Being so skinny and weak resulted in the necessity of myriad medications to counteract the poison. Aside from the Marinol I was taking to regain my hunger (and for no other reason, I swear!), I was on a slew of regular meds. Because of my long-standing poor choices in regards to eating habits, I was on a course of Prilosec for the time being. It didn’t help that my stomach cells were the most affected by the ravage of chemotherapy.
Then my cocktail continued, as not only did I have the aforementioned “Super Weed” pill when I needed to eat, but I also possessed a revolving door of nausea blockers and relaxants: Dramamine, Kytril, Zofran, and Ativan. I never had them all together, as that would be ludicrous, but I might as well have; because these miracle drugs allowed me moments of normalcy in this weakened, sickly state.
It was a standard Monday night. The chemo was kicking my ass but the Marinol made me actually want to eat. My parents had to go back home and all that was just the TV and me. Vanna White kept me awake long enough to remember that my friend Brad’s parents, Don and Sue (lovely people), had purchased me a snack “goodie bag.” In it, a party-sized bag of the original Nacho Cheese Doritos. Well, this particular night I decided to revel and dive into the childhood favorite (with an assist from the previously mentioned miracle drug).
I nearly ate the entire bag in one three-hour-long sitting. The “fat boy” mentality doesn’t work if you’re taking chemotherapy. As I held my stomach in agony on my fully adjustable hospital bed, I said simply: “Bad fat boy.”Read More »
Saturday approached faster than I had expected. The future always seems so far away until it sticks you right in your android chest receptacle, er– Port-a-cath.
They had to hydrate my blood first, so I had been on a steady drip of saline for the past few days. It is true what they say: when they first push the saline through it goes right to your taste buds. It’s disgusting, like gargling seawater laced with a medical “after smell.” At least it was for me.
At that moment I was reminded that I had never been hospitalized before; no pneumonia, bad fever, or any broken legs for that matter–
Well, I did break my wrist once in third grade, but I wasn’t hospitalized. It was a stupid mistake…