By now you’ve probably realized that I’m an open book about pretty much everything. I mean… why not? But, it wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago that I was able to look back and muster the courage to share this because I’m finally at a point where my health has improved enough for me to believe there’s a good chance I won’t get admitted into the hospital again. If I did, I’m worried you’d visit and wonder if you’d unknowingly be a witness to another episode of this. (I think it’s hilarious now and I totally laugh while I’m writing this, btw… but it wasn’t very funny at first.)
Have you ever had to fart and let one slip in a conference room at work? Or in the car with a passenger you didn’t know very well? If you have (and I’ll bet at some point it’s happened), I feel for you. I don’t blame you. And I understand. We’re human! You and me. Both of us. (I’m reminding you so that in a minute you don’t judge me.)
Until 2014, I’ve truthfully never “sharted” before. Seriously, never. FYI: With no hair ANYWHERE on your body, every time you get a little gassy it sounds like it could be your worst nightmare. With every little toot my eyes go wide in fear - worried that it’s going to be a disaster. Every time, it was a false alarm. Until the day it wasn’t.
Replaying it in my mind, the incident happens in a painfully slow motion: I ABSOLUTELY, COMPLETELY, TOTALLY SHIT MY PANTS IN MY HOSPITAL BED… and not just a little bit either. The worst part? I was on so much medication I didn’t know it. I may have been lying in that body-temperature stew for 10 or 20 minutes and I can’t tell you how mortifying it was to discover what had happened—not on my own—from Mom, my nurse and Justin. I don’t know what tipped them off, either. The smell? A squishy sound coming from the pastic-covered mattress? Either way, there I was. Soaking in my own shit.
As soon as I got up to go to the bathroom (which didn’t muffle sound very well) I had to go poo again. It was wicked. There was an evacuation from my body that was so fast, I had no comprehension it was even possible. I was horrified my body let this happen.
Have I told you about the woman with two kids who worked three jobs who cleaned my room? She was a sweetheart! As she mopped the floor every day, she’d comment on how I was doing compared to the day before and expressed genuineconcern for me. She probably cleaned a hundred rooms every day. But, she was interested in knowing ME. So after the trauma that day, try—for a second—to imagine the guilt I felt when she came in to clean. I almost wish I would have ignored her every day of the previous several weeks. Almost.
I think you’d agree that typically in the social media world we put our best foot forward when it comes to sharing. When someone posts a new Facebook profile pic, the chances are—it’s phenomenal. The best angle. The perfect lighting. Your “skinny” side. You know, the one that makes you look 10lbs lighter. Be honest… you’ve done it. I HAVE done it.
I’m being honest in this post knowing that you might think less of me, but quite frankly it’s important to tell you that, yes, most of the time I write about fun stuff like goofing around in the hospital or important health updates. But this is the true (and very real) part that doesn’t get talked about often. Don’t get me wrong… I DO have fun. The picture I paint of this journey is the one I want to remember (and I’m a positive-thinking person) so I try to put that energy out there in the world. There are soooo many fun stories/photos to share when people visit, so I’m not trying to be fake. It’s just (perhaps) not as sexy as I make it look.
Does Fergie’s G-L-A-M-O-R…OUS come to mind? Not. So. Much. But, I try to make having cancer look good, dammit! It’s just not. And there you have it.
I haven’t written an update for a while because I honestly haven’t felt up to it. Until I had something fun or really positive to say I just kept procrastinating. Emotionally/mentally, I’m going through a lot right now (related and unrelated to cancer) that’s making simple things more difficult to process. Relationship stuff, the implications of my upcoming scan & biopsy, and contemplating the future and what’s in store for me—they all weigh heavily on my mind. Thanks for being patient. Feel free to message me… I have a lot of catching up to do on Facebook and email but I’m making progress now that my physical health is improving. If you take the time to reach out, I’ll reply. I always do.
You may have seen some pictures of me outside my concrete prison lately… it’s been great! A week ago I was allowed to stop wearing my mask everywhere with a few restrictions. So… I started working out, got coffee, enjoyed ice cream with mom, crashed a rooftop pool party and went out to eat! Does it sound like I over-did it? Yep. Sure did. I spent the last two days at the hospital getting $4,700 Neulasta shots to bring my white counts up and had to get two units of blood because my hemoglobin dropped. Whoops! I’ll scale-back and try again soon.
In general, though, I am recovering. It’s slow and there have been complications. There is a photo below of my legs from last week. I’ve been getting charlie-horse cramps in the middle of the night and because my platelets are so low, my legs bruise. The doc said some patients go to the ER for the pain from the drug-induced cramps but I’m a tough SOB and just walk around my tiny little condo (albeit with a little screaming) until the spasm stops. Oh well. I just deal with it because it could be worse—and it ISN’T. Gotta be grateful for the things you can be grateful for!
Lastly, I know I told you that my scan was in early August and the results were supposed to be on Aug 14th. That plan has changed. My scan is next Monday; results with Bachanova Thursday. I’ll go into detail next week… my brain is tired already. :)
Thanks for reading and checking in on me! Talk to you again before I get my results.