LIFE AFTER CHEMO/Devil? Angel! A shattered dream healed by the Beatles. A day in my life….
After my series about my chemo treatments, I've had inquiries as to how I'm dealing with chemo after effects. That's easy! Like a chicken with its head cut off...
(This is the first of a series. A little background: Following my earlier "Chronicles from the Chemo Bar" series, I've been asked if I have chemo aftershocks and what I’m doing about them. First, have them? Oh hell yes! I don’ t think there’s any escaping them. My approach to dealing with them? Anything and everything and all at once, finding what works and what doesn’t. And trust me, there’s a whole lot of stuff that doesn’t. At least for me.
(I am not a doctor and I’m certainly no authority. But I’m a pretty good researcher and my own best guinea pig. As always, if you have questions or concerns, talk with your doctor. And by all means, do not rely on Dr. Google. And those that offer the sure cure? Avoid them. They most likely don’t have one and will be going to hell for saying they do.)
After my final chemo treatment and a brief graduation ceremony, I walked out of the John Stoddard Cancer Center infusion room following high fives and hugs from the chorus line of angels who had been serving me lifesaving cocktails every other week for six months.
As soon as the door hit me on the backside, I figured my life would snap back to how it was B.C. (Before Cancer.)
Such a dreamer.
Damn, those chemo drugs are powerful. They’re all different of course depending on the type of cancer they’re called in to fight, and all have their unique quirks and consequences. For the pancreatic cancer that I had, the drugs are really nasty but in a good way. They’re really effective and do the job but at a rather high cost. But one I’m happily paying. Well maybe not happily, but gladly.
I hate to bitch about such things, but I’m grateful to be here to bitch about such things.
These drugs take no prisoners. The side effects became after effects and they loiter about and seem to have no intention of leaving. It was mostly the peripheral neuropathy in my hands and feet that was most bothersome. Tingles, numbness and throbbing pain. It affected my balance, mobility, coordination and everyday tasks like buttoning a shirt, gripping a glass, threading a needle, changing a lightbulb and getting a full night’s sleep. It was constant and unrelenting.
I knew it’d go away by the end of the next week. I just knew it would. The docs promised. They did! I think they did. Well, maybe they didn’t promise. Okay! They didn’t promise and frankly I don’t think the after effects were even mentioned. But I knew they’d go away.
I just knew they would.
A wishful thinker and a dreamer. And wishful thinking can make any dream come true. I just knew it would! If I wished really hard. And I did. Really hard.
The end of the next week came. Not a damn bit of improvement, in fact my feet seemed to be getting worse. The tingles, constant discomfort, numbness and pain had all increased. And sleep? What sleep?
Throughout the treatments when the neuropathy first set in, getting out of bed felt like stepping on a couple of stale English muffins. But now it felt like there was a stack of them under each foot. Eerily semi-squishy and very annoying.
My balance has never been very good. I’ve weeble wobbled through life. Thank God I never had to walk a straight line for a cop. Although stone-cold sober, I would have gone to right jail. No passing GO, no nothing. Right to the drunk tank. That would have been the worst! Nothing I hate more than being with a bunch of drunks if I’m not one them.
But post-chemo, my balance was beyond messed up. My weeble wobbles became zig zags. Every wall in the house had my handprints and smudges on them from stopping potential trip and falls. They were a mess. I was a mess. And damn it, my feet were too. They hurt like hell.
My solution? Withdraw into gloom. It’s not my thing. I rarely do it but when I do, I’m great at it. I become the Sheik of Sulk and can mope on down into a very deep and very dark hole and simply want to be left alone. My mood switch flips from HAPPY to GO AWAY! During those post-chemo days, the puppy dog inside of me turned into a pitbull and at the very least would just BARK! BARK! BARK! But if pushed a bit I’d likely rip your face off. I didn’t mean to, I just did. (Apologies to my supportive and understanding wife. I guess I had quite a few pitbull moments. Apparently I was a real bitch. Moreso than usual! GRRRRRRRR…..BARK!)
At this point I had come to believe that nothing was going to change. Life as I knew it was gone and was never coming back. My new life? I was living it. And it was miserable.
My dream once filled with hope of coming out on the other side of chemo and its afteshocks had shattered into hopelessness. The devastation and depression were all but crippling. I was enveloped in a shroud of sorrow and I couldn’t shake it off. I didn’t know how and didn’t think it was even possible. I was stuck in quagmire of self-pity and was slowly sinking into it further.
I beat cancer but now chemo was beating me. And I was letting it.
Well that nonsense lasted just a couple of days. That’s when the Devil and Angel, just like those in the movies and cartoons, suddenly appeared on my shoulders in a POOF! (Actually, they were just voices in my head but some may question the soundness of my mind if I reported it that way. Oooops! I just did. I’ve always had a very active imagination. Chemo left it untouched.)
