I emailed my oncologist and told him I was losing my shit, so he called me in some Xanax. Fucking finally, bro. He told me to only take it as needed, and I’m like lol okay, dude, that’s like every minute of my fucking day anymore. I have metastatic cancer, and am immunocompromised during a fucking pandemic. I’m trapped in my fucking house. I’m also currently adjusting to two new meds with brutal side effects. Oh and all of this has happened within the last fucking month. Give me a minute.
The Ibrance (most likely) is causing rapid heart rate and some chest pains, so he advised that I stop it for two days to see if that is for sure the cause. If so, there is apparently a lower dose we can try. I’m not wanting to give up on it unless I absolutely have to. There aren’t enough treatment options to just discard one that might work. Ugh. In a lot of ways, the treatment is worse than the disease itself.
When I washed my hair this morning, there was more in my hand than normal. Ugh. Let the shedding begin. I fucking hate cancer. If I end up needing a wig, I’m getting one of those super expensive human hair ones this time. FUCK IT. What am I saving my money for? *lol sob*
I’m trying to stay positive. I’m alive. I don’t seem to have Covid-19. My family is healthy. We are lucky to be financially secure and able to work from home. I really shouldn’t complain.