Poopcidents and Waxing, Several Days in the Life of Me

April 3, 2023

Last Monday clobbered me in the face like a champion prizefighter but to give you some perspective, let’s back up a day or two. Or even three.

Back It Up a Minute

My birthday, Friday (a few days before), was spent restaurant-hopping and riding in the car looking at the sights around us, after which we spent a relaxing evening at home with the puppies (these are full-grown dogs but I can call them what I want). 

 

Sidebar

****One of the amazing (read that with the utmost sarcasm you can imagine) yet not-so-common side effects of Paclitaxel – the last chemotherapy drug I was on – is latent swelling, or edema.  Let’s be clear:  At the time of this tale, I was already swollen from the weekly infusions and from about February 24th to this story, I resembled a puffy marshmallow person. ****

End Sidebar

Back It Up a Minute (cont.)

Back to my birthday (Friday):  That morning Ray & I were having garage coffee (it’s a thing at our house, drinking coffee IN the garage, not coffee made IN the garage with garage items, ew) and my feet were propped up, as per usual, on the overturned hamper with a ratty pink towel on it.

I was desperately trying to minimize the edema while also showing off my super sexy compression socks to all the neighbors driving by or walking past with their dogs.  After much conversation with my family of nurses and nurse practitioners, we decided I needed to shop for new socks because the pair I was wearing were clearly NOT doing their job.  I pulled up the trusty AmazonⓇ app and promptly ordered SUPER squeezy compression socks that were waaaay more compression-y than the ones I currently owned but no less sexy, mind you. Quoting my sister:  “If those socks don’t make you out-of-breath, annoyed and exhausted while trying to put them on then you don’t have the correct ones.”

Socks were ordered and to be delivered the next day, which was Saturday. Off we went on our adventure and by the time we returned home that evening, my feet had flip-flop indentations on the tops of them and my ankles had disappeared, having been consumed by the tree trunks that were my calves. Alas, my calves had been engulfed by my knees which were also amorphous by this time.  I had a full on leg-alanche happening and my poor feet were buried at the bottom crying to be rescued.

Fooled on April 1st

The sock delivery was late <insert tragic music tones>. A disappointing email popped up telling me of the updated status and the extended arrival date of my super sexy squeezy socks. Sigh. Saturday came and went in a haze of garage coffee, overturned hamper/ratty pink towel included, waving to neighbors and swollen leg/feet utter misery.  My poor sausage toes cried throughout the day from underneath the inadequate, yet still sexy, deficient socks I was wearing. My ankles, calves and knees remained silent in their grief, leaving the complaining to my feet.

Sunday, Swollen Sunday

Sunday brought relief as the package arrived and I donned the socks with Ray’s help.  By this time there was NO WAY I was getting those super squeezy sexy socks over my feet and ankles on my own.  It was not pretty and by that I mean it may have resembled trying to put high heeled, lace-up boots on an uncooperative Holstein. Thank goodness we had been fortified by precious caffeine, consumed during garage coffee time.

Feeling like I was finally on the winning side of this battle, I formulated a plan. I looked up massage options in the area and found a place that offered lymphatic therapy and made an appointment for Monday morning, which was the next day. I wore the super squeezy sexy socks the entirety of Sunday and by that evening my ankles began emerging, I was elated.  It’s the small things…not like my ankles, because those were decidedly NOT small.

FINALLY Back to Monday

NOW we have circled back around to Monday. Clobbering, crushing Monday, that bastard.  My appointment was not until 9am and being ever-diligent, when I got up I put on my super squeezy sexy socks IMMEDIATELY.  I mean I had them laying on my bedside table and before I got out of bed, I huffed and puffed and I put those suckers on!  SUCCESS!!  And then here came Monday…

I walked into the bathroom, did bathroom-type things and then walked over to wash my hands.  Now, this may be where you think I’m going to talk about my bathroom-type things per the title of this story but I’m not.  No, my friends, this poopcident had nothing to do with me and my bodily functions. 

I Wish It Had Only Been Emojis…

I stepped up to my sink, which has a dark grey rug in front of it, and proceeded to wash my hands.  I stepped back to use the towel and thought, “my foot feels wet…” So I moved my other foot for balance and lifted my left foot. Poop! – not the expletive but the substance. There was poop on the bottom of my sock. BUT WAIT!! THERE’S MORE!!  Because when I had stepped to balance, unbeknownst to me, my right foot went right onto another splatter of stool. Curse you, Monday!  And also my dog Mouse, curse him too. He chose to NOT wake us up with his need to go out.  Why go out when you can just go to the bathroom???  

