Throughout my myeloma battle, I have to admit that I've been quite the brave, amazing, fearless warrior. A rock star. Go.Fight.WIN!!!! And when I have a bad day, I'd go... get a massage, take a hike, go on a fabulous trip, or buy some new clothes. Whatever. I was a MYELOMA SURVIVOR and, heck, I DESERVED everything I wanted RIGHT THAT MINUTE.
And then there was Thursday, learning that my numbers, while declining (I thought was a GREAT thing???), could not mean anything at all. It could mean... relapse, refractory, response to Daratumumab, or whatever in between (take your pick). Sure, new meds and new protocols are available and all this can be expected in this long journey... but I AM TIRED OF THINKING ABOUT MYELOMA.
And I had a SEVERE anxiety attack, actually, one anxiety attack after another. They came in rolls. One would stop, the next one kicked in. It felt...
-like I couldn't breathe
-like I was having a heart attack
-I was in the middle of a nightmare for which there was no escape
-I wanted to crawl out of my skin and go somewhere else and hide (this was impossible and fixes nothing anyway)
-I wanted to just... be... nothingness. (Not suicidal, but I needed it to vanish, to disappear, to be someone else, with someone else's problems.)
So I pulled out my trusty Ativan. And I took one. Then two. Then four.
And I called my doctor's office, which prescribed me something with a Z and I took that, too. And then I took another. And, wow, was I pill drunk. It felt... good? Calming? These Mormons have it right. They won't drink beer or wine but, hey, as long as they're prescribed narcotics, it's just FINE!!! Swollow-away, you righteous minion! Pills have their advantages-- fewer calories. No puking. Same effect. AND HEALTH INSURANCE CUTS DOWN ON THE COSTS!
I texted my PA at my doctor's office to say that the labs that I was due for on Sunday? Not showing up. Because I don't feel like it. Because I am TIRED of hearing about myeloma. All I want to do is crawl in a ball and hide and swallow pills, which don't do as great a job as I might hope (hey, I was still coherent enough, gosh dangit, to have that conversation, though my words were quite slurred). And wow, that really freaked her out. She wanted to call the police because she thought I was suicidal. NO I AM NOT, I wanted to SCREAM. I am pill-drunk. And I am fatigued of FOUR YEARS of living in Myeloma Hell and I am tired of them, too.
Last night, the girls and I slept at my parents' home. Actually, I passed out cold on my parents' couch. My hubby, Bill, is rushing home from Seattle where he was at for a week for the birth of his second grandbaby. And I am typing away, getting ready to shower, hung over as hell, and wanting this fog to vanish. Or do I want it to vanish? Lucidity at point, is kind of over-rated. I rather like the loopy "not sure where I'm at at this moment or why" feeling. I suppose addicts and alcoholics hit up substances for a reason. I GET IT!!
And this is my BIGGEST PITTY PARTY to date in the 4.5 years since diagnosis. Let's sum it up-- diagnosis in January 2012 (of which my then-husband accused me of LYING about it), three stem cell transplants, hospital stays, a wicked divorce,-- stress, stress, stress. I handled it all with those two boxing gloves on. Hitting hard. Warrior. Strong, Resilient. WINNER.
Oh, Lord, let that Lizzy return soon.
Well-- I just bought a new dress and am hoping to drive into the canyons with my daughters today to get some lunch... A good sign? I hope so! And I'm really trying to focus on my future trip plans, which MYELOMA BETTER NOT TRY TO TAKE AWAY FROM ME.
xoxo,
Lizzy
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