Not quite fixed

I was so hoping this mess that has become my body would have righted itself by today. I had such high hopes walking out of the clinic in Hamilton yesterday. I'm suffering a severe form of acid reflux, which my research nurse says is somewhat common among the study participants. The fix: a prescription antacid that's stronger than my Maalox.

I think the acid reflux contributes to the nausea. But I have pills for that too. I just don't take them as regularly as I should. I don't know why. There are no medals or badges for the number of pills I leave in the prescription bottle. The label indicates I can take them every four hours, and I now plan to pop them more often.

I had a promising start to the morning. Even though I woke up a lot, I managed to sleep fairly soundly last night. I got up and didn't feel the immediate need to hurl acid sitting at the top of my stomach. A step forward.

But about 15 minutes after rising and taking my prescription antacid, my stomach started to hurt again. "Oh no", I thought, "This is what the medication is supposed to prevent."

So I crunched a few soda crackers, hoping to sop up the offending acid. I quaffed an anti-nausea pill. I crunched some Rolaids. I walked around, praying for a release of gas. But the acid continued to sit at the top of my stomach, making it as hard as a rock. Of course, it also feels as though it wants to come out, which would involve retching and general bad feelings. I'm trying to avoid that.

The closest sensation I can imagine is the morning after a night of heavy drinking. After starting with beer, you got into the shooters part way through the night (tequila, B52s), ate some funky street meat and then collapsed into bed after puking around 3 a.m. The dog woke you four hours later and you can still smell the alcohol seeping out of your pores and there's a mess of leftover liquor bottles creating a bad smell in the kitchen. Then your buddy asks if you want a little hair of the dog and sloshes a scotch in front of your nose. Ugh.

So, I'm currently sipping a ginger ale with the hopes the bubbles and the calming properties of the ginger root will work their magic. And at 9 a.m. I swallowed my four Olaparib. (Stay down, stay down.)

On top of the acid, my nose is super sensitive - and most things don't agree with my delicate stomach. The waffles Noah made for breakfast smelled too sweet and got the stomach acid revolting. Some delicious-looking pecan tarts Angie and I got in a bakery in Hamilton are sitting on the kitchen counter. Their smell currently repels me (and I love pecan tarts).

I am having trouble eating, which probably makes me feel bad, which causes me to have trouble eating . . . (a silly little cycle, eh?). This is not the weight-loss plan I had in mind. But the last couple of days, I'm lucky if I get one good meal in me.

After my blog yesterday, I felt like a whimp, so I went online to see if others who are in the study are having similar issues. The literature talked about how well tolerated the drug is, how the side effects are minimal, how it seems to be the next wonder drug.

Reading that was like a kick in the teeth. What's wrong with me? I'm not a whimp. I have a high pain tolerance. I have proven myself to be able to withstand some pretty awful side effects. Yet, here I was staring at nights of crying and moaning just to participate in the study.

But the research nurse assured me that quality of life IS possible while on the clinical trial. We just have to find the right combination of prescriptions that allow me to take the medication and chemo without making me feel as though I'm going to die. We want to kill the cancer, without too drastically affecting my life. (Don't get me wrong, I know the chemo is still going to kick the crap out of me. That's its job.)

So I'm hopeful my situation will turn around. (In fact, I'm starting to feel a wee bit better as I finish this blog. Thank you ginger ale and cleansing burps.)

Your hopeful friend,
Tina