“John, I need coffee.”  It is 4:15 am and John is visibly relieved to have something concrete he can do to help me.  He makes me some strong French roast Starbucks. 

By 5 am the migraine is gone.  I get to church by 9:30 am, pain-free, in time to hear Julia’s bell choir play.  I’ve learned a little about listening to the old body.  Now, the second round of chemo is easier.  If I want French roast at 4am, I get it.  No questions asked.