Another day of treatment

Another 4-hour day of intensive treatment.

When I woke up, I didn’t feel the need to eat. Was it nerves? Looking back, I have a deep sense that it was more likely due to a lack of sleep.

I’ve noticed that the night before a treatment, I have trouble sleeping. With my mind overwhelmed, I finally made it to the treatment room.

I start to wonder: Will the nurse find a vein quickly? Will I react to the medication? How will my body respond, since I arrived on an empty stomach?

It took nearly 30 minutes to find a suitable vein. Part of my anxiety began to lift, and for the first time that morning, I actually felt hungry.

As I slowly ate my breakfast, my mind tried to reason with itself. I reminded myself that this treatment is tough, every time I go through it, I come out completely drained. Why me? I wanted a different kind of life. I don’t want this chronic illness.

I try to stay positive, telling myself it’s just four hours, and I’ve done this before. I shouldn't worry so much.

But then the side effects kick in quickly. Within thirty minutes, I start to feel drowsy which terrifies me. This wave of sleepiness quietly pulls me under, and I start to lose control.

As the treatment came to an end, the nurse started getting me ready to leave and said,"See you in six months."Those few words kept echoing in my mind.

My first thought: I don’t want to see her in six months. I never asked for any of this.

Maybe just maybe this treatment will have the effect I’m hoping for .Maybe I’ll start feeling better.

What’s unsettling, and almost disturbing, is that I feel no pain in the moment. There’s this strange sense of well-being like how I used to feel before the illness took over but reality hits again, fast.

As much as I long to return to a normal life, I’m still fully aware of what follows: the nausea, the stomach pain, the extreme fatigue .I feel weaker. I lose my appetite for days.

I constantly live in a tug-of-war between hope and despair. My support network gives me the encouragement, love, and strength I need to hold on and yet, the ongoing pain and limitations continue to disrupt my happiness.

Each person must navigate their own path when facing their reality. Speaking with peers who truly understand the challenges we face can open doors we never expected even within ourselves.

To you, dear readers: How do you cope with your own illness or with the illness of someone close to you?

I’d love to hear from you.

Marjorie