Sunday, March 22, 2009

What Were We Talking About Last?

Where were we?

Let's see:

Friday: Chemo

Saturday: Head in toilet; sister-in-law in town with my nieces and her mother. Hi, Abby, Ashley, Christa, and Lola!

Sunday: Head in toilet; guests still here, but they're spending their vacation by cleaning my house. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Monday: Head deeper in toilet; admitted to hospital; guests at my house babysitting my kids.

Tuesday: Still in hospital; guests still babysitting.

Wednesday: Still in hospital; guests heading home. Bye, Abby, Ashley, Christa, and Lola! I love you! When you get home, don't forget to tell my brother hello and that I love him.

Thursday: Home from hospital, but have sore throat. Suddenly have developed a wicked pain in my butt (more on this later).

Friday: In bed all day sleeping, sick or in pain. Started running a fever so had to call oncologist. Back in hospital.

Saturday: In hospital

Sunday: HOME!

I'm home. You can't know how happy I am to be home. This level of happiness is matched only by the amount of pain I'm feeling in my bottom right now. This past week's hospital stays and pains and sickness will be reported, but first I give you the story of my butt and the things that have happened to it since I last posted.
(This is for you, Jeneil)...

It's Monday and I have eaten something I shouldn't have eaten (food) and I'm running to the bathroom about every 15 or so minutes. Tom was at work and Abby had taken the 4 kids out for ice cream and toys. It was just Lola and me in the house. The bathroom on my first floor where Lola and I were watching TV is near the living room, so I was opting to run upstairs every time I needed to go. If I just had diarrhea I would have used the downstairs bath, but since I was never sure if I was going to vomit - up I would go to my master bathroom. (I can't handle listening to anyone throw up, therefore I wasn't going to subject Lola to that either.)

Each jog upstairs had me feeling weaker and wobblier, so I was trying to make each trip count by staying as long as I could. Spike, my dog, followed me each trip. It is Spike's job in this house to keep people from breaking in and killing me. He is 7 pounds of pure Maltese terror. Spike was tired, too, from the up and down bathroom trips so while I was going to the restroom, he would nap. Spike hates the tile floors in the bathrooms, but still refuses to let me out of his sight. This day he found a work around for his tile issue.

One of my last trips up, I'm there sitting on the potty for an extended amount of time. By the time I go to stand it almost cost me my life. I was so weak and so exhausted, I hadn't realized that Spike had made his bed in my pajama bottoms between my feet. When I stood up I lost my balance. I almost fell face first onto the hard tile floor. I'm not sure how I kept myself from falling, I just remember hopping around and accidentally kicking the dog halfway across the bathroom. A child shouldn't have to tell people their mom died because she didn't notice the family dog nested in her pants while she sat on the toilet for half an hour.

It was after that trip to the restroom, I called my oncologist - begging for help. They said the best way they could help me was to go to the hospital - they'd have a room waiting for me. By Thursday what they finally managed to do was stop the vomiting, but not the diarrhea, which by the way, had caused my colon to finally surrender. A tiny little thing called a fissure had formed. That fissure is the thing that nightmares are made of.

Part 2 tomorrow.
(Yes, there was going to be so much more to this, but I am unable to think clearly enough to write. The fissure pain is truly severe and the pain meds I'm taking for it are powerful. I've great stories to tell, I'm just unable to get them written tonight. But I will! I promise!)


  1. Oh Sheri I am so sorry you are feeling so poorly! But you write it so amusingly (the dog incident), but I still see the serious in all of this. My sister has fissures and so I can understand the discomfort. I hope you come out the other side of this soon. I am praying for you! God Bless!

  2. Oh Sheri, bless your heart! I have no reason to complain of my plague or whatever i have. I think God is making you really strong through all of this...take care!

  3. This is so hard to hear what you are going through, and realizing all I can do is watch and pray. Life sure can be a bitch some times. If you hear from any former co-workers from Chilton, it's because I asked them to say some prayers for you.

    Uncle G.

  4. I can not think of anyone else I know more deserving of a break, but goodness I sure hope it's not a leg.

  5. Sheri, thank you (and Spike) so much for the butt story. It ranks up there as one of the best butt stories ever.

    I am so sorry for all the pain and sickness. Praying for some relief for you.

    The diarrhea reminds me of another bathroom story. Brandon and I took a trip to visit my sis in Mexico. When we came back I was telling Tom about how Montezuma's Revenge struck me. We were traveling in between dusty cities on an old bumpy bus (public transpo with no restroom). It was a long trip and I was in pain trying not to go on the bus. I told Tom, "When we finally got to the hotel, I rushed to the bathroom. I was so relieved (pun intended). All that could be heard (from me) was 'Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Jesus.'
    Tom retorted, "I'm sure that's not all that could be heard."
    I still laugh about that.

  6. Oh Lordy Sheri, just what you need! After my biopsy, but before my lumpectomy, I caught what can only be described as the stomach virus from hell....12 days of vomiting and the runs...vomiting finally ended, for over a month, I road the porclain bus.. long story, but, as you found out, the parting gift of a miserable butt...the gift that keeps on giving, ack.
    Hope you feel better soon, keeping you in my thoughts