“Sorry, you’re getting a mom-elette.” Dan said. I had to ask what that meant, but it made total sense once he explained.
“Oh yeah,” I laughed. “I didn’t know fancy restaurant omelettes weren’t folded in half like tacos until I was in my thirties.”
I have been ravenously hungry since 5:00 a.m. So hungry that I Rollated my way to the kitchen for the tub of mini chocolate chip cookies to quell my backbone-gnawing stomach and get back to sleep.
By 8:30 a.m., I was begging Dan for an omelette. He’s an excellent cook anyway, but the prednisone enhances his reputation. I scarfed it down and told him probably about 30 times with my mouth full of food how delicious it was.
I’m starting Day 4 of my dose pack, and just so you all can understand a little better, when I was on dexamethasone and trying to wean for about a year? That was like taking steroids on steroids…on steroids.
Anyway, Dan was delighted to see the cookies next to me in bed this morning. “Oh my god, Swiss! Did you go out to the kitchen by yourself?!”
“It was sketchy, but I didn’t want to wake you up.”
I was pretty far gone symptom-wise, so the impact of the prednisone isn’t going to be as helpful this go-round. But I’m grateful to have the meds (and a little bit of my self-confidence) back. Even if it doesn’t last long, I have earned some relief. It’s nice to feel more steady on my feet.
The last several months of anxiety-ridden appointments and procedures has been a lot. In all ways worse than the brain tumor. And the muscle weakness just made my anxiety about falling worse.
Next up: a shower. Prednisone, help me.
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