Not Feelin' It

Saturday, 11 August 2021

So many friends have emailed, phoned, or texted me in the last several weeks, and I appreciate it so much. I've received wonderful cards from a few of you as well, and they always brighten my day. When I finally came to the realization that I just wasn't feeling like myself, I made a point to discuss it with Sherry, the LPN who works with my oncologist, Dr. Joudeh.

"I have lost my sense of humor, among other things," I told her.

John, who had accompanied me on this particular visit, emphatically agreed. He has, unfortunately, been subject to my moods for the last year as I've experienced chemo brain and the unpleasant effects of steroids. But this was different. I felt little motivation to be productive, and worst of all, I didn't feel like writing. Truth be told, I still don't. This morning, I thought I would give it a go and see what transpired.

Every morning when I roll out of bed, it takes several minutes to overcome the stiffness in my joints and muscles. I make my way slowly around my bedroom, holding onto the bed posts or the edge of my desk like a rickety old woman. From those first days of engraftment in the hospital when the transplanted stem cells began to grow and make healthy new blood cells, the pain I felt was primarily in my hips radiating into my legs. Once I recovered enough to go home, the pain in my legs persisted. I can describe it as feeling like I have undertaken a rigorous exercise program. Anyone who has done so knows that in the days following the start of a new regimen, every muscle screams in protest when stretched to the slightest degree. The difference is that after repeating the exercises a few more times, the muscles and joints adjust, and the soreness subsides. Not so in my case. It takes much, much longer.

In the hospital, the doctors and nurses repeated the same refrain. "You have to make your body move, force yourself to exercise, if only by taking a walk every day."

On my appointment yesterday with Dr. Joudeh, he remarked with amusement that he feels like he says that very thing to every patient he sees. No doubt he does.

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Thursday, 16 September 2021

It’s been more than a month since I typed the preceding paragraphs. The keyboard beckons to me every morning when I slowly make my way down the stairs and see my laptop, closed and idle on my desk. Nearly every day, I hear the notification on my phone that someone has found their way to mytpen.net, and I feel a twinge of guilt that there is nothing new for them to read. That’s about to change.

In a text exchange recently when I told a friend that I had managed to take a good walk that morning with John, he wrote that he was glad to hear I had found some motivation, and that soon I would be writing again, too. Obligation can be a good motivator.

It occurs to me that you may be curious about how I look these days. I'm

happy to report that my hair is finally showing signs of growth. It’s still a far cry from the long locks I sported prior to the transplant, and I was beginning to think it wasn’t going to grow back at all. One aspect of near baldness that I enjoy is drying my head after a shower. Instead of tipping my head upside down to wrap a towel around a mop of hair, I can simply rub my head with the towel and it’s practically dry. I think I shall miss that once it’s several inches long again.

Here’s another pic of me wearing my favorite wig. I like it so much that I might opt for a similar hairstyle once it’s long enough to do so. Wigs take

getting used to, and I admit they’re not the most comfortable accessory one can wear, particularly in the sticky humidity of Florida. I generally reserve it for special occasions, and it gives me confidence when people compliment my hair. It looks so genuine they have no idea it’s a wig. In fact, it appears that my new hair may even turn out to be a similar color.

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Monday, 20 September 2021

General weakness is also an ongoing issue, and I’m fairly certain it is a result of the transplant. It was a struggle for me to rise from a kneeling position before the transplant, but now, I have to use mental power to do it. For example, in the kitchen if I bend my knees to locate something in a bottom cabinet, I have to mentally pause and concentrate on how I’m going to manage to stand up again. Where is the closest sturdy surface that I can grasp with my hands to help pull myself up? That will be my strategy.

When I saw LPN Sherry, we talked about this issue as well, and she recommended that I see a physical therapist. I have an appointment with Dr. Tan on 8 October.

There is also pain, and it has grown worse over the past few weeks, particularly in my shoulders, arms, and hands. I wake up during the night with stabbing pain in my shoulders that radiates down my arms and into my hands. My fingers, particularly of my right hand, are numb and aching. The prescription medication I have does little to ease the pain, unfortunately, and I am hopeful the physical therapy and pain management will do the trick.

I’m going to stop here and publish this post, with the promise to write again very soon about one of my favorite subjects, my cats. In particular, I will tell you about Josephine and her unique and amusing personality traits.

Thank you, as always, for your thoughts and prayers.