The history of the healing

The withdrawal from the second chemo

In some book I read this idea of taking morning notes. You need to take a pen, a notebook and write down everything that comes to your mind every morning. It was more comfortable for me not to write but to type, but it didn’t matter. It was a great way to get rid of negative emotions. It was written in the book that the first month you would get rid of anger and resentment, and then creative ideas would begin to cross your mind. I don’t remember, if they appeared on my morning pages or not. I can't bring myself back to read that file and thereby dive headfirst into those feelings. But I remember that those pages helped me a lot to stay in good mood.

The withdrawal from the second chemo was easier than from the first one, primarily emotionally. I understood already what and when would happen to me, and I was not afraid of it. The first time when the temperature rose to almost 39, I was very scared, and this time I was even happy because I knew that this was how it should be, everything was going as it should.

My husband began to come later and later on working days and at the weekend. One Saturday he overslept and didn't come at all. He came the next day on Sunday. I was aware of the fact that he is an owl and likes to sleep, but it was very insulting. I didn't want to see anyone but him, my mother and my brother, and he came so late. But I tried not to be resentful at him and justified him in every possible way. I didn't want to quarrel and spoil my mood. On working days, once a week, he came at about 9 pm. It was even not bad because at that time the pilgrimage to my ward was almost over, and we could calmly talk.

After the second chemo, my hair began to fall out. By that moment, they were small, and began to pour all over the ward. The orderlies swore because of unsanitary conditions, and my mother shaved my head. My hair fell out from everywhere; not a single hair on the whole body left. Even the eyebrows and eyelashes fell out. I mean my eyelashes did not fall out completely. There was one eyelash on one eye and two on the other. It looked very funny.

The stomatitis this time was less than last time. It was not very painful to chew. There were no problems with digestion, and they didn't put me on intravenous nutrition. My blood platelets were dropping, or my hemoglobin, or something else. A couple of times I received blood transfusion.

Leukocytes dropped to 0.3 or 0.4, I do not remember exactly. I could only eat boiled meat, boiled vegetables (not all of them), tea, dried bread, some kind of dry biscuits, small portions of jam, baked apples, boiled eggs, buckwheat. My mom brought some instant porridge, I showed it to the doctor. She looked at the composition and approved of some. I was not allowed to eat anything dairy. In the morning an orderly walked down the corridor with a cart of food and came in and gave food to everyone in turn. Sometimes there was nothing at all for breakfast that I could eat. My mother brought food from home, but it was in the refrigerator in the corridor, and I was not allowed to leave the ward. Then I would eat dry biscuits or ask the nurse to bring me my bag from the fridge (with my name and room number written on it). From time to time the nurse said, "Eat an omelet, it's okay," but I refused. There was milk in it.

The doctors said that I was a very disciplined patient. I didn’t understand what they meant. I just followed all the rules and didn’t do anything that I was forbidden to do. Otherwise, why to go to the hospital at all and waste the doctors' time?

Most of all I enjoyed my late dinner. I made tea with sugar and drank it with biscuits and jam. I allowed myself no more than two teaspoons of jam a day because I didn't want to get complications because of my whim. I took one spoon and was extending my pleasure for half a cup. It was such an enjoyment! Now, when I live normal life and eat everything, I can’t imagine any food that brings me so much pleasure as that tea with biscuits and jam. Agranulocytosis (low leukocytes) lasted for 5-7 days, and I could not eat almost anything, and on those days such dinner was a real pleasure.

I could physically feel when food was not good for me. Some food was so hard to digest that I could feel my stomach struggling to digest it. I was afraid to go to the toilet because I was afraid of finding problems with digestion and of being put back on intravenous feeding. But everything was fine.

During the withdrawal from the second chemo, my father came to me from the other city. I was very glad to see him. He looked very funny in that outfit – a robe, a cap, a mask.

As the first time, I was constantly prescribed some medications, others were canceled. But there was no need to urgently run to the pharmacy because the supply of medicines was on the ward. I could open my own pharmacy.

Then on some day of the withdrawal, I think on the 12th, the bones began to hurt. That meant that the leukocytes would soon begin to rise. And indeed, they began to rise. Moreover, along with the temperature. I can't imagine how people come to the hospital, get chemistry and go home. How can you live at home being in such a body state? How can you go outside, ride public transport? I barely reached the toilet, holding on to the wall. How can people walk home from the hospital?

In a few days after the rise of the leukocytes, my stomatitis went away.

When my leukocytes rose, I could eat everything they gave me. It was frustrating when they brought breakfast, and it was standing for half an hour waiting until they took my blood. It was only later that I found out that I could go to the procedure room to have my blood taken. They probably hadn’t told me that before because I could barely hobble with a stick. But now this problem was solved. When my leukocytes were not low, I went myself to have my blood taken, then I ate my breakfast.