Post chemo week is always an adventure. When I look at the way prednisone affects what goes on in my head, I can't help but think of all the drugs that Greg took and how the "Greg" of him disappeared into the drugs.
On chemo day I get 100mg of prednisone. Have you ever taken 100mg of prednisone? Have you ever taken 40mg of prednisone?
100mg of prednisone makes me feel like I can leap tall buildings in a single bound. It makes me feel like the impossible is just within reach. It makes a lot of my physical pain a vague memory.
Chemo day in the oncology world is known as Day #1. In addition to the 100mg of prednisone I get on Day #1, I also get a pretty large dose of Benadryl (for reactions to the chemo). The Benadryl counteracts the prednisone, making me sleepy. The night after chemo is usually a good night - no pain and Benadryl helps create a deep, dreamless sleep (a welcome change).
But on Day #2 I get another 100mg of prednisone. Sleep that night just doesn't happen. My eyes are wide open - my mind is on super-charge.
On Day #3, yet another 100mg of prednisone. Sleep? Not a chance. But I'd be happy to talk to you - all night - non-stop.
So, now I've gone two nights without sleep - and then the fall begins. On top of the effects of sleep deprivation, we now cut the prednisone in half, from 100mg to 50mg for two days on Day #4 and Day #5. On 50mg of prednisone, sleep is still sketchy at best. On Days #6 and #7, we cut the prednisone in half again - from 50mg to 25mg and Depression replaces the feeling of well-being. Thoughts of suicide - feelings of hopelessness - exhaustion - confusion - and the pain is back.
Today is suicide day. I woke up this morning in pain, this hideous oxygen tube strapped to my face, heart rate too high - oxygen levels too low - almost no hair - my skin the color of chalk. I wonder why I'm doing all this - knowing that everyone around me would have a simpler, happier life without me in it. No doubts. Certainty.
And then I remember that today is Day #6 and I'm sitting in the first car of the prednisone roller coaster - strapped in tight. I know that everything I feel or think today is due to the chemical onslaught that my mind and body have experienced since Day #1. I'm just a passenger. I have no control over this ride. All I can do is hang on until the ride is over - promise myself that I'll make no decisions - take no actions until the ride comes to a complete stop. No matter what I think - no matter how I feel - I will make no decisions today.
This has been a pattern for every cycle of chemo, but I didn't recognize the pattern until the previous cycle. Someone should have warned me about this. Last month, it almost cost my life (more tomorrow).
Greg didn't appear to know how much the drugs affected his mind - his thinking - how altered he could become. He didn't seem to understand that much of his loneliness - his feelings of isolation - and of hopelessness were drug induced. As the highs got higher, the lows must have gotten correspondingly lower.
I've seen God's hand in my life over and over again in the past year or so - his mercy - his grace. I know that Greg begged God for help - cried in anguish to God for help. Did he have to find his help in death? Was that the only way for him?
There is no peace in understanding - firsthand - the death call of drugs.
On chemo day I get 100mg of prednisone. Have you ever taken 100mg of prednisone? Have you ever taken 40mg of prednisone?
100mg of prednisone makes me feel like I can leap tall buildings in a single bound. It makes me feel like the impossible is just within reach. It makes a lot of my physical pain a vague memory.
Chemo day in the oncology world is known as Day #1. In addition to the 100mg of prednisone I get on Day #1, I also get a pretty large dose of Benadryl (for reactions to the chemo). The Benadryl counteracts the prednisone, making me sleepy. The night after chemo is usually a good night - no pain and Benadryl helps create a deep, dreamless sleep (a welcome change).
But on Day #2 I get another 100mg of prednisone. Sleep that night just doesn't happen. My eyes are wide open - my mind is on super-charge.
On Day #3, yet another 100mg of prednisone. Sleep? Not a chance. But I'd be happy to talk to you - all night - non-stop.
So, now I've gone two nights without sleep - and then the fall begins. On top of the effects of sleep deprivation, we now cut the prednisone in half, from 100mg to 50mg for two days on Day #4 and Day #5. On 50mg of prednisone, sleep is still sketchy at best. On Days #6 and #7, we cut the prednisone in half again - from 50mg to 25mg and Depression replaces the feeling of well-being. Thoughts of suicide - feelings of hopelessness - exhaustion - confusion - and the pain is back.
Today is suicide day. I woke up this morning in pain, this hideous oxygen tube strapped to my face, heart rate too high - oxygen levels too low - almost no hair - my skin the color of chalk. I wonder why I'm doing all this - knowing that everyone around me would have a simpler, happier life without me in it. No doubts. Certainty.
And then I remember that today is Day #6 and I'm sitting in the first car of the prednisone roller coaster - strapped in tight. I know that everything I feel or think today is due to the chemical onslaught that my mind and body have experienced since Day #1. I'm just a passenger. I have no control over this ride. All I can do is hang on until the ride is over - promise myself that I'll make no decisions - take no actions until the ride comes to a complete stop. No matter what I think - no matter how I feel - I will make no decisions today.
This has been a pattern for every cycle of chemo, but I didn't recognize the pattern until the previous cycle. Someone should have warned me about this. Last month, it almost cost my life (more tomorrow).
Greg didn't appear to know how much the drugs affected his mind - his thinking - how altered he could become. He didn't seem to understand that much of his loneliness - his feelings of isolation - and of hopelessness were drug induced. As the highs got higher, the lows must have gotten correspondingly lower.
I've seen God's hand in my life over and over again in the past year or so - his mercy - his grace. I know that Greg begged God for help - cried in anguish to God for help. Did he have to find his help in death? Was that the only way for him?
There is no peace in understanding - firsthand - the death call of drugs.
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