*I still don’t understand formatting. It is what it is, man.

Day 8 of Treatment: Back to the Chemo

April 6, 2016

I showered by myself this morning. I showered by myself this morning.

I say this twice to emphasize how truly exciting this is.

Originally, I asked my mom to help me, (I was so nervous as I haven’t showered by myself in quite some time) and she graciously agreed. But once I was in the shower, it was clear I could do it.

And I did.

I stood there with a stupidly happy smile on my face under the soft, warm water. I stood there for a stupidly long time. My new short hair felt light and slick on my neck. (If you have ever seen pictures of models with the super slicked back hair walking down the runway, I like to imagine I looked that way.) And after it seemed I had spent a sufficient amount of time doing nothing but letting the water pour onto me mid-smile, I began to sing.

I haven’t sung in the shower in so long. I couldn’t. Not with my mom there. Even though she says she loves to hear me sing, I can’t quite rap The Real Slim Shady as mother dearest shampoos my hair with the same gusto I would alone.

But I saaaaaaang my heart out. I sang a bunch of songs that make no sense being sung together. I began with Fight Song, because what other song is a girl with cancer to sing as she showers by herself for the first time in a long time? (I am a walking cliche.) It quickly became Jason Mraz’s (Mraz’? Mrazes? Help.) I’m Yours, which then altered into some Legally Blonde and then some Adam Lambert and there was definitely some Beyoncé in there. Who knows. I was showering and singing, and honestly, I felt on top of the world. Because I showered by myself. Hahahahahahaha. Kids these days.

It wasn’t all fun and games, though. I’ve recently noticed, not just in the shower, that every part of me has become incredibly sensitive. My leg muscles feel tender at slight wrong movement. My back becomes achy from sitting the wrong way for only a little while. And then there’s my scalp.

I don’t know if I’m being paranoid, which can easily be the case, but I feel as though my scalp is extremely fragile. I am afraid to touch my head. My dad ruffles my hair sometimes, which is one of my favorite things he does. It calms me down. But now, when he grazes my hair for even a moment, I feel my entire body get tense. I know I am going to lose my hair. I have come to terms with that, I know it is inevitable. I just can’t take the waiting, the not knowing how it is going to happen. Today in the shower I took an insane amount of time to shampoo my hair with the utmost of delicacy, looking at the floor of the shower and my hands every five seconds to ensure my hair follicles were holding on to its strands. I can feel my fingers shake each time I go to touch the back of my head. I am scared it will fall out and someone will see, and I will be oblivious to the whole thing.

It’s time to leave for the hospital, for my last day of Chemo in the first cycle. Exciting! Kind of. It won’t be that bad. The actual chemo is not that bad. My parents are packing a bunch of things that can keep me busy while I am doing chemo, and I think Sinclair may visit me at the hospital, too.

It ended up being a super short trip for Chemo. I guess the last day of chemo for the cycle is the shortest. We got there and went straight to the IV room, where I waited to be called in to get my port accessed. I fell asleep in the waiting room for a hot second, and then heard my name. The nurse seemed nice enough; her name was Sam. That isn’t why she seemed nice enough, those are two irrelevant facts about Sam the Nurse. She accessed my port and it hurt. It hurt more than the second time but not as much as the first. Apparently, I have a “positional port”, something common in women because of breast tissue and what not. Basically, I just have to position myself a certain way when they access my port and I need a longer needle. Huzzah for needles. Huzzah for uncomfortable positioning. I became super lightheaded, and then I became super embarrassed for reacting so childishly. I know, I know. Don’t be ashamed of how you feel. But I just felt silly. I ate some pretzels and had some water, and I was feeling better. But just the fact that I couldn’t sit there and take it made me annoyed. But it is what it is, or it was what it was. Whichever.

We met with one of the doctors on my team, and discussed all of the different side effects I had experienced since my last chemo. Dr. Kateri (Nurse Kateri? I genuinely cannot keep track of the titles of the important people I meet) told me everything I am feeling is totally common and normal for the drugs I am taking. She also informed me I am officially “neutropenic” (a word I terribly misspelled earlier in my blogging) which is an abnormally low level of neutrophils. Neutrophils are a common type of white blood cell important to fighting off infections — particularly those caused by bacteria. (Thank you, mayoclinic.org, but missing you cancer.org.) I am, to quote Kateri, “severely neutropenic” because of the number I am at, but I have no idea what number that is. So basically, I can’t go out for the next week unless it is to the hospital. Anyone that sees me has to be super healthy and must wash their hands like 237429347 times a day. I’m not allowed to hug anyone or touch anyone, really.

You know when you’re told you can’t do something and then you really want to do it more? Like before, when I was told I couldn’t pee, I suddenly had to pee. Or when you’re told you can’t have that last cookie in the jar, and then it becomes your one, inherent desire to devour that chocolate chip masterpiece? To be told I virtually cannot have physical contact with anyone made me feel as though I wanted some form of physical contact with everyone. I felt tears form behind my eyes. I wouldn’t be able to hug any of my friends? I’m such a hugger. And it’s only for a week, fine. But when I am crying and I desperately want to hug my boyfriend, and can’t, I don’t know how that will feel. But we went on with the conversation about side effects, and we didn’t really touch (haha) more on it.

Kateri also told me she could see a visual change in my neck. I think this is the first time I have felt what real optimistic hope is. I know that sounds ridiculous because obviously I have hoped, and it has been optimistic, but I think I felt my heart leap when she said one of my lymph nodes was clearly smaller than it had been only a week ago. I also saw my parents exchange a glance of positivity. My shower smile returned to my face.

