Part Thirty-Seven: Suddenly

            It happened suddenly.  Hyped up from the IV steroids part of Friday’s chemotherapy, I laid in bed listening to music, hoping to doze at least through the night.  I have the most comfortable bed in the world:  high-quality memory foam mattress and pillow, snuggly body pillow, soft sheets, and just-right quilt and blanket, all topped off with the pale pink teddy bear Dana gave me while I was in the hospital.

            One second, I’m musing to praise music, and the next I notice that all four limbs are tingling with a little burn.  It doesn’t go away.  It’s not painful, just different and quite distracting.  I’ve never experienced peripheral neuropathy quite like this before.  I hope it won’t be permanent. Eventually I nod off.  In the morning, the intense tingling has faded to a memory, though my knees are extra wobbly as I get out of bed.

            I have a great Saturday, though the neuropathy keeps playing in the background.  Arms and legs buzz ever so slightly, kind of in sync with the tinnitus that has played in my brain for years.  When I told my daughter about last night’s onset of this particular Taxol side effect, she asked if it would go away.  The answer could be yes, maybe, or no.  It could be temporary or permanent.  It could get better or worse.  Naturally I hope for temporary and better.

            Today, Sunday, it is worse.  From the soles of my feet to the top of my head, that low hum has continued all day.  I’m walking on the buzz of almost-numb soles, feeling the infinitesimal tremble of my legs and shoulders, sensing the tension-wire tingle traveling from shoulders to fingertips.  This new and unsettling reality puts me a little off-balance in more ways than one.

            “Suddenly” is a good word to remember.  So many things in our lives hit unexpectedly.  Some are wonderful, others are definitely not.  All require a response.  I’m hoping mine will be resilience.