It’s all about that back…
So, the third round of chemo has come and gone. Quietly. At least, relatively speaking. Pleasantly, the overall effects appeared lessened over the previous round. Cannot complain about that.
What I can complain about, I guess, is the acne. That’s right.
Fought it down hard in high school. Kept it adequately at bay throughout my twenties. Thought I had won that war with a certain permanence nearly two decades ago. But you should see my back now.
Okay, maybe you shouldn’t be staring at my back while it breaks out like this. But I am sparing you the view below the belt which, quite frankly, had a serious go of it the last time around. In fact, I was kind of surprised about my back getting in on the action when there was such a well established zone already offering the pretense of toxic purging.
It does itch like crazy, though as my oncologist pointed out to me before the treatment: if acne is among my top complaints, he is certainly pretty happy to hear that. And I am, too. Plus, it is hard to be surprised about this sort of reaction. Really, for the few days right after the treatment, I hardly shower, much less move terribly far from where I take root on the couch. Getting all oily and sweaty ought to lead to some blocked pores. But then, these are not just blocked pores.
What I am experiencing here is not the typical selection of “black or white” options we all know and love. Nothing particularly appropriate for squeezing or lancing holding a hot compress to… These buggers are hard, thick and unwilling to release themselves from their subcutaneous purgatory. It is an ugly mess. But the kind of ugly mess that I must reiterate, I am fortunate to have.
The rest of my experience has been pretty much on par with the previous treatments. This one was a little easier than the last, possibly assisted by the fact that I went ahead and took the anti-nausea drug more frequently even though I probably could have toughed it out a couple of times. The days ran according to the same basic schedule, culminating with my return to “self” pretty much like clockwork.
Sleep still sucked. When the steroids are done keeping me up, then there is the constant nocturnal urination. But five days in and it is hard to recall why it made me crabby or even how tired I actually felt. Part of that is the chemo brain, no doubt… Part of it is truly how great it feels not to be feeling like I had just taken a hit from a dodgeball to my pre-numbed testicles… (Sans the pain and swelling associated with such a hit, that is the closest I have been able to come to describing the generally crappy feeling from chemotherapy. “Almost” getting a case of the stomach flu just wasn’t quite nailing the sensation on the proverbial head.)
Why am I sharing this? Because it isn’t a fairytale walk in the park. It also isn’t something that can’t be managed, dealt with and even embraced. I need some time alone. I also need some time with understanding friends and family. I get ornery and impatient, but I have reminders all around me about how things are getting better and, more importantly, what my life ahead holds in store.
Hopefully that is going to involve a lot less acne. In the meantime, I guess I should consider getting some of that ProActive and just bathing in it or something.