The 21-Day Cycle & Bal Harbour
Cycle 3 Tuesday: The One Where I Pretend I’m Not Going
As I head into Cycle 3, it’s time to wrap up the
21-day chaos of Cycle 2— complete with surprise sushi sabotage, Reglan success stories (at
half-speed), and Zoe’s supernatural ability to get sunburned while fully
clothed and shaded. Here’s the updated play-by-play of how it all went down…
because of course it did.
What I Get to Look Forward to Starting Tuesday. . .
Week 1 – The Descent
Day 1 (Tuesday):
Chemo hits, metal mouth shows up early. Water tastes like poison, food starts
losing joy. Made the mistake of eating veggies. I’ll stick to bland meals and try
to stay hydrated.
Day 2 (Wednesday):
Metal mouth intensifies. Nausea is sneaky but manageable. Reglan’s still
pulling its weight.
Day 3 (Thursday):
Final day of steroids. Nausea is still there, Reglan keeps me upright—barely, and
turns me into a zombie. Not even sure
who’s in control. I'm bracing for the post-steroid slump.
Day 4 (Friday):
Steroids are out of my system. Nausea spikes. Vomiting makes a cameo. Survival
mode on. Reglan half a dose, thank you very much—and it actually helps.
Controls the nausea and keeps my IBS-C in check without knocking me out
cold. So yes, we’re keeping Reglan.
Week 2 – Everything Is Weird
Days 5 & 6 (Weekend):
Fatigue. Nausea still lingers. Just holding steady.
Day 7 (Monday):
Folliculitis kicks in. Baby birdie hairs struggling to hold on. Chip and I decide I look like Benjamin
Button.
Day 8 (Tuesday):
Skin is smooth where hair is gone. Where hair is still holding on? Pores are
getting loud.
Day 9 (Wednesday):
Nausea backs off. Diarrhea makes its grand entrance. Cycle 2 living up to its
expectations.
Day 10 (Thursday):
Chemo burn: confirmed. Tip of tongue, lips, back of neck, forehead, nose, and
stomach all catch fire.
Day 11 (Friday):
That corner-turning feeling? Fake news. Up all night with GI drama. Just the
standard 💩 + 🤢 duet.
Week 3 – The Final Stretch
Day 12 (Saturday):
Neuropathy arrives—subtle but steady in the fingertips. Most noticeable at
night.
Day 13 (Sunday):
Nausea and exhaustion. Neuropathy still hanging out. At this point, we're
roommates.
Day 14 (Monday):
Energy lifts. This might be what normal feels like. Chemo amnesia kicks in and
I pretend I’m fine.
Day 15 (Tuesday):
Feeling good. Just the slight neuropathy
and continued blisters settling down.
Day 16 (Wednesday):
Stomach’s off again. Metal mouth makes a comeback. Lip scars still tight. Love chemo and the connective tissue combat.
Day 17 (Thursday):
Chemo Escape. Masked up, packed up, and crossed fingers. Feeling Good!
Day 18 (Friday):
Woke up in Bal Harbour feeling good. Sushi and Chemo. A beautiful mistake. Nausea
returned with a vengeance.
Day 19 (Saturday):
Fun in the Sun. Feeling tired but GOOD!
Day 20 (Sunday):
Back home in Beverly. Anxious about
Tuesday, but feeling good!
Day 21 (Monday):
Ignorance is Bliss Day. Anticipating a quiet day. Just me, my tongue burn, a bit of dread, and the
countdown to Cycle 3.
Bonus Round: The Part Where I Pretend This Is It
You’d think Cycle 3 would be the grand finale, right? Wrong.
This is Cycle 3 of a year of therapy. This is not a trilogy. This is a franchise.
The good news?
- I
still have some eyebrows
- A few eyelashes
- A
little peach fuzz around my face
- And,
oddly, nose hairs are growing back in the top of my nostrils (because why not?)
The bad news?
- Tongue still feels like I burnt my tongue on hot cup of coffee
- Lip
scars are still tight and weird thanks to the effect chemo has on connective tissue.
- Neuropathy in the fingertips is still
hanging out
I’m spending my final hours pretending that 21 days was
enough. Spoiler: it wasn’t.
The Zoe Chronicles: Bal Harbour Edition
Sun, Fun, and the SPF Showdown
We did it. We pulled off the ultimate chemo escape—a
warm weather reset, just me and Zoe, playing sunscreen roulette and testing
airport patience. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was golden. Well, I’m minimally
golden. Zoe, resembles a boiled lobster.
But a definitive win!
Day 1: Arrival and the Great Uber Debacle
Zoe and I touched down in Bal Harbour, a serene slice of paradise. Starving and
slightly cranky, we faced the modern traveler's dilemma: ride-shares playing
hard to get. After a series of cancellations, we rediscovered the ancient art
of hailing a taxi. Zoe's astonishment at the existence of taxi stands was the
evening's highlight. Finally, at 10:30 PM, we dined like ravenous
beasts—civilization restored.
