It's a Mess: The Chemo Aftershock

I'm finally finding some time to sit down and record these past couple of days -- well let me rephrase that -- I have TONS of time, but I've finally found a moment where using my brain doesn't make me want to projectile vomit.

Let me tell you the cool thing about chemo -- you can literally go to bed whenever you want. You're never NOT tired. Oh you just slept for 12 hours? Cool, you should totally take a 4 hour nap right now. No one can even be mad at you either. I'm no dummy, so I take full advantage (I'm not really sure I would say "take advantage" though because it's mostly out of necessity).

It's strange to feel like a 20 year old trapped in a 90 year old woman's body. I've worn the same outfit for four days straight now. I'm just...tired. Every motion takes so much effort, so much. Good news -- I'm at the point where everyday feels a little bit better. Here's the official chemo diagram -- it's taken doctors and scientists years to develop it.

This is also a diagram showing how PUFFY the drugs make me. Talk about summer bod 2k19. P.S. chemo does NOT help with acne. It actually makes it worse. You'd think that if you have to do chemotherapy, God would at least let you have perfect, glowing skin the whole time. Life really isn't fair.

I'm now five days post chemo, and this morning, at 7am (what kind of schedules are these doctors on!?), I had to start a new medication called Neupogen (it stimulates the growth of white blood cells in your body). This one is extra fun because you have to inject it into yourself, TWICE. Let me paint you the scene that occurred this morning:

 Ivy -- peacefully dreaming, sound asleep.

Dr. Dad -- Graciously wakes up at 7am to administer the two shots to his beautiful daughter. He gently whispers her name to awake her from her blissful state of sleep, "Ivy,"

Ivy -- Her eyelids immediately fling open like a rubber band that has been pulled too far, "NO!" Her tone did not quite match her father's whisper.

Her protests did not matter -- the syringes loom over her. The needles are inserted into her tummy, three inches away from her bellybutton. She maybe overreacts, but probably not (she would never).

She stumbles out of bed (MS + chemo + a 7am wakeup do not make for good balance) to retrieve her
300 million pills she has to take every morning. Dr. Dad opens the door to his room to return to bed. As soon as his door shuts, black vision dots dance across Ivy's eyes, a cold sweat breaks across her forehead, and saliva floods the back of her throat. She throws herself through the bathroom door and collapses over the toilet -- goodbye Spacca Napoli pizza, it was fun while it lasted.

*end scene

As you can see, my body hates every medication thrown at it -- but alas, I will prevail. I only have five more days of Neupogen, but who's counting?

My hair is beginning to thin. I like to stand in front of the mirror and pull my hair back so I can imagine what I'll look like. Hopefully that isn't reflective of how I'll actually look because it looks pretty stupid.

Big week this week -- my stem cells are being harvested, and I'm shaving my head! Happy 4th of July! I've agreed to let Mazzy shave my head. How can anyone mess up shaving an entire head?

I appreciate every single person that reads my blog. It makes me feel less alone -- like I'm not just shouting into the dark.

Maybe the next time you see me I'll be a big, bald baby.