WARNING: This post isn’t about any “second breakfast” Peregrin Took ever ate.
I tried to be a good patient and have oatmeal and a protein shake for breakfast yesterday morning. I even fetched the food from the kitchen myself and brought it back to bed.
But about halfway through, I started the reverse paristalsis panic.
(That’s your signal to stop reading if you’re a sympathetic barfer.)
My jaw got tight, and my salivary glands kicked into overdrive. I felt acute pain at the top of my stomach, and I could only process one overwhelming sensation: acridity.
“HELP!” I gargled, choking on the flecks of processed oats that stuck to the back of my throat on re-entry.
“What do you need?” Dan shouted while getting out of his chair. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer, technically. But I didn’t need to. The sound is distinct.
“C’mon, Boomer. Let’s check on Mom.”
I have barf bags right by the bed, but I wasn’t fast enough. The first heave was not well contained. There were oats and chocolate flavored plant protein on my chin, my shirt, my pajama pants, my right leg, and my fitted sheet.
(I buy what’s cheapest at the time I’m shopping, but these OWYN things are palatable under normal circumstances–no artificial sweeteners, which I despise. Just saying. It’s not the food’s fault.)
I call this set of sheets my chemo sheets now.
The first couple of days back on temozolomide after a break are the worst, by the way. My body will do its best to recalibrate, but things will be sketchy the first week or so.
Because of this, I’ve learned to take morning medications well in advance of breakfast. After all, Medicare doesn’t pay to replace the pills you barf up.
And also, have you ever tried to get a “controlled substance” filled a few days early?
But that’s a story I don’t feel up to writing, so back to this one.
“Friday is sheet washing day anyway,” Dan said. “I’ll get these going.”
So this might be redundant, but, um, yesterday didn’t start off all that great. However! Mom texted me that there was a giant shower in her driveway. And thinking about how one day I’ll be washing the Second Breakfast off without worrying about slipping and falling in the shower made me feel a little better.
This beauty is a lot like the shower that was in my hospital room at Barnes after I had surgery, and I managed that safely. Even with fresh staples in my head. So to say I’m ecstatic about seeing those handrails is an understatement.
P.S. If you’d like to help us cover some of the costs of the remodel, you can donate or just tell someone about this GoFundMe campaign.