The Devil: “Welcome to the rest of your life, Bucko! Nothing’s going to change. Deal with it. Hey! You’ve had a good life. Until now….” And then of course he added that evil cackle of his, “Mwahahahaha!”
The Angel, knowing my penchant for all things Beatles, started humming “A Day in the Life,” one of my most favorite songs. She’s a sly one.
I knew what she doing. I didn’t want to hear it. I was ready to side with the Devil on this one. She couldn’t change me mind. I had already settled into my miasma of misery.
I thought I had anyway.
But I really hadn’t. I hated it. It wasn’t me. But I was stuck. I didn’t know what to do. Nobody told me what to expect and how to deal with it, or if they did I was too caught up in the euphoria of dreaming my dream of life after chemo that I didn’t hear them. More than likely, I just didn’t listen. Or maybe they said, “Hey, we saved your life, we’re done. Enjoy! And you’re welcome!” Or maybe they didn’t. I don’t know. I don’t remember. I was euphoric.
The Angel kept humming. I felt a smile starting to sprout. I love that song. So many memories of “A Day in the Life.” And so many forgotten ones too. It was the ‘70s after all. What a time it was. Sigh….
When she hummed through the song’s first big LSD trippy crescendo, she stopped and in no uncertain terms said, “Really? This is it? This how you’re going to spend the rest of your life all crabby and sullen and laying around like a big turd? Really? This is what you’ve lived for and fought through cancer to be like this? This is how you want life to be? Where’s my happy friend? I want him back. I’m don’t like this new you. I can’t believe you do either.”
She was right. She’s always right.
“I think he’s gone forever. I don’t know how to get that me back.”
“Well, you can either lay there in bed and wallow or get up off your ass and do something about it,” she said rather unangelically. “So what’s the one thing you hate the most?”
“That’s easy,” I said. “This chemo’s not going away. My feet hurt all the time, I don’t sleep, I’m operating at half speed, and I constantly feel like crap.”
“Pick one!”
“Me feet then. This neuropathy stuff totally sucks. I just want it gone.”
The Devil had to have his due. “Well, have you thought about an axe? Or wait! How about a chainsaw? That’ll take care of it!” adding his “Mwahahahahaaah!”
“My God. He’s such an asshole,” the Angel sighed, “Devil be gone!” And POOF! he was.
She started humming again, picking up at the upbeat part that came after the orchestral whirlwind.
And then I started humming along with her. And soon we were singing out loud.
It was lighting the path to better days.
“Fuck it! You’re right. You’re always right,” I bellowed. “Let’s do this!”
“That’s my AndyBug! Onward!”
Oh she’s a sly one. I thought she was just trying to cheer me up. Nope. It was big kick in the pants. She knows me so well. And it worked.
So with that, (my apologies and gratitude to Lennon and McCartney)…
I sat up.
Got out of bed.
Dragged a comb across my head (my hair was coming back!)
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up I knew that I was late…
But not too late…to get back to the real me.
That Angel plays me like fiddle, or in this case like John Lennon’s Rickenbacker through a Vox Super Beatle amplifier…turned to 11, which is how I always lived B.C.
Her work was done and just before she disappeared, the Angel whispered, “You can do this. It’s takes time. Baby steps but you have to take the first one. I want to you back. We all want you back.”
“Thanks. I really do too.”
“Then do it! Quit being a turd! ONWARD!” and then POOF! She was gone.
I weeble wobbled over to my computer.
“Hey Siri! Can you find me resources for neuropathy in Des Moines…”
I read them all that day. OH BOY!
The dark clouds moved out, the blue skies were moving in and POOF! there was the most beautiful sunrise peeking above the horizon.
My shattered dream was healing.
And so was I.
My sprout of a smile was starting to bloom.
ONWARD!
Coming next: Rehab!
Substack has been recommended to me by a friend though I am very picky about the articles I read - I stay far away from anything political! Your articles are real and I feel your pain and your frustrations! I have not gone thru this myself but know (as with everybody out there) somebody out there dealing with some sort of cancer! My daughter went thru breast cancer and neuropathy affected her as well! I’m sorry for what you are going through - so not fun but your writing tells it like it is! Maybe it is therapy in some sort of way but your articles have my attention! Thank you for being that voice, for sharing your experiences with maybe a little humor along the way! I look forward to your next article!
Argh! I just lost two comments because apparently I am an idiot, but I STILL wanted to let you, Andy, know that your posts are helpful and inspiring! THIS RIGHT HERE!!!: "Really? This is it? This how you’re going to spend the rest of your life all crabby and sullen and laying around like a big turd? Really? This is what you’ve lived for and fought through cancer to be like this? This is how you want life to be? Where’s my happy friend? I want him back. I’m don’t like this new you. I can’t believe you do either."