Amitriptyline Ass Kicking

Well, I've been taking the steps to get myself out of this bone marrow transplanted, DNA switched funk. I've gone to see my GP, been going faithfully to my waterfit class, am seeing a Cancer Agency counsellor and have been trying to be a wee bit more social and have been prescribed more DRUGS. What can I say? I'm a bit of a keener when I think something needs to be tackled. I'm also so freak'n sick of drugs, it's not funny. Now I have little yellow bundles of fan-fucking fantastic delight to add to my arsenal of medicinal bliss.

Just as recently as a few years ago I was a bit of a closeted purist when it came to putting weird things in my body. I never tried smoking and I never touched drugs. Some in highschool may have called me square. It sucks to be them...
but then again I guess now it sucks to be me.

After diagnosis it seems the floodgates have been burst open and the pink elephants have arrived in full fanfare. I was the girl sitting in her hospital bed questioning every pill that came my way. What is this? What is it for? What does it do? What side effects will it have? Do I have to take it? Are you sure I have to take it....really? I was a royal pain in the ass. I did this for quite some time before I realized that they were doing what they had to do for me and I couldn't question every drug they gave to me because it would eventually drive someone mad (probably them).

Next I was the girl with the button for a morphine drip that I refused to press. I had lousy side effects and begged to be put on something else. Then after the something else was worse, (hello big satanic green gorilla with red eyes outside my hospital bed window and flaming green chandeliers on the wall), I begged to be put back on the morphine (hello not knowing which was dream or reality and seeing people who weren't there).

Later I was the woman writhing in pain and begging for the intravenous morphine. At those special points the nurses would actually run to get it. Now I'm the woman who does what she is told and takes the godamned meds. This new one, though, is not agreeing with me. Hell, it's kicking my ass all over the place. The intent of the amitriptyline is to help me to get back into a normal sleeping cycle and to improve the quality of my life.

So far I feel much worse. I guess I'll be giving my GP a call in the morning.

One Year Bloggaversary

WARNING< written while on sleeping meds.


So, I've been writing my blog for 1 year. I started it for a few reasons. I had being desperately trying to connect with other people my age who had been though cancer and were more honest with the way they dealt with it. What I mean by that is they didn't subscribe to the stereotypes that are fed to us on a daily basis through the media and campaigns. "Be positive," "Cancer is a gift," "I am now ethereal being who has seen the light!"

I don't think so. There was so much seriousness and sadness out there but I love to laugh. I had to fight to be me. This fight was particularly hard because I had been through hell for a year and had been tapering off medications that made me ill and kept me from sleeping. I had been coming out of my fog to freedom. That was when the GVH popped up and started attacking my liver. This petrified me because I watched someone die slowly of liver failure from GVH disease. It was not pretty and I was terrified for my liver and my life. I received the news that the prednisone(evil) was back on again.

I knew the drill for the rate of deterioration my brain and body would endure. I felt fine for a month and then the symptoms rolled in full force. I was a zombie again, unable to function or retain any memory. By this point it was the summer and I was unable to take care of myself or my kids so they went to my parents. I spent that summer day after day alone and frustrated. Frustrated with my body, frustrated with how the world perceives cancer and for the lack of it being acceptable for a cancer patient to BE angry. I was angry, fuck it all dammit!

I scoured the internet looking for others but kept finding abandoned blogs where the writer had died. I felt quite grief stricken then. I wanted to find live people! I wanted proof that I could live and come out of this with flying colours.

I remember spending most of my summer on the hammock on my patio unable to move. I was too exhausted to make meals or even get a glass of water. I hated everything then. I hated my useless situation and I was burning to prove that being angry and being yourself when you had cancer was ok. Hell, it's necessary! Before I knew it, in my angry ass busting mode, I created a blog.

I knew nothing of my computer and I didn't know what a blog was. I just did it anyway.

The second reason was because I'm the strong silent type who keeps in all the hard stuff. I don't want to be seen as weak or as having needs. Idle chatter is not my thing. Talking about myself is not my thing. I've actually frustrated many a person I've known because I don't share or divulge much of myself. This blog helped me stretch those boundaries. I'm always about stretching boundaries because I am about pushing forward and my forward with cancer was to try and express it.

My way. Whatever I wrote, it was for me.

I also wanted a blog that would touch others and hopefully give them something good they could find when in they were feeling distraught. I would create the thing I wanted to see.

I also wanted to tell the truth.

Physically I'm not where I'd hoped to be today. I'm now back to the point I was over a year ago because my liver got better and the prednisone has been dropped. I'm still in a middle mode of healing. Where I will be in another year, I can't even tell. But I hope I'm still here.

Being here is good.

By the way, I turned 36 and I am SO thankful to be 36. 36 Rocks!