Day 10 - Crash Day

On Tuesday we were in the city (see earlier post) and we even walked cross town after our appointment to have a late lunch/early light dinner with our friend Kris and Jen.  For the first time in probably a week I ate everything in front of me, feeling buoyed by our time with Dr. Motzer, getting out of the house and by our seeming defeat of the stomach bug.  

However, by the end of the meal I was feeling seriously ill and was just desperate to get in a taxi to grand central, where I prayed our timing would allow up to hop on a convenient train.  I had an inexplicable pain in my back that I could not placate even when sitting absolutely still.  Even breathing sucked.

Fortunately we did get a quick train, although it was a crowded peak train.  I don't remember must of the rest of the night, but I was very concerned about this back pain, and couldn't for the life of me figure out what was causing it.  I had been also having a lot of blood in my phlegm and mucus since I've started treatment, but every doctor had just told me that I was just hyper sensitive to any ailment because I knew I had this disease and I was looking for any physical symptoms to associate with it.

Anyway, by Wednesday I was completely lost.  

Writing now it's amazing how quickly some novel and persistent physical ills could be augmented by a bit of the unknown and doubt, ushering past the gate "could this be something more serious", and leading to a mental state that was cracking the foundation.

But that's exactly what happened, and it turned that day in the most challenging day of my life, without a close second in mind.

I was in total despair, and I could find pleasure in nothing.  What was worse is that I couldn't even remember what I normally enjoyed doing, and any recollection of the candidates were tainted as well.

Renee and I sat and talked about it, and she reminded me of all the positives, of which there are many, but they didn't matter.  I could not be convinced.  I was doomed.  I was broken.  The details didn't matter.  On that day it was literally impossible to "focus on the positive".  The motto of the day was more like "just breathe".

My oncologist told me that during the treatment I'd have good days, and I'd have bad days.  The category that Day 10 goes into is obvious.  I'm writing about this on Day 16, but I'm writing about it because although it was a low point, it was part of the process, and I want to be able to remember it.  I wanted to capture how I was feeling while it was still relatively fresh, and now hope that I never feel that way again.

Time does heal all wounds.