Same Story, Different Ending
CW: Talking Pregnancies
I'm not ready to blog about infusion day quite yet. It's too raw, and too fresh as I sit here five days later attempting to recompose my life for another 2 weeks until it's time to do it again.
But you know what I keep thinking about? This has so many similarities to pregnancy.
There are of course dietary suggestions for taking care of one's body in cancer treatment, as there are for pregnancy.
But I've been commenting that the first three days post-treatment felt like first trimester of pregnancy: I was a little nauseous, a little dizzy, a little tired, my taste buds are a little off...and I can't take ibuprofen or eat soft cheeses or, should I be inclined to come out of a near lifetime of vegetarianism, eat deli meats or raw fish sushi. I've limited coffee and wine. I'm drinking peppermint tea as I type this. There is a real fear of GI distress. My gums are angry. I'm chugging water. I'm currently dropping weight, but waiting for the intense and inevitable weight gain that I'm told comes with hormone suppression and steroids and that definitely came with growing babies.
Part of me wants to whine that I don't get a beautiful reward at the end of this.
But the beautiful simile of it all is that I'm doing all of this again, largely, for the protection of my babies, and the ultimate beautiful reward.
I was going to end the post there, but I think it bears mentioning that I am so grateful for these two happy, healthy, beautiful kids. Otherwise, it would have been even tougher to be sitting in the oncologist's office when she laid out family planning options. We could opt to harvest my eggs, if we wanted future children; or we could try shots that put my ovaries to sleep until treatment is done, but that would mean coming off hormone suppressor medication to maybe have a chance of conceiving. Or do nothing.
I had already said many times that I'm good with our two kids, and had no desire to be pregnant again. Jay had come around to that as well. But there is something about being forced into a permanent decision that feels so much more...well, permanent. And unfair.
I should also say: I don't share this stuff for pity or sympathy, but rather to purge and process my thoughts.
We're okay. We're thankful we are in this position. Our kids are amazing. And we could adopt if we wanted to add to the family.
I'm not ready to blog about infusion day quite yet. It's too raw, and too fresh as I sit here five days later attempting to recompose my life for another 2 weeks until it's time to do it again.
But you know what I keep thinking about? This has so many similarities to pregnancy.
There are of course dietary suggestions for taking care of one's body in cancer treatment, as there are for pregnancy.
But I've been commenting that the first three days post-treatment felt like first trimester of pregnancy: I was a little nauseous, a little dizzy, a little tired, my taste buds are a little off...and I can't take ibuprofen or eat soft cheeses or, should I be inclined to come out of a near lifetime of vegetarianism, eat deli meats or raw fish sushi. I've limited coffee and wine. I'm drinking peppermint tea as I type this. There is a real fear of GI distress. My gums are angry. I'm chugging water. I'm currently dropping weight, but waiting for the intense and inevitable weight gain that I'm told comes with hormone suppression and steroids and that definitely came with growing babies.
Part of me wants to whine that I don't get a beautiful reward at the end of this.
But the beautiful simile of it all is that I'm doing all of this again, largely, for the protection of my babies, and the ultimate beautiful reward.
I was going to end the post there, but I think it bears mentioning that I am so grateful for these two happy, healthy, beautiful kids. Otherwise, it would have been even tougher to be sitting in the oncologist's office when she laid out family planning options. We could opt to harvest my eggs, if we wanted future children; or we could try shots that put my ovaries to sleep until treatment is done, but that would mean coming off hormone suppressor medication to maybe have a chance of conceiving. Or do nothing.
I had already said many times that I'm good with our two kids, and had no desire to be pregnant again. Jay had come around to that as well. But there is something about being forced into a permanent decision that feels so much more...well, permanent. And unfair.
I should also say: I don't share this stuff for pity or sympathy, but rather to purge and process my thoughts.
We're okay. We're thankful we are in this position. Our kids are amazing. And we could adopt if we wanted to add to the family.
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| James: 10-30-12 Vivian: 6-21-16 |
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| Meeting James |
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| Meeting Vivian |
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