The Loaded Enchilada

An Honest Reply from a Cancer Patient

Insight from Chemotherapy Infusions:

I usually pause when someone asks me, “How are you?” The pause is to reflect on whether they really want the overstuffed, slightly-questionable, and loaded enchilada; or would they prefer a bite-sized version, such as, “I’m hanging in there”?

The simple answer is that I haven’t been great. Although for those genuinely curious, here’s the messy and loaded enchilada.

The lingering anxiety after the scare about a pulmonary embolism (blood clot) didn’t help. Details of that in the post, Stand & Spiral. Plus, mix in the usual post-infusion ‘specials’ (constipation, diarrhea, and bloody noses) but now my thigh muscles? They feel like anchors. I squat to grab the ball for Juniper and it’s like the anchors pin me and then fling me back up like a clumsy rubber band. My thighs burn every day. Not the motivational kind like, “Feel the burn!” It’s more like a stubborn protest.

And what the heck is up with my eye? The other day, I desired a day trip out of town with a sunny drive, market stroll, and a hike through wildflower painted hillsides. It should have been uplifting. It could have been a “good day.” But my eye sabotaged it. Burning dryness slammed it shut and tears streamed down my cheek. My fiancé did his best to inspect it and flush it with water, yet my eye refused to cooperate. Similar to a stubborn jar lid that wouldn’t budge. Instead of the lovely activities I mentioned, I just sat in the car with my eyes closed until we turned around to drive home. What a cool adventure!

Also, digestion continues to be a total gamble. Picture the food at the old Casa Bonita restaurant in Denver, CO arriving to the table with the neon cheese sauce. Your stomach grumbled at it but the point was to feed the belly gremlin, so you did, and later regretted it. Same odds with my gut. One day, I’m carefully snacking on almond crackers — because wheat is a swipe left these days. The next day, I’m scarfing down a burrito wrapped tightly in a flour tortilla — because sometimes what matters is getting some. Sweet friends and family cook for me and I appreciate it more than I can say but my gut? It plays the unpredictable game.

And plans? They all come with a giant FRA-GEE-LEE sticker, or maybe you say “fragile”, but no matter the saying, it is breakable — hikes, markets, dinners, concerts, weddings, and on occasion answering the phone or grabbing groceries. Those plans fail. As someone who finds deep joy in an organized calendar and a reliable routine, it rattles me. It seems that showing up means slouching into whatever is comfortable and sipping tea.

Aside from mentioning the Denver, CO restaurant, I actually live tucked away from city chaos in a quiet mountain town. Yet cancer still found me.

So staying positive is difficult. Picture dragging the melted neon cheese across the finish line. This journey is not about optimism, although I am hopeful. This journey is about grit, the sisu (SEE-SUE). It is about gliding the melted neon cheese over the finish line, and this Tough Twinkie is doing it — one heavy, anchor-legged step at a time.