I've been reading the concerned e-mails of the last few days and I am truly humbled by the responses for help. Today, blood levels nudged up just a wee bit, which brought me breathe a sigh of relief and made my doctor very happy.
I am "active" for 3-4 hours a day. The rest of the time I am conked out. The fatigue is not just "feeling tired": it's complete and total physical, emotional, mental drainage of chi and stamina. (Though I am in total denial of it sometimes.)
I may have lost a considerable amount of weight in only three weeks, but I like to think of it as my old "cancer weight" shedding away. The weight is actually back to where it was BEFORE diagnosis. My "Beyonce butt" has sadly melted away and now baby ain't got back, but a pair of old tight jeans that I haven't been able to fit into for years, hung loosely on me the other day. (I can see it now… the new Hollywood diet craze: lose weight fast by having a marrow transplant.) Seriously though, if I lose more weight, my doctor is going to force feed me enough steroids to make me eat like a horse and will start infusing me with lipid (i.e. FAT) bags. When they infuse you with one of those babies, you gain poundage in only a few hours.
But I am confident that this weird transition of sluggishness and rabid anorexia is only temporary. Each day there is a little bit of progress. Each day there is another joy. Despite the limitations of post-transplant-ism, I've been able to sneak out of the house to see the Philharmonic, have three TV interviews, enjoy some lovely dinners, and attend the Video Game Awards
(which had me practically bedridden for 3 days after). On Sunday, BR came over with a shopping bag full of ice cream, chocolate bundt cakes and whipped cream in an attempt to fatten me up. On Monday, RB grilled shish-kebabs to help with the blood cell count. Baby steps, ya know.
Much love this holiday season,
Christine P
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment