Chemo Hiccups

Day 2 and the bed is shaking.

At 3am, this reminds me of a once-upon-a-time state. The early days when we couldn't keep our hands off each other. Oh how I wish those days back again! Surely there's nothing to stop those wondrous days returning! Apart from age, exhaustion, children, absence, separations, grief, loss, broken hearts, surgeries, sprains, strains, injuries and arthritis.

But here, in this mocking echo, the bed is shaking. With great heaving gallops. But I know no pleasure at all in this rhythmic shudder. Because these are the chemo hiccups.

They should be funny. Because hiccups are funny. They make the wearer jump, add surprise to any sentence, and give the most serious scholar the air of an unintentional buffoon.

As the bed shakes, I try to find the chemo hiccups amusing. I really do. But truth is, they are wearisome, troublesome jolts that show no signs of stopping whether it be midnight, 3am, or alarm-clock time.

Cold water and surprises are no remedy. My never-fail recipe (sip water through a straw with your fingers in your ears) works not one bit. Sipping hot milk, nada. Standing on one foot, upside down, both eyes closed, deep breath, key down the underpants, nothing works. After several days, and nights, Dig's diaphragm is painful, his muscles are exhausted, and I haven't slept a full night since last Tuesday.

Don't send me remedies. These hiccups originate not in an unsettled stomach or unbalanced airways, but from the vagus nerves, running neck to colon, shocked from the poison that floods Dig's system. I console myself. We are reassured by the Macmillan nurses. After a few days, the hiccups will subside. Medications are available for reflux, aches, muscle spasms and troublesome breathing. Not so readily available is remedy for broken heart, or grief.