April 10, 2023

Sitting here for round 3 of chemo.
Round 2 was easier than the first in some ways... and harder in others.

I didn’t get that awful food poisoning feeling again, which was a win—but days 5 through 8 hit me hard with relentless heartburn, and the fatigue never let up. I had hoped for a few “normal” days before diving into the next round, but unlike round one, those never came.

The fatigue is unlike anything I’ve ever known. It’s like someone just pulls the plug—instant shutdown. I didn’t even have the strength to hold my phone or finish a sentence. And it’s not the kind of fatigue that lets you sleep it off. My body is limp, but my mind is wide awake—wanting to talk, read, work… anything. Too restless to rest, too foggy to function. It’s kind of like being in a coma while still aware of everything going on around you—but unable to respond.

When we got to the doctor’s office, I normally wait in the chair until he comes in to chat, but this time I just curled up and tried to sleep. My prayer was simple: Please, help him say whatever I need to hear to face another round. He's proving himself to be reeeeeeally good at doing that.

He asked how I was doing, and I rattled off my list of side effects. My biggest complaint was not getting that little recovery window I thought I’d get. I told him, “If it keeps getting harder and lasting longer each round, I don’t know how I’m going to make it through twelve.”

He smirked. “Everything you’re describing is textbook. Been doing some reading?”

HEY NOW.

(Okay, guilty. I had been reading—until I realized everyone’s treatment is so different, and it’s better to take it as it comes.)

But really - How did he know he could get away with teasing me like that?

I laughed and shot back, “My side effects are NOT psychosomatic.”
He chuckled, then patiently went down my list, one symptom at a time, making adjustments to help make each round more manageable.

More on Round 2:

My hair started falling out in handfuls. He’d said I probably wouldn’t lose it entirely—just thinning. But the surprise? Only the straight top layer has been shedding. And since my hair has always been a battle between straight on top and curly underneath, the unruly part is what’s disappearing. All that’s left is the fun, curly stuff!

So... yay? I’ve always wanted to be able to just scrunch and go.

Still, it was getting a little too sparse at the ends, so I chopped about four inches off myself—just put it in a loose ponytail and cut it at shoulder length. Didn’t have the energy to go to a salon. A few days later, I added some layers in the back to give it a better shape. With less hair and only curls left, it’s actually way easier to manage. We’ll see how long that lasts—eventually I’ll probably have a pro clean it up.

I should try smiling though...

Back to the doctor’s visit:
I asked how long I’m supposed to feel crummy after each round. He said side effects should mostly resolve by day 5. I shouldn’t be suffering through all 14.

That was encouraging. He reminded me: what I felt during round 2 still wasn’t quite where he wants me to be. He reduced the dose by another 5%, added a new medication, and even recommended a natural supplement to help with energy.

A lot of this process has been learning the difference between what’s tolerable and what’s actually necessary. There’s a lot we can adjust—if I just ask.

He also offered to skip a week to give me time to bounce back. I didn’t even know that was an option! But with our calendar next week already jam-packed, we decided to stick with today’s infusion and maybe push round 4 if needed.

Good news:
My CEA levels are down again—from 2.7 to 1.5. (Normal is anything under 2.5.) That means no sign of cancer in my bloodwork, though it’s not definitive, so treatment continues until my next PET scan. That'll be scheduled after 8–12 weeks of treatment. (I just hit week 4.)

I’ve been gifted a few cozy blankets by friends who want to add a little comfort to chemo days. Today I’m wrapped up in one covered in positive words, sent by my dear friend Stephanie Francom. Thank you, Stephanie! 💛

Also… I’ve written the article about the day I found out I’m in complete remission. What we felt, how we celebrated. I’ve tucked it away, ready to send the moment it becomes true—God willing. Because this is me striving not to be the limiting factor in what He can do.

(That’s what I call Rare Faith—the kind of faith that causes things to happen.)

Thank you to all my friends for your continued prayers, love, and support. I feel it.

Next Update

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