(December 2009 BC)
I like to separate the years of our relationship into two categories - before cancer (BC), and after cancer (AC).
The first day of chemo.
I left for Germany on a Sunday, arrived on a Monday, and he had his first chemotherapy treatment that Tuesday.
(All smiles on his first day of chemo)
Note: So skinny with toothpick legs! I think he looks like a white Barack Obama here. :)
He would refer to that chair as "My Chair" for the next months. If we arrived in the morning and it was already occupied, he would get a little disheartened. There were a few times he waited for it to be free and then he would switch to it. I remember he would impatiently eye the other patient's infusions trying to calculate when the chair would be free. This chair was close to a large window that overlooked the city of Basel, Switzerland. I preferred this spot too because the windowsill was more comfortable to sit on than the small stools with wheels. And for some reason it made me feel better to see him sitting up in a chair rather than lying down in a hospital bed like a typical sick patient.
After his first treatment he drove home and things were pretty uneventful...for about 2 hours. I was jet lagged and had just closed my eyes on the couch when I was awoken by Eddie jumping up and running to the bathroom. I heard the telltale sounds of gagging and heaving...and then I heard more gagging and heaving...and then more gagging and heaving. There was a small pause and I felt my shoulders relax until, you guessed it, there was more gagging and heaving echoing off the bathroom walls and down the hall. His mother came over and tried to make him some tea with lemon. He was able to drink it...but then it came back up minutes later. I remember feeling like a deer in headlights. "What do I do? Think, Rachel, think! You're a nurse!" He had gotten antiemtics in the hospital...when can he take another one again? I couldn't think of a solution. I was at a loss.
After some tense moments, I suggested we go for a small walk and get some fresh air. It was the same walk we usually took our dog on to do his business and was probably only about 300 meters. Yea, well, we made it about 30 meters...and it started again. Another wave hit him and he couldn't walk any further. I sat down on a log and waited for him to be done. I just watched as Eddie doubled over and wrenched right next to the log. I don't even think I patted his back or anything. I just stared at him, half in a trance, and prayed to God that it would pass soon. I just wanted him to have some relief. I knew this was a symptom of chemotherapy but wow, so soon? I didn't realize. I didn't expect to be dealing with this on day one, hour two! Our walk came to an abrupt end and we went back inside where he laid on the couch. This continued about 10 more times until he was able to pass out. Next chemotherapy appointment...tomorrow morning!
The days after that went a little smoother. They switched his antiemetic to something stronger and we figured out a good regime for his meds. His doctor also prescribed him Ativan. After chemo, we came home, had lunch, and he followed that with the sweet dessert of Lorazepam. With the help of this med, he was able to sleep through the hours of nausea. I, on the other hand, waited on pins and needles outside the bedroom door. My ears strained to hear the slightest bit of discomfort coming from inside the room. I was so thankful every time an hour passed without him throwing up and each hour he got of solid rest. Sadly, the doctors don't prescribe benzodiazepines to the support givers. In hindsight, there were many-a-day I should have stolen one, crushed that baby up, and snorted it through the nearest 5 Euro bill I could find (there is no 1 Euro bill) just so I could get a good night's sleep.
I know when I say "We took one day at a time" it sounds very cliché but we did. We had to. Each day brought new symptoms. Our movie dates were replaced with pharmacy trips. One day he would have diarrhea, the next he would be constipated. (Too much info? Perhaps. But this was the reality). For months, the man didn't have a normal pattern...but I never heard him complain. That alone would make me cry but he never made a peep. His strength gave me strength.
The day his hair fell out.
It was around Easter time 2010. One day, Eddie noticed that if he pinched a small amount of hair on his head and tugged, it would easily slip out. He took sickening joy in doing this just to creep me out. He would call me name, show me the hair between his fingertips, smile, and wait for me to scream in horror. Even though he was sick, his sense of humor and thrill to tease me never left. I'd laugh, smack his hand and tell him to stop...but when I'd look at the top of his head, there would be a small empty patch where the hair used to be...and my stomach would lurch.
The morning after that day was a Saturday. We could sleep in because there is no chemo on the weekends...yay! However, I woke up with a start when I noticed Eddie was already out of bed. He was standing near his side of the bed looking down with big eyes. He said "Hey Mitz..." and pointed next to my head. When I rolled over, I saw that his pillow was completely full of hair...light brown/dark blonde hair, his hair, my Eddie's hair. My heart skipped a full PQRST beat and it took a minute to register what was happening. Eddie's head had sporadic patches of hair and bald patches...and then I got it. I remember thinking to myself "Well, this is it. This is the day you've been waiting for, Rach." I like to think that the shock and the pain wasn't visible on my face. I told him not to worry about it, it's not a big deal, and that I'll clean it up. I told him to just go ahead and brush his teeth and start making breakfast.
I got out of bed and walked down the hall to get the vacuum cleaner from the boiler room. About halfway there I ran into an invisible wall of...hell. The reality of what I was about to do hit me like a truck. I remember exactly where I was in the hallway when I felt it start. I started thinking "My God, I'm fetching the vacuum to sweep up my fiancé's hair..." I could best describe this moment in comparison to a roller coaster ride. You know the moment you sit in the cart, you're all buckled in, and you see the hill in front of you? It starts out slow as you approach the hill and then it picks up speed. That's what it felt like with the butterflies in my stomach...only, it wasn't a fun roller coaster. This roller coaster feels like I'm scared to death and I have no control. It creeps in slow, escalates fast, and I knew in my head there was nothing I could do to stop it, I just had to ride it out...so I did.
I started to hyperventilate as I walked and just made it to the boiler room. I was relieved to make it there and closed the door behind me where I could cry in private. I started feeling weak so I braced myself on the wall until I was sure I wasn't going to pass out. I leaned with my back against the wall and sobbed until my respiratory rate came back down into the double digits. Is that what a panic attack feels like? Was that a panic attack? I never felt one in my entire life so I have no idea but that was the second time I felt that way in just 2 weeks. To this day, I don't know what to call those waves...so I just explain them to my mom as my roller coaster moments. I cooled off my cheeks with my poorly perfused hands, dried my tears, wiped my snot on my sleeve, and carried the vacuum cleaner with every ounce of strength I had left. My courage rose the further I walked down the hall. I felt like I was going to war.
When I reached the bedroom I was pleased to see that Eddie was no longer there or in the attached bathroom. He was already in the kitchen far enough from ear range. I plugged in the vacuum and was even more pleased to realize that it was loud enough to drown out my sniffles. I just kept chanting in my head -
"I'm sweeping up my fiance's hair and it's ok."
"I'm sweeping up my fiance's hair and it's ok."
"I'm sweeping up my fiance's hair and it's ok."
I don't know if I ever told many people about that story...especially not Ed. He likes to read my blog too so now he knows. He now knows why it took me 10 minutes to find the vacuum that day too.
After breakfast we decided to take matters into our own hands and shave his head. It felt good to take back a little control. Strangely, it made me feel a little better knowing that it didn't all fall out on its own, we shaved some off too.
I didn't realize it then but I wouldn't see him with a full head of hair again until the seasons changed from winter to spring, to summer, to fall, and then back to winter again.
To all my friends and family that supported me and praised me for being so strong during those days...the harsh reality of it is - I wasn't. I would lose it on the phone with many of you and cried in closets. After a quick breakdown I would come out like Emma Thompson's character in "Love Actually" as if my world wasn't crumbling around me...
(to be cont.)
America vs. Germany
111. You're only allowed to carry 10,000 Francs per person across the border between Germany and Switzerland. It's really annoying to have to empty out our wallets and go out with just the bare minimum. ;)
112. Turkish food in Germany is as popular as Mexican food is in the States. A “döner” is similar to a gyro…and delicious!
113. If traffic brakes suddenly on the highway, German drivers put on their hazard lights to alert the cars behind them. I found that to be pretty considerate.
114. In Germany, the requirements for their Nutritional Information on food products are rather lax. I remember trying to prove a point that Red Bull has a ridiculous amount of sugar in it and when I turned the can around, sugar had been conveniently left off the panel!
115. You’re not allowed to talk on your phone and drive in Germany/Switzerland. Is that an official law in Ohio yet?
116. In order to pull something (trailer, camper, etc) in Germany, the driver must have a special license. Heck, in America, a 16 year old could pull a 20 ft. boat or anything else for that matter. They also put on extension to their side rear-view mirrors to be able to see behind what they're pulling. They're pretty serious about that stuff.
117. Germans answer the phone with "Ja" and then their last name. It's a little rude to say just "Hello?"...but I do it anyway because anyone calling me should know I'm American and that's how I roll.
118. Women have the right to take 3 years off for maternity leave and keep their position...3 months (US) vs. 3 years. 3 months vs. 3 years, interesting...very interesting…
119. Germans don’t travel in what I would consider comfortable clothes. The first time I came to Germany, Eddie’s mom told him that I was wearing my “pajamas”…great…
120. Girls don’t wear shorts as much as they do in the States.
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