Chemotherapy hangover from hell!
- Joanne Maree
- Jul 14, 2019
- 4 min read
WAIT!!! WHAT???
You’re telling me this isn’t a hangover!!!???
I feel robbed. All the years I took for granted actually participating in having an epic night, dancing on tables, partying my little heart out till my body just couldn’t anymore and my phone screen was either shattered into tiny little smitherines or in the bottom of the toilet or both!
How you roll over the next morning, mouth parched reaching for that glass of water you know full well is not going to taste as heavenly as you expect or fore fill any sufficient form of bodily hydration. Fully engaged in a corpse like position you lay, frozen, contemplating your next move, heart palpitations in full force, body shaking uncontrollably staring at the ceiling. Hang over time passes at the same pace a toddler would describe when being sent to their room for 10 minutes. It’s long, it’s drawn out and it fucking sucks.
Now I put all of this into hung over terms, as I know this is something 99% of you can relate to, but I’m not talking about a hangover and I’m defiantly not underestimating the deep dark grip that chemotherapy has on your body, mind and spirit. I’ve been kicked to the absolute curb this week and boy I was not expecting it, (one of those real nasty hangovers where you have two glasses of wine and wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a god damn bus, then to have it reverse right back over you just for shits and giggles).
Monday morning rolls around and even though nobody likes Mondays, you’re kicking it like a ninja. Coming in hot for chemotherapy round 4 with my vegan cinnamon buns and a big old hot to trot attitude.
I take my anti-nausea tablet, 1 tablet that lasts 5 days and give you quite the dose of good time’s constipation. Next minute I’m tackling 3 pills, all steroids, ‘sip it down with some water love.’ Amp up the party vibes, shits about to get real! These pills are like magic candy treats for getting through my first couple days of chemotherapy. Increasing my appetite to a level like my mother didn’t feed me as a child, manic energy bursts that some would classify as slightly unhealthy, absolutely unstable behaviour. All with an even unhealthier rise in my heart rate while it tries to abort ship and find a more suitable, safe body to call home.
This takes care of days 1,2 even 3 of my chemotherapy treatment week but WOOOOHHH hold up, who shut down the party early? It’s only 10pm! What about days 4,5,6,7 infinity, don’t leave me stranded over here on Misery Island! I guess this is where the party ‘come down’ starts to sink in. Let me try and explain to you what a chemo party come down feels like, WELL, it’s like your body is going into a convulsive fit while it tries to reject the copious amounts of poison it has induced only to have your body say… TRICKED YOU, remember that anti nausea pill you took, we’re just going to make you look the part, have fun gagging! Top shit chemo, thanks!
It’s like turning around at the top of the stairs at the gym when you realised you barely made it up them. It’s being okay with ignoring a weeks worth of phone calls and msgs allowing yourself to just be at your own pace. It’s not having anything of a social life as you not only don’t want to talk to anyone or anything, you’re also scared you’ll tell that nice person you hardly know to go fuck themselves because they put the ketchup on top of your baked potato wedges instead of on the side, or they didn’t take you seriously when you said you wanted to make a stop for that delicious cookie that ‘popped up’ on your instagram. It’s like walking (if you can even manage the stand up) around in a cloud, words are foggy, people are foggy, decisions are foggy, stand up too fast and you’re straight back on the floor with a head spin or black out foggy. (Helllloooo to the morning after that ‘hero’ was buying every one rounds of tequila at the bar.)
The cold hard truth in my case though is nothing short of ‘struggling to ask for help’. Queen culprit over here of pushing people away when you need them the most. Throw a large dose of toxic chemicals into the mix, allowing your emotions to run high and you have a nice disastrous self sabotage cocktail on your hands. GO ME!
In saying that even I have my limits and can only take a day or two of motionlessly laying in bed, foodless and in need of a shower before I have to bite the bullet and utter those heavy words that seem like lead dripping off your tongue ‘I NEED YOUR HELP’. See I figured, I shouldn’t have to ask for help, people should just know, why should I have to explain? I’m the one having a terrible week! I’m the one with cancer! Poor me, right? NO! Like I said, a lot of people don’t get it and that’s okay. Not everyone understands, especially if you are generally strong, managing most things for yourself. SO unless I explain my thoughts needs and wants and help them to understand, I realise I get jack fucking shit and that’s also okay. We all need to be a little better at asking for and accepting help.
Today is still hard, well there sure as hell weren’t volunteers’ handing out pamphlets in the beginning telling me it was going to be a trip to freaking Disneyland. So yeh, It’s been a rough fucking week, but I’m here, I’m grateful for that, I’m grateful for the amazing support I do have and all the amazing people in my life. The sun came out (messed up my outfit for the day), but who cares, I’m grateful for that too and within the week, I know I’ll gain my strength back both mentally and physically, preparing me to take the reins on hells party bus #5! AKA: Frye festivals biggest competitor!
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