Chemo day 11 - enema of the state

On Monday I asked my doctor if there is any way that I could know if the chemo is working.  She said no, not by how I feel, or what side effects I have.  I could feel lousy, and the chemo could miss the cancer. Or I could feel great, and the cancer could be eradicated.  So I'm in a strange sort of waiting game, where I have no valid reference point of whether or not I'm making progress.  From a disease management standpoint, it is not satisfying just to deal with the side effects, but oh well.  It's strange to think that, while my white blood cell count plunges, my bone marrow struggles to recover, and (hopefully) the cancer cells in my body have been blocked from reproducing, the most pervasive side effect that I feel is ongoing constipation. 

Yesterday, my oncologist prescribed another laxative -- I think it was actually Krispy Kreme donut glaze -- that produced some astonishing displays of combustion, but sadly, no solids.  (Maybe I should just plop myself down at the end of Krispy Kreme rack and let those hot donuts roll into my mouth until I explode.  What a way to go.)  Jennifer made me a vile homebrewed concoction of bran, molasses, applesauce, and other things that have no business being combined, and that was likewise ineffective.  My sister consulted with her GI doctor colleagues and advised MiroLax, which I started this morning.  But the only thing that has worked so far is the humble Fleet's enema.  It provided relief yesterday, and again this morning.  Enemas are pretty high up on my list of things that I wouldn't seek out voluntarily, but it is far better than risking another violent attack by the wild riders of the Dulcolax clan. 

Oh, to be regular again.