I struggled and fought and finally got the socks OFF after having just struggled and fought to get them ON. Fortunately for me (I guess??), there were two pairs of super squeezy sexy socks in the package and I took them and myself to a chair and proceeded to fight like a cat in a bag to get them ON.  AGAIN.  Ray had to help me, AGAIN and AGAIN it was not pretty (Moo. High heeled boots). Thanks, Monday.  

To Blog or Not to Blog — NOPE!

Huffing and puffing, I came into the den to work on a great idea – a poopcident story – and MY ENTIRE SITE IS DOWN!!  MONDAYYYYYYYYY!!! NOOOOOO!!!! I spent an hour trying to figure it out but then had to leave for my massage and I had barely sipped any coffee and it sure wasn’t relaxing garage coffee. It was shoulders-tense-stomach-sick-can’t-figure-out-what’s-happening-Monday-sucks coffee.

I wore my super squeezy sexy socks AND my house shoes to my massage appointment. YES, I DID!! I struggled those damn socks BACK OFF when I arrived and put flip-flops on my poor fluffy feet.  Massage done.  It was great (take THAT, Monday!).  I came straight home and put the super stupid squashy socks BACK ON. AGAIN.  First stop now that I was totally winded and exhausted from the sock ordeal, the guest potty at the front of the house. GUESS WHAT!!!  POOP!!!  Mouse made a visit. POOP EVERYWHERE!! And just in case you’re concerned for his safety, he’s fine and healthy.  BUT POOP!!!! Monday, you sly little so & so. 

Monday did not improve. The massage worked a lot of nasty stuff out of my lymphatic system and muscles, add to that all the sock donning and shedding, and that resulted in me being beyond tired.  Oh and also all the poopcident cleaning.  Let’s not forget THAT.

Tuesday Triumph or Tribulation?

Good morning, Tuesday.  I love you.  You’re amazing because you’re not Monday.  I’m laying in bed admiring my regular size feet, ankles and calves and my phone beeps. Ray texts me from work before I’m even out of bed: “Mouse pooped on the big rug in the bathroom.”  TUESDAYYYYY!!! NOOOOO!!!! 

I struggled into my super squeezy sexy socks and proceeded to clean. AGAIN. I’m taking no chances with my newfound feet, ankles and calves! I haven’t seen them look like this since way back in early February. The rest of Tuesday comes and goes.  I am still exhausted. 

Sloshing and Sadness

My care team and I have been diligently trying to carefully shed the excess fluid plaguing my body with diet and meds; sometimes I have felt like I was dragging around innertubes full of water. The feeling of complete exhaustion is reminiscent of being at my most tired during the months of infusions and I hate reliving it. 

Remembering that pinpoint realization one garage coffee morning in January: “Today is the best I’m going to feel.”, I say to Ray. “I don’t even feel good now and tomorrow I’m not even going to feel THIS good.”  At that time there was a tipping point in my infusions where I had stopped “recovering” and I had realized with devastating clarity that each day, THAT day, was the best I would feel.  I was living in a constant state of waning for a long period. At least it had seemed long to me. That was a lot to dredge up and relive, I was glad to see Tuesday go.

Wednesday Woohoo’s or Woes?

Hello, Wednesday.  My first thoughts are, “Please no poop”.  I check every room all day long because now I have zero trust in Mouse AND Wednesday.  Both are sneaky but apparently pooped out. We made it through with no more poopcidents. Thank you, Wednesday, you wonderful day of Hump.

As we lay in bed that night, Ray says to me, “How are you tonight? How are you feeling?” Even though he usually gets a more in-depth answer than most, I say quietly, “I’m okay.”  But this time I really think about it because as I’m lying there staring at my feet and ankles and calves in awe of their normal-sized-ness, I realize I feel pretty good. Monday beat the crap out of me. Tuesday back-handed me. But Wednesday, Wednesday was THE day. 

Just like that day in January when I realized that each day was the best I would feel as I went downhill to a numb shell of myself; THIS day, THIS ONE, I realized was the worst I would feel. I would not feel this way tomorrow, or the next day.  Each day I was going to be incrementally better. I realized with tears in my eyes that I had arrived.  I was FINALLY on the upswing and I could FEEL it.  The feeling was not one that someone was telling me would happen eventually. It was HAPPENING. NOW. I was no longer waning. I was waxing. I was becoming more. I was becoming me. Again.

All my best,

a.