The Neulasta not only gifted me with a fucktonne of pain, it caused a full body shake. Shaking hands aren’t exactly conducive to drawing or painting, so I put the stuff I had been working on away, and started the distortion series, because it’s easier to cover up all the mistakes and slips. So, Inside Cancerland: Distortion Series 1, Infusion Invasion. 16″ x 20″, Watercolour and marker on Bristol. Click for full size.
© C. Ford, all rights reserved.
Oh Caine, I am so sorry you are in this much pain -- the amount this shows is awful.
Thanks, Jazzlet. I haven’t exactly been in a good state lately. It’s truly a wonder to me how you can start chemo all upbeat, and think to yourself, for several cycles, eh, not so bad, and then…this.
Ugh, sorry about the pain.
Despite the “inspiration”, I really like the Infusion Invasion. Looking at it, no words are necessary to describe or explain it.
Chemo pain, chemo brain. Harrowing.
Jim, thank you! I really like it myself, although I always see the mistakes.
Joseph, chemo brain is one of the planned pieces in this series, but it does get into everything. :)
Caine I’ve seen other peole go through exactly that, starting upbeat then as the chemo goes on and the effects increase, beoming exhausted. It is just one of the reasons I hate the whole “positive thinking will beat cancer Rah Rah Rah” crap because it is very hard to be positive when you are in pain and tired all of the time. It’s also one of the reasons I hate the woo leeches as this is often when otherwise sensible people become especially vulnerable to it. Supportive gifts of your favourite colours from me, along with a thorough butt sniffing from Jake (the big black GSD dog) and a suspicious glare from Thorn (the shy black and tan GSD bitch).
Jazzlet, yeah, it is at this point that people are terribly vulnerable, and is it ever easy to understand why people pay attention to those death dealers. I’ve hit “I just don’t fucking care”. If someone came up to me and said “turn around, I need to hit you on the head with this sledgehammer” the most reaction they’d get out of me is a shrug. I am so godsdamned tired and I really, really want this to end. And I’m halfway through my cycles (Tuesday is the fifth one), and I have fucking radiation to look forward to, like that helps.
It just seems there’s no future at all right now. Just an endless road of gray. I can’t talk about it, either, because if I start, I just crumple and start crying. And I hate that so fucking much. No control. I’m…friable.
And I’ll take a suspicious dog any day, they’re the best kind.
Caine, I’m so sorry about the pain. Your art is certainly expressing what you’re going through, and I hope arting is at least reducing the stress.
Anne, thank you. Art work, yeah. This is the one refuge I have, and I about broke down the other day, looking at the piece I had been working on, then realizing I could never finish it with the degree of shake from the Neulasta. If If lose this, I lose me. There’s always something. In cancerland, there’s always something.
Oh my goodness, yes. The hands going is such a terrifying thought.
I love that piece.
Management of pegfilgrastim-induced bone pain (PIBP) is pretty hit or miss. Naproxen works. Most potent NSAIDs should work as well. Loratadine is used commonly, with no real good data to support it’s use. But it’s safe; it’s a antihistamine. They can try reducing the Neulasta dose to 3 mg or 4 mg. That’s mostly what we do. I’m so sorry you’re suffering. I wish I could fix everything, but I feel like all I have to offer are over-tired bromides.
Raucous Indignation:
I can’t take NSAIDs right now, they fuck with my liver enzymes. It wasn’t the bone pain made me miserable. All of the muscles in my back, from mid-point down, went into a state of seizure, completely cramped, making any movement excruciating. Still hasn’t stopped, I’ve been like this since the neulasta hit.
I know. It’s a piss to feel so helpless, and even more so when you have so many tools available to use, but none of them are right. You have to remember though, that just being here is helping, and sometimes, that’s everything, yeah?
Joseph:
Yes. That’s a true terror. It’s not just the neulasta shake, either. The oxali started causing me motor problems in my right hand, where the muscles cramp up and try to pull my hand into a claw. On this level, chemo is scaring the shit out of me now.
I have no words of any use. So I’m sitting here with thoughts and empathy, trying to be a presence. Just somebody else touched by this blog and in your corner.
The picture is beautiful, but terrible. I see the chemo and the cancer in a staring contest over who blinks first.
I hope things will get better. Pain and shaky hands, neither is good.
Whirlwitch:
That means more to me than I could ever express. Thank you.
I know I haven’t posted here in a long time. Lots of it is me dealing with shit in my life, and some of it is just plain avoidance.
I do want to know, Caine, for what it’s worth, I’ve read every one of your cancer chronicle posts (and cried way to many times). The avoidance is because my youngest brother (he’s 39) is dealing with some horrific cancer treatment right now too, and it’s just fucking me up too. :(
I do want to say, though, thanks. A really sincere thank you, for sharing this. As much as it makes things worse, it also makes things better. And I just wanted you to know that.
I’m gonna go cry again, and try to call my brother (he hates talking on the phone because his cancer is in his mouth/throat, but he sucks at answering texts or FB too).
Charly, thank you.
Crimson Clupeidae:
Oh christ. I am so very sorry, CC. So sorry. I know how difficult this is, I know how much it just tears you apart. I hope, with every fiber, your brother has a good prognosis. I know he has the best of support because he has you. It’s such awful shit to deal with.
And anytime, if you need to talk, or scream, or melt down, you feel right at home doing it here, in the open thread, or if you need a quieter talk, feel free to email me. Address is on the sidebar.
The work is terrifying and beautiful (as other people say). One can see the destruction and pain.
I hope there will be better moments, days, weeks, months, years.
Ice Swimmer, thank you.
I think the picture is beautiful.
In a FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU CANCER kind of way.
Chigau, thank you!
I’m so sorry, Caine, wish I could help. The pain shows through your art, and in this piece more than in any other you’ve shown us, pain is all over it. Your description at #13 reminds me of my mother after her first infusion of Zometa, but the side effects eventually went away. I hope yours do too and sooner rather than later, although I know that there is no “soon” in Cancerland, everything feels like it takes ages.
jazzlet,
Yeah, I wish people would understand it’s actually the other way around: cancer will beat your positive thinking like nothing else does.
Nightjar:
Yes. That’s truth, right there.
Nightjar
Too damn true.
Oh Caine -- your side effects sound absolutely miserable. Intractable pain is depressing and demoralizing.
I’m not quite halfway done with chemo -- you know I don’t even look at how much I have left anymore. My mom does (she takes me to my chemo appointments -- she’s retired). When I near the finish I will stop going weekly and start every other week -- so I guess when that happens I’ll know things are (hopefully) winding down and I can start thinking surgery.
I truly wish I could sit next to you and simply hold your hand.
Victoria
Thank you, Victoriajoy. The effects from the neulasta are finally beginning to back off, but I’m in for my 5th cycle on Tuesday. Not looking forward to it. There’s no way I could do what you’re doing, every week. I’m every two weeks, and I feel like it’s killing me.
Beautiful art but I feel terribly sorry for you to go through so much pain. :(
Thank you, Avalus.