I went back to the IV room to get my chemo drug. Only one for the day. And it took ten minutes. I got de-accessed, which is my favorite part: so painless and symbolizes the end of the day. And then I was free to go.

I went home, and had to take off everything but my bra and underwear before walking into the center of the apartment. No hospital clothes. Sterile. Clean. Neutropenic.

My mom made me lunch, I’m not allowed to have anything that isn’t packaged, homemade or from the outside world (restaurants and what not). It was delicious. I then passed out.

My dad woke me up informing me that David and Jeff, my friend from school and also one of David’s best friends, were here. Excited, I jumped out of bed and came over to say hello. I couldn’t hug them hello. This changed my mood.

I wish I didn’t care so much. It’s just a hug and I can still talk to them and I don’t know. I couldn’t even do a fist bump. The entire hour of them being here just felt weird to me. I was awkward and I knew it. I was letting this physical contact thing make me feel alone, and I blatantly wasn’t. I was not alone. I had my best friend and Jeff right there, both who visited from campus to see me. Both who took a subway to check in on me during their busy day of rehearsals. And I was so caught up in the hug thing that it completely changed me.

I’m trying not to judge myself for what I feel. I just wish I could turn back time to an hour ago and be more me, and less Casey thinking about how she is limited in her freedom.

They just left and I’m trying to decide if I want to see anyone else tonight. It’s not like I spend my time hugging everyone I just hate feeling like I can’t.

My dad just asked me if I was okay. I said yeah but I really don’t feel like I am. We are watching Date Night with Steve Carrell and Tina Fey. Classic.

People keep wanting to check in and FaceTime and it is so sweet and generous and I still feel like screaming. These could be side effects from the Prednisone, the pills that heighten and intensify my emotions. I don’t have to take again until my second cycle, so the side effects should subside, but they supposedly last a few days after stopping it.

I feel myself wanting to cry and not letting myself. My parents are right there and if I start crying, I’ll have to talk about why and I don’t know if I can handle that. I hate feeling this emotional. I hate cancer. I hate it.

I’m trying to remember how amazing my shower was this morning and now it just makes me sad. What the hell are emotions. I’m going to blame this on the pills because it is easier than blaming it on anything else.

David and I spoke on the phone for a while which made me feel much better about how weird I was acting before. Also, I FaceTimed with one of my best friends from high school, Robbie, (honestly, good luck to y’all on remembering these names. The way you probably feel about remembering these names is the way I feel about remembering the names of my nurses and doctors, so I feel you. Except I should really get on that.)  Robbie and I spent a good amount of time making incredibly inappropriate cancer jokes, and he just made me feel so much better. We are for sure pre-booked on a one-way trip to hell, but it was a great distraction and it felt so good to laugh at everything happening.

Dinner is soon. My mom is making steak and potatoes, my absolute favorite. The vibes of the house feel really weird right now. My mom came in earlier to ask if I wanted dinner soon, and her demeanor just felt off. A bit somber. It’s like her daughter has cancer or something. Luckily I was mid-FaceTime with Robbie so I couldn’t dwell on it, but I could also be overthinking and honestly, probably projecting. My dad came in, also mid-FaceTime, to take my temperature as he often does at random times. He wasn’t his silly self, also making me believe something traumatic is happening in his life to justify such behavior. The audacity.

Now taking Miralax because apparently the chemo drug I took today increases chances of constipation!! Oh, how I love the sharing of the internet. For those of you who don’t know me, you just got to know me. And for those of you who do, you just got to know me a whole lot better. ;).

I don’t know if it is illegal to talk about a blog on a blog, the way you can’t talk about fight club. (I’ve never seen that movie so I feel phony making a reference but I did it anyway, it is too late, what’s done is done.) (Also using the word phony makes me think of Holden Caulfield. Shoutout to Catcher in the Rye.) Ever since I put up my first post, I’ve felt much less shitty. I feel like I have a purpose, rather than letting the cancer consume me. My friend even just sent my blog to her professor, and he teaches oceanography, which is just so irrelevant to what I am writing about. People I don’t know have been reaching out to me. And it was so fucking amazing to be getting messages (that I am still trying to respond to, I swear it’ll happen, I am so slow) about how I am helping someone in some way in some fashion. And that’s genuinely all I want. It’s what I want as an actor, it’s what I want as a blogger, and it’s what I want as a person. To help. It feels so, so amazing to help. Which is so cheesy and gross and corny, but it is also the truth, so I don’t know what to tell you.

I do not religiously watch American Idol, however I have been casually following it this season as I am only very incredibly in love with one of the contestants, Dalton. I advise looking up his performances and melting, as I do on a basis that I will keep to myself. Judy darling, my mother, turned on the television to catch his performance. We instead found Ryan Seacrest sending him on his way home out of the top three. I have some not so nice words for America. But I feel like no one watches this show anymore. So do I really? I am torn. Sigh.

I think I will end my blogging for the night. I have had some Hershey Kisses (that is my go-to snack.) I want to be as honest as I can here, and not sugarcoat anything. (The chocolate made me think of this.) Hence my cute sharing about constipation. Cancer is not pretty, I am learning that quickly. And I’m not going to pretend that it is. I don’t know what else to say. My friend Evan says when he has nothing to say he says nothing. I am not one of those people. I am a rambling woman. But, I am a tired rambling woman who needs to take her pills and go the heck to sleep. I don’t know why I said heck, I am quite the explicit speaker. Fuck to sleep. Better. Goodnight, Internet. Sweet dreams. I need to stop writing. I miss Dalton. Why, America? Why?