Since last I wrote I have mostly been hanging out at Leicester Royal Infirmary swearing at strangers whilst wearing precisely fifty percent of my underwear. What? It’s not as if anybody said I’d have to give up on my edgy persona or rock and roll lifestyle just because I went and got cancer, did they?
On the face of it, the fourth cycle of chemotherapy went off without incident. I’m pleased to report that the PICC line would have made things slightly easier had the blasted thing not required cleaning before it could be used to actually deliver chemo. I don’t know what to tell you about getting your PICC line cleaned for the first time other than to say it looked all set to be the most painful thing to happen to me this week until two slightly more painful things came along and happened…. That’s how we’re measuring things out this week, by the way, on a scale of ouch to FUCK YOU.
Anyway, once I’d got the initial chemo-hangover out of the way, I settled myself in for a nice game of chemo side-effect bingo. I didn’t quite manage a full house this time around, but I did get the nausea, fatigue, sore feet, mouth ulcers, and Extraordinary Wind ALL AT THE SAME TIME* so that was something.
Breathing is over-rated anyway
One of the things I’ve discovered about chemotherapy is that the range of weird and wonderful things that happen to you and your body in view of it is pretty much never ending.
During cycle one I was ALL OVER IT. I monitored everything, and dutifully recorded it in WeeGee’s Chemo Notebook. I also spent a lot of time panicking: everything that happened to me during the first cycle – from the sickness to the weird itchy eyebrows – felt like a certain sign of impending doom and so I paid attention to it. But we’re at cycle number four now – I’m pretty much an old pro and nothing particularly surprises me any more. And so, when it came to pass that I couldn’t exactly breathe on Tuesday evening, I thought “well blow me, this is new. That’ll be the chemo then….. I’ll just wait and see how I feel in the morning” and took myself to bed.
Anyway, let’s skip the boring bit and cut a long story short: it turns out that not only are you supposed to be able to breathe comfortably when you’re on chemo, it is actively encouraged. And that’s sorta the story of how I came to spend the day in Accident and Emergency on Wednesday…..
To be honest, the less said about Wednesday the better because it was rubbish. In the end, it was a minor drama about nothing much – no blood clots, or heart attacks or collapsed lungs. It took seven hours, two incredibly traumatic blood tests, the CT scan from hell**, at least a million ECGs and a hundred million people poking and prodding me, to confirm that it was just a mild infection with a touch of heartburn from the steroids thrown in for good measure. But it served as a reminder, to me at least, that this is serious: I am, whether I like it or not, more fragile and vulnerable than once I was and I have to make some adjustments for that. I can’t just keep keeping on regardless. Every once in a while I’m going to have to slow down – perhaps even stop – to give myself a chance to catch up with myself. Which is exactly what I’ve been doing since we got home on Wednesday.
God bless the NHS***
While we’re sort of on the subject, now seems as good a time as any for a mahoosive shout out to the NHS.
I’ve spent a lot of time in NHS hospitals since last December and I have nothing but good things to say about the doctors, nurses and other staff who have looked after me so far. If you’ve stepped foot inside an NHS hospital recently, you’ll be under no illusions that there is some woeful underfunding going on but still the standard of care is world class.
Seriously – the NHS is bloody amazing. And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.
Meanwhile in other news
Meanwhile in other news and in celebration of this week finally being over and done with I’ve MADE A WHOLE POT OF TEA ALL TO MYSELF, and I don’t intend moving from my spot on the sofa for quite a long time…..
Told you I was rock and roll….
Nothing else from me today, save that I hope you’re all having a smashing Sunday. I’ll sing you out with a little tune I haven’t heard for a while:
Love you all lots like jelly tots, WeeGee xoxo
*Man, it was laugh a minute here in WeeGee Land that day.
** So traumatic, in fact, that I swore quite a lot and then flat refused to put my bra back on when it was done. Because REBEL.
***Other deities are available