Chemotherapy during a pandemic is exhausting. And yet I can't stay asleep
When someone near me coughs, my whole body tenses. The mouth sores that come with chemotherapy can irritate your throat, and the cough probably has nothing to do with coronavirus. But sometimes I can’t help but hold my breath, suddenly terrified that the virus I’ve been trying to protect myself from is mere feet from me.
I’m sitting in a chair in Overlake Medical Center in Bellevue, Washington, with chemotherapy drugs pumping through my bloodstream to treat my stage 2 cervical cancer. It’s my third week of treatment and it feels more crowded than usual: I can see at least 10 other patients today, plus a few visitors and a handful of nurses.
I’m trying to convince myself to use the bathroom but I’ve already been four times, and each time I have to wade through this terrifying maze of people.
The hospital now requires patients and visitors to wear masks. But rather than making me feel protected, the mask traps my breath, fogs up my glasses and makes me hot and claustrophobic.
I’ve been listening to my apocalypse playlist today. I made it a while back to store my favorite songs. There’s some Tragically Hip, The Cure, Awolnation and of course Hamilton. It feels appropriate, but it’s not doing much to curb my anxiety.
I just hit the halfway point in my treatment, and I’ve settled into a routine. After I got past the initial fear of chemo, the process was starting to feel fairly relaxing. I was able to get out of the house and have a few hours to myself.
But my doctor was delayed today, which gave me time to think about how alone I feel without my family by my side, and my nerve was irritated when a nurse used a needle to access my chemo port. I usually face a window, but this time my chair faced all those people in the room. Any semblance of calm I had at the beginning of the day was completely shot.
I should have known better than to think that the difficult times were behind me. My doctors warned me that this is when the symptoms ramp up. I have to stop thinking that I’m somehow invincible or the exception to the rules.
On Sunday evening, I felt a whole new level of stabbing and cramping pain as my stomach seemed to slowly drop out of my body. I yelled for my husband, who brought me anti-diarrhea medication and water. But after an hour, I started to wonder how I will know when the pain crosses from something I need to endure into more dangerous territory.
My days are becoming consumed with fatigue. When I get home from my daily radiation treatment, I fall into a deep sleep. On Saturday evening, I was supposed to have a virtual happy hour with my friends. I had my glass filled with Gatorade, but then I put my head on a pillow on my husband’s lap. The next thing I knew an hour and a half had gone by and I’d missed it.
And yet, when I go to bed at night, I can’t seem to stay asleep.
I’ve been putting radiation burn cream on my skin to prevent rashes, and so far it has been working. I also haven’t gotten any mouth lesions from the treatment. Rinsing my mouth with salt, baking soda and warm water, followed by tea tree oil, five times a day is doing the trick.
My doctor tells me that I should soon expect to start passing some dead tumor. He described it as looking like bits of dark, dying cells. I told him that I have two kids, so nothing I see in the toilet will surprise me.
--A few weeks ago, I started writing down everything me and my family are missing because of coronavirus and my cancer. I wanted to make sure we don’t let the many trips we usually go on disappear without at least paying some sort of homage to them.
I’ve had to add James’ graduation to the list. She has autism, and after 15 years of school, she is weeks away from completing all of the typical school grades and the district’s transition program, which is basically life skills and job training. But now she and the rest of her peers won’t be able to celebrate that accomplishment the way they should.
My husband and I haven’t really talked with James about her thoughts on all of this. In some ways we all feel like it’s another disappointment to add to the list. I hope one day soon that list will stop getting longer.