Pessimistic Thoughts Before Chemo

I woke up with the refrain repeating in my head, “One more day of feeling okay.” Tomorrow is my next chemotherapy. I spent yesterday evening researching neutropenia. Of course, the big preventative for it is supposed to be a shot of neulasta, but I developed grade 4 neutropenia eight days after my last chemo after having a neulasta shot as recommended. I had no neutrophils at all. That’s what makes it grade 4. Grade 5 is death. Furthermore, 9.5% of grade 4 neutropenic patients die. It’s always nice to do the research to see what I’m up against.

I also ran across a nice little paper about neutropenic patients and quality of life (QOL). It turns out that one’s QOL is affected when one is extremely tired and unable to do the things one is accustomed to doing. I find that I have given up on eating vegetables because it’s just too much work to cook them. I don’t eat salad because I distrust raw vegetables at this point due to whatever microbes might be on them. I have no energy for exercise. I don’t dare go to a movie or sit in any sort of audience because I might expose myself to some sort of infection. And sex, what’s that? Who’d ever want to do something like that? Yeah, my QOL has taken a nosedive.

On the other hand, cutting down on the amount of chemotherapy negatively affects survival rates. Since I’m in that unlucky 1% who became neutropenic after a neulasta shot, reducing the amount of chemotherapy is really the only strategy left. After all, the hemorrhoid was really a fissure. There could be other fissures in my colon, where there are no nerve endings to warn me and peritonitis is definitely one of the risks. One of the women in my support group became neutropenic and came down with spinal meningitis. That’s something to look forward to. Another woman in my yoga class just got out of a two week stay in the hospital due to a rousing case of pneumonia following neutropenia. So much to look forward to.

I got Cancer Made Me a Shallower Person by Miriam Engelberg because I loved the title. However, it was very sobering. She, like me, had a grade 3 tumor (aggressive) but no node involvement (that’s good) and she dutifully did chemotherapy, just like me. However, it recurred, metastasized, and she’s dead now. Somehow this didn’t cheer me up at all. I was encouraged that someone with such a crude cartooning style could persevere and make a whole book. In my heart of hearts I believe that if one can’t draw as well as Alison Bechdel’s Dykes to Watch Out For there is no point to even trying, so of course I don’t. Well, Miriam Engelberg died at age 48 when her kid was nine years old. At least my kids have reached adulthood. That’s some consolation, whatever happens. If I die, they’ll be sad, but not scarred for life.