I slept from midnight to almost 7 a.m. last night. It was a struggle, though. I didn’t check the clock but I’m pretty sure the last three or four hours I had to keep convincing myself it wasn’t yet time. The night before I’d kept an hour-long vigil in the bathroom with a night light on because I couldn’t sleep. Not a comfy place to sit and not something worth repeating.
My aunt V reminded my mom that I haven’t said anything about the CT scan results. Sorry!! The MRI news kind of eclipsed that. I spoke to Dr P on the phone the night before surgery, and she proclaimed my CT scans “beautiful.” So there’s that, at least.
In other news, until now I have been taking my combo therapy of dabrafenib and trametinib every other day. No longer. Now I need to toe the line and be a good cancer patient who takes her meds every day. This is an inconvenience, since it requires careful timing of when I eat and don’t – basically, a three-hour window of not eating (or drinking anything but water) twice a day. That sounds easy in theory, but it actually isn’t. You know what sounds even harder than that, though? Being dead. So, onwards to new meds regimen, and I will try to keep my complaints to a minimum, because There But For the Grace of Big Pharma Go I.
And now to complain about Decadron (steroid) and Keppra (anti-seizure med), which I have done at such length here before. I’m back on both. Hopefully short-term. But this time I’m having none of the fun I had on Decadron last time. It’s not making me gregarious. It’s making me cranky and mean. I instantly have next to no tolerance for my kids, so it’s a really good thing Mom has been here this week. Young A came in this morning to show me a Lego car he’d built, and I hijacked it and held him close and told him I’d have to be back on the medicine for a while that makes me cranky, but that he should know that I love him so much. He seemed to understand. How that will express itself remains to be seen. Maybe he’ll get even more hyper than he was before leaving for school today. Hard to say. I know they know I love them. But this medication makes it truly hard to control my rage when it so much as pokes its head out of the hole.
So I’m back in my bedroom/cave, pissed off at my situation, annoyed that in what seems like minutes since I’ve been back on steroids I have gained back four pounds already, horrified by what continues happening in the world – especially the non-picture-postcard parts of it – and trying to cope with being simultaneously sleepy and wired and aggressive and apathetic. It’s quite a cocktail. Did I mention they seem to have used extra lidocaine on my head when they were affixing the frame to it the other day? My head feels like a huge balloon on a string, tender to the touch, swollen, unsightly, addled.
All of this should contribute to my being very questionable company when J and I go out for dinner tomorrow to celebrate eleven years of married bliss. J, I will try to keep my mouth shut, and to smile. In case I screw everything up and start a fight or start crying or something, know that I love you. You are my steadfast life force and I can’t imagine dealing with any of this without your constant strength by me.
And now to face the day. I have to visit my ophthalmologist, Dr D. It’s been a while, and my eye concerns seem to be something I have always had. They were better for a while, now things are worse. And he doesn’t know about the surgery. The extremely long wait in his office means my eating and drinking moratorium should pass quickly, but I fear he will want to dilate my pupils, adding hours on to the affair. Nothing to do but roll with it. I hope I can.