Tingly toes and fuzzy brain

A couple of months ago one of the treatment nurses asked me if I’d been experiencing neuropathy, tingling in the extremities from irritated nerves. At the time I wasn’t aware that this was a side effect of the drugs I’m taking. But I did have such sensations, and since that time I’ve noticed that the condition is nearly constant. Apparently, it can become severe enough that patients hurt themselves because they can’t feel their feet; they trip, fall, burn themselves in the shower, step on sharp objects. I’m nowhere near that point, but I am aware of the sensation most of the time.

At the other end of my anatomy, my head is giving me troubles too. It’s not physiological. At least, it’s not anything that shows up on my scans. My mood is decidedly down, my focus is off. I feel like I’m caught up in a giant Ponzi scheme that’s spiraling out of control; I’m continually preoccupied with my physical and financial health to the point where it disturbs my sleep. I don’t have enough work to keep my plate full, but I also don’t have the energy to market for new prospects. I'm at once hyper aware and trapped in a fog; it's all very worrisome.

I discussed this with my doctor and nurses at last Monday’s appointment. They suggested I might be depressed, (a distinct possibility given my family history), and prescribed an anti-depressant. I was reluctant to add a new medication into the mix, but decided to give it a shot and started taking Effexor the next day. It’s probably too soon to judge its effect on my mood since anti-depressants work in a cumulative fashion that can take a couple of weeks to gear up, but I’ve definitely noticed other effects that may or may not be from the new meds; things like dry-mouth, ringing in my ears, increased energy and agitation during sleep. I’ve been waking up two to three hours before the alarm every morning and sometimes can’t get back to sleep.

One of the most disturbing things about this cancer trip I’m on is that I’ve lost touch with my body and its functions. I used to pride myself on knowing what I was feeling and why. Starting with the day the diagnosis fell from the sky and crashed into my world, nothing feels normal. Symptoms come and go without announcing their genesis. Much as I love and trust my medical team, their response tends to be one of throwing more drugs at the problems. That’s not a surprise, given their training and perspective, but it leaves me feeling further and further from my self.

Still the side effects

Last week, about two weeks after an Abraxane infusion, I lost my hair for the third time. This business of growing and losing hair is one of the conditions I have to accept until the whole of the treatment is complete. I had another Abraxane infusion this morning, but I don’t have much hair left to lose. It grows back a bit between cycles, when I have an extra two Abraxane-free weeks. Just when it starts looking cute again, it’s time to lose it. I’m not fond of this process.

During the 42-day drug-taking phase that includes two Abraxane infusions and a nightly Temodar pill, I have a number of other side effects to manage. Temodar and Zofran, the anti-nausea pill I take with it, can cause headaches, constipation, heartburn, itchiness, hives, and who knows what-all else! In my case, headaches can take the form of migraine auras. My doctor agrees that they’re probably the same old stress-induced phenomena I’ve experienced for nearly thirty years, but next time it happens she may send me for an MRI.

Before my nurse starts administering Abraxane, I get intravenous doses of Benadryl, Pepcid, some steroid whose name I never remember (Dexamethasone), and another anti-nausea drug (Kytril). I get powerful doses of all of these to counteract the effects of the killer Abraxane. I leave the treatment room feeling groggy from the Benadryl. By tomorrow I’ll be speedy and energized from the steroid and that will last for two or three days. I'll also lose my sense of taste for three or four days between now and the weekend.

“Do you experience neuropathies?” my treatment nurse asked.

“What’s that?”

“When irritated nerves numb your fingers and toes and make them tingle.”

“Come to think of it, I do. My toes tend to feel that way when I wear anything more restrictive than Birkenstocks. I didn’t know that was a symptom too.”

I’m looking forward to the time when a headache is just a headache, and I can try out my spiky white (hopefully curly) hairdo on the world.