Quick update: The chemo trough was worse but shorter. A couple of days ago, I wallowed in absolute and abject misery. Wallow perhaps is the wrong word as it implies a degree of choice and far too much effort. Let’s just say I lay in a stupor. First round of chemo, the emergence occurred around Day 12. This is Day 9. No comment - I don’t want to tempt providence.
Today I want to do something. I’ve no idea what but something that removes me from my pit, energises me a bit and makes me think I can carry on through the next challenges. I don’t yet have the physical strength for a walk - I’d go dizzy by the time I got to the end of the drive - and I’m not fit to drive (yes Philip, some of us recognise our limitations have implications for others!). Maybe I’ll ring round and see if anyone can spare an hour to take me for a drive, even if I just sit in a car park!!
Progress report: buzzcut looking sadder by the day as I lose those tiny little hairs steadily and my steroid glow has gone. Pubes vanishing mysteriously. Where do they go? I imagine leaving a trail of discarded hair but I’ve seen nothing. Considering I used to teach sex education, you’d think I knew all I needed to know but it never occurred to me there is a difference between hair on the pudenda and hair at the top of the legs, the stuff you hate and want rid of. Nah, I reckon that will resist the most toxic infusions, survive like the cockroaches! Nasal hair is disappearing- not something I thought about much till now, faced with a constant drip!
Taste: still salt, with a little sweetness detectable in the unhealthiest of foods, like the Starbursts. Yes, I’m embarrassed to admit that a sweet now qualifies as a food for me.
Appetite: trying the 2-hour rule for now as I have neglected food for fear of being sick. Started with toast and jam at 9am. Now moving onto porridge and blueberries (ah, that burst of salt when I bite into a ripe juicy berry).
Fluids - still struggling to maintain my minimum quota and only too conscious of the dire consequences of neglecting this. Internal stagnation is not a happy state to live with. I’ve realised that my staple decaf tea affects my mouth and taste so I need to focus more on water. Fruit teas are just coloured water at the moment. Sports drinks are an alternative but drinking them through a straw makes me fear for the health of my front lower teeth.
Things bugging me: my lovely psychiatrist telling me for the nth time that she’s seen her mother-in-law go through this three times. I know it’s meant to reassure but THREE?? Isn’t once enough? I have no intention of going through this twice, let alone three times. This leads to the nagging thought: is one ever completely free of the fear of a recurrence? How will I ever trust a mammogram again? Those thoughts for now go back into their compartment - ah, the reassurance of Land of Denial.
Speaking of psychiatrists, when I first met her (pre-diagnosis), a major concern was the onset of winter depression which has laid me low the last three years. I have found a solution: breast cancer and chemotherapy leave no room for depression. I still experience anxiety but I can honestly say no depression this time. Of course once has to weigh up the pros and cons - mental wellbeing or physical survival. Something to ruminate on another day.
Btw, if you’re wondering where entry 29 is, it’s not published. Written at my nadir a couple of days ago, it contradicts everything I’ve been saying and thinking and is best left private. It’s a miracle I was able to string words together, let alone thoughts, but it was therapeutic for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment