Cytoxan and the Weekend After: Friday April 29th, 2022

Cytoxan day comes and goes in an organized dance of timed medications and hydration, altogether a little anti-climactic despite the many IV bags hanging from multiple poles, hooked up to each other, to each lumen of my Trifusion catheter, to me. It feels a little surreal after all the anticipation. I am just a bit detached watching my nurse Elizabeth set up the Cytoxan itself, wearing a protective gown and gloves to deliver this toxic drug that will set in motion the collection of healthy stem cells from my marrow. And then the long day is complete, Cytoxan is infused along with everything else given to mitigate its side effects, and my mom and I go home.

The weekend is wobbly, blurry around the edges, soft and puffy. Like me, actually. I am feeling pretty ok except for being fatigued and less sharp, the hours punctuated by an occasional wave of nausea. It really isn’t much to complain about, but nonetheless leaves me spending Saturday and Sunday hanging out mostly on the couch. I feel uncharacteristically unmotivated to get out of the apartment for even a short walk, but also feel uncharacteristically accepting of my lassitude. I write a bit, not much, answer emails and admire and fret over Leah’s live-stream dance competition. She does so well. My blood counts are good. Time passes not unpleasantly, if not purposefully.