Day After

Oh, good Lord. Deliver me. I will never never never take Rituxan that fast again. Yesterday afternoon was horrible. I thought I might actually have to go to the ER. Every spot on my entire body was in agonizing pain. I struggled to get breaths all night - not that my lungs are blocked, just that my muscles don't want to work. I am scared half the night and sleep sitting up. I am pretty sure I will not go in to work today, but by morning, after being awake most of the night, the attack is passing.

I debate about going in, but I have been out so much. It won't be busy, and if I can't manage, I can always come home. I just don't want to have to call in again. I drag myself into the bathroom for a long hot shower, dress as comfortably as I can, and slowly drive myself to work. My head is splitting despite the drugs I have taken. Good God. I was totally not prepared for this severe reaction.

I know I am not very productive at work, but somehow I stick it out. Tired is not the word. Exhaustion doesn't even cover it. My eyes hurt. My ears hurt. My hair hurts. My skin hurts. My toenails hurt. I work at breathing. There is no me left here. I was doing so well. I want me back. But there are walls I cannot maneuver around. I go home and almost directly to bed.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, little thoughts are stirring. Maybe the reason the Rituxan didn't cause a reaction is because the cancer is gone and there is nothing left to react. That's good. I remember that last summer they gave me steroids for three days after the chemo because they anticipated that my body would take a dive and they were trying to lessen the severity of the downward spiral. I am doing this round without such help. Hang in there. Hang in there. Hang in there.

I sigh, slowly drink a whole glass of ice cold water, strip into my jammies and collapse. Tomorrow will be better. Really. Really.