Day 2: The SPF Standoff
Morning broke with promises of sun-soaked bliss. I promised to use SPF 45—because
chemo may make me burn from the inside and the outside. Zoe? Protected
with a button-down and under an umbrella... and still managed to roast. By
day's end, I remained a testament to sunscreen efficacy, while Zoe resembled a
cautionary tale in sunburn form.
The evening promised culinary delights at a famed sushi
spot. Alas, chemo and sushi proved a mismatched pair, leading to a night of
regret and gastrointestinal rebellion. Zoe, still radiating heat from her
sunburn, offered warmth—literally and figuratively.
Day 3: Sunburns and Sunsets
Full beach day. Me: SPF 4 (yep, you read that right. SPF 4). Zoe: SPF 50. Me: still winter
white. Zoe: purple. Finished with cocktails, dinner, beach walk, and a sunset
that almost made us forget.
Day 4: Departure and Reflections
Zoe glowed (literally) while I remained winter white. At 5:00 AM, we
headed to the airport. I looked at the departure board and asked Zoe if we
could just go to Vegas instead. She pretended not to hear me. Home now,
treating Monday like a national holiday: Ignorance Is Bliss Day. Grateful for
the escape, even if I didn’t win the tan-off.
Challenge Question: The Sunday Night Blues
We all know the feeling. The creeping dread. The sense of
doom. The mental math of "how bad would it be if I just didn’t show
up?"
So tell me—have you ever experienced the Sunday Night Blues?
That anxious swirl before something you didn’t want to face? Maybe it was a
job, a test, a talk, a trip, or just real life knocking at the door.
Let me know what it was. And give me your secret coping
mechanism (and no, I’m not judging—but let’s assume Ativan and THC are not the response
I’m looking for).
You’ve heard me. Now I want to hear you.
Sounds like the getaway was a success! Yay! Sunday night scaries..no need to focus on Monday, until it gets here! Will be thinking good thoughts for Tuesday. xoxo
ReplyDeleteI used to hate flying back to Michigan after spending the weekend at home. I loved Michigan, but I didn’t have the same comfort out there that I did at home. I’d steal a shirt a new shirt from you each time to bring back to Michigan with me :,)
ReplyDeleteScott and I made Sunday Funday! We would go to the movies, pre kids and then out to dinner. Later in life, we’d watch a movie and cook an elaborate dinner and eat by candle light. Play games, read a good book, take the dog for an early evening walk, (I’m sure Milo would be up for this!) or Netflix nowadays with the sole purpose of distraction, distraction, distraction. We still eat by candle light even if it’s a bowl of cereal. Reconnection and talking about our lovely weekend gives strength and hope for the upcoming week. We’re giving you some of our strength and positivity to slay your next several days my friend❤️
ReplyDeleteSo glad you had fun in the sun. I was worried you'd come back with a mean case of elephant ear. Do I get Sunday night blues? Every. Single. Week! It's that weird subconscious anxiety that come creeping in like a fog every Sunday afternoon around 4:00. I'm not really thinking about work, but apparently part of my brain is.How do I deal with it? Barely! John and I used to do Sunday night cocktail hour (we need to get back to that!) but now, we find a show we look forward to watching - currently White Lotus - that makes me focus on something else. Once I wake up on Monday, it's right back into the work routine and the sense of dread has mostly dissipated - until next Sunday!
ReplyDeleteFor Zoe's birthday this year you should get her one of those UV protective swim shirts. I borrowed one from someone once and it was pretty nice.
ReplyDeleteI feel like you left out an important detail: which wig went to the beach?? Not the $4k one I hope!
Sunday Night Blues are also known as the Sunday Scaries among my demographic. I like to drown my feelings in ice cream. Procrastinating doing your work on Monday morning to read your friend's mom's blog is also a good move.
HAHAHA I was just going to say, we call em the Sunday Scaries
Delete"How would it be if I just didn't show up?" Sorry JJ- just can't wrap my head around that - too many years of Catholic school to even consider that as an option. Sometimes just showing up is all that matters. As for YOU not showing up - the hole left in the universe would just be too big.
ReplyDeleteAs for Sunday nights, I used to spool down watching 60 Minutes with a nice adult beverage. Now that I'm retired - well every day is Saturday 👍
When I worked at a public relations agency, every Sunday night was full of anxiety for me. My clients were online working 24/7. Or it seemed that way. So if I wasn't periodically checking emails over the weekend, I was terrified of what I was going to walk into on Monday mornings. That Sunday night feeling was magnified to the nth degree after taking a vacation, to the point where I actually questioned if vacations were worth it. That went on for about 16 years, but I'm not in PR anymore so my nights and weekends are my own again.
ReplyDeleteI have a Sunday Scaries regimen I follow every week:
ReplyDelete1) Take out the trash
2) TRY to eat an uninterrupted dinner with Francesca
3) FAIL to eat an uninterrupted dinner with Francesca because Maggie eats our food when we’re not looking and Gemma climbs on our shoulders
4) Eat a sweet treat. If there’s nothing in the freezer, walk to cvs to get ice cream.
5) Binge Watch Animal Control on Hulu
6) TRY to get uninterrupted 8 hours of sleep
7) FAIL to get 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep because both cats take turns sitting on my trachea all night