Post-Chemo Recovery

I finally tolerated the Rituximab.

The third attempt at the Rituximab administration was a success. They opted for the slow-roll that meant keeping the drip steady at the lowest possible rate for 12 hours. The decision was made early in the day on Wednesday, but because of the delay, the original bag of elixir was about to expire so the pharmacy had to make a new batch.  All of these things take time. I kept watching the clock and doing the math to determine how much sleep I might get that night.  If they got it in by noon, the drip would end by midnight and I might get a decent night’s sleep.  They got it in at 4pm.

I went home on Day 8.

Once the infusion was complete, in the early morning hours, the nurse pushed through a final bag of saline then detached me from Ivan.  Ahh, it felt good not to have to drag that pole around whenever I went to the bathroom and to be able to change my shirt without having the nurses disconnect everything.  The vascular team removed my PICC line (good riddance!) and the nurse administered a shot of Neulasta in my belly to promote white blood cell growth and prevent febrile neutropenia.  That was the last procedure that needed to be done to complete my first cycle, so I packed up the CLAX and waited for my ride.

I have these little bursts of energy and then I crash.

Bonnie picked me up from the hospital and we made a run to Costco to fill a prescription that they didn’t have at the hospital pharmacy. It was a beautiful day and it felt so good to be out of that room. I had a little burst of energy for the first few hours that I was out and settling back to life at home.  Then, the exhaustion kicked in. That first afternoon at home, I took a three-hour nap, tore through a bunch of food that my neighbor Faye had sent over, went to bed early, and fell into a deep, beepless sleep in my own bed. I awoke Friday, with significant bone pain (a side effect of the Neulasta) and a strange muffled hum in my ears. I was so fatigued, just tired to the core.  I joined some friends at a dinner party up the road for a few hours before wearing out and heading back to bed. Saturday, the headache sunk in and it was a doozy.  I spent most of the day on the couch wondering if these symptoms would ever go away and if my body would ever feel like my own again.  The fog finally lifted on Sunday afternoon just in time for several drop-in visitors. The headache still comes and goes, but it’s not as debilitating as it was.

The at-home meds to get me to the next cycle

I have a hard time accepting help.

My friends worry about me being at home alone. I’ve spent a lot of time alone in my life, so it’s not a new state of affairs for me, but I understand their concern and am trying to respect their need for me to communicate that I’m alright. I’ve started texting three of my friends, who I’ll affectionately refer to as “the hawks”, each morning (and evening, if I remember) to let them know that I’m okay.

I’ve found that if people ask me if I need anything, I’m apt to say “no”—I mean my basic needs are met, and I am well-versed at taking care of myself.  However, when friends have said, definitively, I am coming over with a [fill in the blank] (e.g. batch of cookies, a quart of over-night oats, some mac-n-cheese, a sheepskin wig), I’m more likely to say, “okay, thanks.”  Please don’t take offense if I don’t immediately accept your offers of help, try again more assertively. I suspect that with each cycle of treatment, my recovery time will be longer and harder, my needs will be greater, and I’ll be less able to resist your acts of kindness.

"This might come in handy when you lose your hair."