Having only just had my second chemotherapy session last week it is possibly a little soon to say I know exactly what’s going on. However, there has been enough of a pattern to know vaguely what will be happening and when – especially as last time, in the manner that is me, I took very detailed notes on what happened and when in relation to treatment, medication and effects – yes, it’s true – there may even be a spreadsheet at some point!
To this end I knew that I would be heading into what I refer to as, The Dip, about now – and indeed I have.
Although there must be a general approach to chemotherapy, everyone’s treatment is tailored to them and their cancer and tweaked to how they respond.
In some ways I think I have been lucky. I have not yet been sick and the better days have far outweighed the really bad ones. I was however, unfortunate last time to have an allergic reaction to the antibiotics causing horrendously painful hives to blister my skin – I still have marks from them and hope I won’t be left with scars to cover up – although, I have always fancied just one more tattoo…
Because of this allergic reaction my treatment was changed slightly for this round. I am not taking antibiotics this time and instead have some super strong antihistamines and had five days of injections at home to boost my white blood cells.
Despite knowing that these injections are known to cause extreme bone pain and thinking that I was prepared for it – I wasn’t. I have just had a night of hideously excruciating pain where I am afraid to say I cried and writhed around like someone in the worst hammed up death throes of bad acting.
I had been determined that my mind was stronger than that and that I would channel the essence of a Shaolin monk (and not just the bald head part) but in the middle of the night I failed to do so and instead my husband got extra blankets, took my temperature and fed me paracetamol.
This morning I have hobbled downstairs like the ricketiest old lady and have ensconced myself in my ‘day bed’. When I got my diagnosis, and knew what was coming I made the decision that on the odd day when I needed to just rest I did not want to loll about in my actual bed but wanted to keep the routine of getting up and then going back there at night. So, I commandeered the spare room and now it is my very own little Shangri-La of chemo-coping paraphernalia.
Here in my healing haven I have ALL the pillows and cushions, my kindle, phone, lip balms, hand creams, boiled sweets, a ginormous throw and the cats occasionally come in to say hello.
I am telling you of The Dip, not to depress or worry you but as part of my wanting to talk about this in a real way. Cancer is not fun. The treatment is not fun. It is what it is but it won’t last. Give me a couple of days and I’ll be back pottering around trying to do more than I should and being told off for it.
For just today though I’ll be sensible and have another lemon and ginger tea, fold myself under a mountain of soft furnishings and listen to a Terry Pratchett audio book. And tomorrow – it’s back on with the climbing gear because The Dip is not where I am staying.