by Susie Merz
I was bent over untying my shoes before stepping on the scale when she asked me. “Did you take your Tylenol and Benadryl already?”
click to enlarge
“Yes,” I said, quickly trying to remember the details of how many milligrams of each I am supposed to take versus what I actually take. She stated the milligrams and I said “Oh I just took one tablet of each”. That was the wrong answer. Shit. “It’s two tablets of the Tylenol,” she said, “so I’ll go and get you another one.” Oh great, I thought, my memory issues are interfering with the lies I tell the nurse.
After the weight-taking, it was back to the chemo chair. The nurse left to fetch a Tylenol tablet, returning and handing it to me in a little white Dixie cup. As her back was turned, I put it into a tissue and into the bottom of my bag. I answered all the other questions honestly. No, no diarrhea, no fevers or rashes, no neuropathy.
Did I really just do that? This is not a “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” scenario where I have to cheek my meds because they’re trying to keep me overly sedated. This was a Tylenol, meant to prevent a fever which might result from the drug I’m about to receive.
The rest of the time in the chair I thought about why I would behave like that. Part of it is the work that is required to make even the most minute change to the protocol, with pushback from my oncologist for even the slightest adjustment.
I know the protocol is in place for a reason, and has been developed for my safety, and yet I balk at it. Why, after so many cycles of this medication, do I still need to take all these pre-meds? Could it be that they’re not necessary at this point, and that I’m not going to have a reaction? It exhausts me, this chemo day, and the Tylenol and Benadryl drag me down even further with fatigue.
I don’t feel particularly bad about being dishonest with the nurse, although maybe I should, because she is trying to do her best with what she’s got on paper in front of her, in order to look after me and my treatment. It’s a bit ridiculous, I conclude, and I need to talk to my oncologist next time about not having to take the Tylenol and Benadryl.
It is good practice for me to stand up for myself with treatment and ask for what I need to have it be as manageable as possible. I suppose I am tired though, and because of how much emotional energy it takes to repeatedly do this, sometimes it’s just easier to lie.
It is also the fact that I have cancer, to state the obvious. The thing that I do not have control over. So, it is my quiet rebellion, not taking the Tylenol.
I will talk to my oncologist about making a change, but I can’t deny the small surge of power I felt when I came across the little white pill in the bottom of my bag a few days later. Some childish glee at having gotten away with something. Which is something.
Susie Merz first came to Callanish as a retreat participant in 2015 and has since joined the staff team as a clinical counsellor. She has worked as a therapist for over 14 years, both in nonprofit agencies and in her own counselling practice.