Chemo + oxy = A whole new Zach


Zelda: I know you don’t want me to share this…

Zach: Like I could stop you...


Zelda: You’re usually well-organized, and you always know the best way to do things. But since you’ve been on chemo and oxy, it’s different.


Zach: What do you mean?


Zelda: You lose your train of thought easily—and it takes you longer to do things than usual. Plus, you get confused when you’re doing things you’ve done a thousand times. 


Zach: Says you.


Zelda: Here's an example. Yesterday, you were setting up the French press for coffee. You had the plunger in one hand, and the container of coffee grounds in the other. Then you basically froze. You looked at me and said you had no idea what you were doing.


Zach: You were probably yacking at me.


Zelda: We were having a nice conversation.


Zach: You were yacking. And it was distracting.


Zelda: OK, I’ll give you that. There was too much going on right then. But here’s another one. Last night, I heard you in the front room, opening and shutting the door. It went on for a while, so I got up to see what you were doing. 


Zach. Seriously?


[Zelda’s note: For folks following along at home, let me set the stage: We have a door with a standard lock in the knob (see the photo below). When you turn the inner button so it’s horizontal, it’s locked. When it’s vertical, it’s unlocked.]


A doorknob

Zelda: You were standing in the house, next to the door, with your keys in your hand. You turned the button on the doorknob so it was horizontal (locked). Then you tried opening the door and were surprised it opened—even though it always opens from the inside, whether it's locked or not. So then you turned the button vertical (unlocked), went outside, closed the door, and tried opening it again. It opened, of course. You were legit having trouble figuring out how to lock your own front door.


Zach: Now you’re making shit up.


Zelda: No! It happened. And I could see you were frustrated. So I turned the inner button to show you how to lock and unlock it. Took me a minute to convince you it wasn’t broken.


Zach: That’s just wackadoodle. 


Zelda: It’s not you. You’re not you right now. It’s “chemo brain.” And I’m sure the oxy doesn’t help.


Zach: You can say that again. I’m still in pain. 


Zelda: So what do we do?


Zach: What can we do?


Zelda: I’ll try to stop "yacking" when you’re in the middle of something.


Zach: I’ll believe that when it happens.


Zelda: And 2 other things: I’ll write stuff down, to help you remember. And I’ll be more patient if I notice you’re confused. Pinky promise.


Zach: Deal.

To learn more about chemo brain, check out this info from the Mayo Clinic.

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