One Week Post-Chemo: The Freak Show Returns

First Trimester, College Hangovers, That Damn Cement Mixer, and the Mad Dog 2020 Experience

We’ve officially entered the time travel phase of chemo, where my body has decided to relive all my worst moments at once. We’ve got:

🤮 First-trimester nausea from when I was pregnant with Zoe—except this time, there’s no baby at the end, just me actually XXXX like it’s my full-time job.

😴 College brain fog so thick I might accidentally sleep through a Pilates session.

🥴 And, of course, the Cement Mixer Shot feeling—where my whole body has curdled into something that should never be consumed.

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The Mad Dog 2020 Phase of Chemo

Right now, chemo feels like Mad Dog 2020 in liquid form—cheap, nasty, and hitting way harder than it should. You don’t drink Mad Dog because you want to; you drink it because you made poor life choices and now have to live with them. That’s exactly where I am.

• The taste? Awful. (See: metal mouth.)
• The aftereffects? Questionable.
• The overall experience? A fever dream with a side of regret.

Much like Mad Dog, chemo sneaks up on you. At first, you think, This isn’t so bad… maybe I can handle it. Fast forward a few hours,days, and suddenly, your body is asking, Why have you done this? By the end of the night, you’re either horizontal, regretting everything, or somehow puking and pooping at the same time. A full-body betrayal.

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THE CHEMO CLEANSE - Enter: Reglan, My New Frenemy

To combat this chemo cocktail of misery, I’ve been introduced to Reglan (metoclopramide)—a medication that is apparently the Swiss Army knife of the digestive system. It’s pulling double duty, tackling both nausea and intestinal traffic jams, making it the multitasking hero I didn’t know I needed.

Reglan is like the bouncer at the exclusive “No Nausea” club in my brain, turning away any queasy troublemakers before they even get inside. Meanwhile, it’s also the traffic cop in my intestines, standing in the middle of the road, blowing a whistle, and waving everything along like, “Alright, people, keep it moving!”

At first, Reglan and I had a bit of a rocky start—think awkward first date where one person talks too much and the other nearly falls asleep at the table. Turns out, there’s a fine line between stopping nausea and waking up three hours later wondering where you are. After some fine-tuning, we’ve found our groove. Reglan stays—so long as it stops trying to sedate me into oblivion and plays nice with IBS and Chemo.

That said, mornings are still my peak hours. If you want to catch me while I’m functional and capable of conversation, before noon is your best shot. After that? No guarantees—just a slow fade into whatever happens, happens.

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One Week Post-Chemo: The Freak Show Returns

Right before heading back into chemo, my body was doing its best impersonation of a comeback tour. My skin cleared up, like it had finally remembered what moisturizer was for. My hair (what was left of it) had seemingly stopped falling out, my eyebrows held their ground, and my eyelashes—those little traitors—actually stuck around for once. It was as if my body, after being pummeled by toxic sludge, was desperately trying to claw its way back to normalcy, whispering, “Wait, are we… okay? Are we done with this nightmare?”

And then chemo round two hit.

The first and most delightful return guest? Tiny scabs. Everywhere. I look like I lost a fight with a swarm of invisible, half-assed mosquitoes. These little scabby specks have taken up residence all over my body, popping up in my pores (primarily on my torso and scalp, for now) like they just paid for a timeshare. Is it folliculitis? Is it my body’s way of evicting the hairs that have been holding on for dear life? Who knows. But I now resemble a human connect-the-dots puzzle.

Next up, my poor, stressed-out nostrils. They’ve stretched out like carnival funhouse mirrors, flapping in the wind like they’ve completely given up. If I breathe too hard, I’m afraid they might just invert themselves and turn me inside out. The structural integrity of my nose is shot. Not stuffed up, not dry, just… as if my nose got lazy and decided to go soft on me. It’s like someone turned down the elasticity settings in my face.

Then there’s my scalp. My head hurts again, which I now know means the baby bird fuzz that bravely tried to grow back is about to get fired. It was cute while it lasted, but the eviction notices have been served, and I fully expect another round of hair confetti to hit my pillow any day now.

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The Great Food Battle Continues

Let’s not forget my mouth—metallic, confused, and craving bizarre things. The dreaded metal tongue is back, making everything taste like I’m gnawing on a rusty nail. And yet, my body insists on craving very specific foods: eggs, potatoes, sandwiches.

Water? Absolutely not. Water has decided to betray me, refusing to go down like a normal liquid. Meanwhile, my survival kit of tiny mints and ginger remains fully stocked because I am prepared. Do not bring me anything. I have hoarded everything I need and lives in my handy dandy “ALL MY CHEMO SHIT” bag.

So, here we are, one week post-chemo, fully back in the WTF Is Happening to My Body phase. I assume this cycle will repeat itself at least 4 more times, just to keep things interesting. But hey, at least I get to document the chaos.

 

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This Too Shall Pass… But Until Then, Holy Hell

I know this ride won’t last forever, but while I’m on it, I am so grateful for all the love. The cards and notes? They mean everything. The treats? Not necessary, but also yes.

This week’s hall of fame moments:

• Marry Me Chicken from Linda. This dish is allegedly so good that people propose after eating it. While it hasn’t resulted in any spontaneous engagements in my house (yet), it has made Zoe abandon all other foods and pledge lifelong loyalty to chicken.
• Many, many, too many (I hope no one understands this quote, but if you do text me) beautiful flowers from Irene, Anne, Alli my Palli, and Shannon. You can never have too many flowers.  NEVER!
• Amazing gift cards and treats from my three sisters from another mister and some of my favorite people who were once my neighbors but have long since abandoned me (but thankfully, not in spirit).
• Cousin Treats and ginger. It must have physically pained Tracy to buy all that sugar, but she did it, and it is glorious.
• Jennifer’s pumpkin muffins with tea—once again proving that she is psychic because post-chemo perfection.
• My fairy godmother (JC) and esteemed member of the FU Breast Cancer Tribe keeps sending me the ultimate headwear—officially granting me the power to not give a single damn about being bald. ✨

Honestly, best tribe ever. Just being you is all I need, but I totally understand that gift-giving and acts of kindness are basically Olympic sports in our circle.

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Challenge Question: The College Drink Edition

Since my body is determined to relive my worst college hangovers, let’s talk college drinks.

1. What was your go-to drink back in the day? Were you a Hollywood, a Natty Light enthusiast, or someone who actually had taste?
2. Now, be honest—if your personality were a college drink, what would it be? Are you a Fireball shot (bold, slightly reckless, full of regret)? A Mimosa with 90% champagne (chaotic but pretending to have it together)? Or a Cement Mixer shot (an absolute disaster, but at least people remember you)?

Drop your answers below, text me and let me know you are with me.  Bonus points if your past drink choices still haunt you.

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Now featuring real puking, brain fog, intestinal recalibration, and the glorious return of egg sandwiches as my official lifeline. I have officially unlocked the full Mad Dog 2020 experience—just waiting on someone to hand me a greasy breakfast sandwich and tell me I made some questionable choices last night.