An Out of Body Experience

I believe in one of my latest blogs, I mentioned wanting to crawl out of my own skin. Well, you know how your mother always warned you . . . be careful what you wish for, you just might get it? I do believe, without my express permission, my own body tried to do precisely that - crawl out of itself. IT decided to make this wish, a reality for me . . . at Ralph's Grocery Store. One might think, for such an advanced experiment, that one might wait until one was in the comfort of one's own home - wouldn't one? Apparently one wouldn't, or at least didn't. Squeamish readers need read no further, as I am truly amazed that my head didn't simply collapse today, and I intend on sharing the details forthwith. I know, it's like trying to turn away from a bad wreck!

So, it's my 6th day post chemo, and I am usually bouncing back fairly well by the 5th day - not so this time around. I was still moving rather slowly yesterday, and started to claw my way back out today. I am also going stir crazy, so I decide a small trip to the grocery store would be restorative. (Not to mention, we were surviving on cocktail onions and stale bread at this point - any amount of food in the house is a good excuse not to have to go to the market!) Imagine, finding a trip to the grocery store a little slice. I certainly never had that attitude pre-cancer. Life is an attitude adjustment, isn't it? In any case, I arrive with my small list and head to the bread department. My nose, which inexplicably dries up in the first week following chemo, chooses this moment to start running again. I keep packets of kleenex in my purse these days, and think "Great - the nose is back. I hadn't missed it - oh well." But it doesn't just start dripping. I mean, it's truly like somebody left the faucet on full-bore. I am going through my tissues like . . . yeah, I'm drawing a blank here . . . like somebody with an incredibly runny nose. I may have to get a box of tissues off the shelf and rip into it as I am dangerously close to using up my entire pack, and I'm not even to the 2nd aisle! I'm trying to look semi-normal, while pushing a cart, smiling at other shoppers, getting different breads off the shelf, and holding a tissue over my face. At about this time, I realize that it's really cold in the store. I mean really cold. Is it cold . . . or do I have chills? Are those just chills . . . or do I have stomach cramps? My nausea was mostly gone by the 4th day . . . am I going to be sick?

About two months ago, I had to attend "chemo class". They went over the types of drugs I would be receiving and the potential side effects of each. I forget which drug it was, but one of them could cause either constipation or diarrhea. I remember thinking to myself, oh Lord, don't let it be constipation. At about the same moment I had that thought, the nurse stated, "Most people get constipated". Insultingly, I am not special, and have been like most people. It usually only affects me that first week after chemo, and then things seem to normalize for the next couple of weeks until they blast me again, and off we go on the side-effect tilt-o-whirl. So, imagine my surprise when standing there in the bread aisle, it becomes crystal clear to me that I have to go the the bathroom now! Trying to look unconcerned and sunny, I move, let's just say. . . briskly, to the ladies room. There is a dad standing there with two or three little kids. One child comes out, the next one sidles in, completely oblivious to my distress. Of course, they do stare at the lady with the slightly crazed, plastered-on smile on her face. I can't just stand here, I think. (I'm starting to pace around the eggs.) Pacing around the eggs is drawing attention, or at least I imagine it is, I'm definitely feeling a little nutty doing it. The dad is still waiting at the bathroom door. For the love of Mike - I swear he has about sixteen children milling about his legs now! It's probably just two, but I'm feeling a little panicky at this point. I'm near the frozen food section. I need waffles. I'll get waffles to take my mind off the impending explosion, and then the dad should be gone. It works! He is gone! I barely make it in time. You know how during the Tudor reign, one of the punishments for bad behavior was to remove a persons entrails while they were still alive? I liken my experience (only slightly, because I tend to be a little dramatic) to that. I hear my mother's voice "Be careful what you wish for . . ." At least I'm not thinking about my runny nose any longer. I feel grateful to escape the bathroom intact. (There's that dramatic flare again!)

Well that was kind of horrible - but now I feel pretty good. I can finish my shopping list! (Why didn't I just go home - because I'm an idiot.) Actually, I got through my list quite nicely after that and got in line. The nice young man at the register was moving with less than zero urgency for the amount of people in the store. As he is checking my items, at a glacial pace, I start to feel the merest hint of the chills again. To say the least, this gives me the chills. Maybe it really is just cold in the store. My kids always want to wear parkas in there, even if it is 100º outside. Nope. There are those, now familiar, cramps. CHECK FASTER YOU MORON! Did I say that in my head, or did I use my "outside" voice? I'm pretty sure it was inside my head - no one is staring. I'm humming a tuneless tune, feeling a little singy and panicky. OK. There is no way I'm going to make it home. I start weighing my options. Do I just dart out of line pretending I forgot one more item? No, "nice young man" is actually handing me my receipt - perhaps I can make it home. (I reiterate, I'm an idiot.) I turn to collect my parcels and figure I'll just head to the bathroom once more, and then leave - never to show my face in Ralph's again. If it is even possibly imaginable, the bag-boy is even slower than the nice young clerk. Out of my mouth comes (very smoothly, I might add) "Would it be alright if I leave my cart here for a moment? I'd just like to run to the ladies room before I head out." "Sure", says the nice young man, "No problem." Why was I so hard on him before - he's such a nice young man. The bathroom is, of course, about three football fields away. As I walk, or should I say "fly" to the bathroom, I am now praying that I make it in time, as the chills and cramps descend upon me like some . . . really heavy item. (I've got nothing again.) I can see the bathroom! Now I start praying that there is no one in line for it. Clear! Thank you God. Worse than the first time, I am fairly certain several major organs bid a fond fare-thee-well to their comfy spots in my body. Can I just crawl under a rock now, please? No - I still have to collect my groceries. I drag my drained body from the store, unload my groceries and head home. My cheery children, so happy to see me, help unload into the house. They have no idea what I've been through - but I feel like a small war zone unto myself. It's all sooooo bad. How can I not share it? May I just say "thank you" and "I'm sorry" for allowing me to share my special day with you?

Two chemos left. Bring it on.