Over the last few days, I’ve been pondering. Not much else to do when I have the concentration span of a gnat. Be ready for a bit of a whinge. I can’t recall ever having been ill except related to mental health, when I’ve had a couple of bad times. But actually ill? Chronic tonsillitis isn’t ill. Mild flu isn’t ill. But cancer is ill.
Breast cancer itself hasn’t made me feel ill. I felt perfectly healthy even after the diagnosis - not happy, but physically healthy. Even traipsing round with a gungy drain dangling by my side, I never thought I was ill. I wasn’t happy about it and I felt drained (sorry, can’t think of an alternative) and movement and exercises were painful - but that’s not ill.
Now I know I’m ill. It’s not the cancer but the treatments. I’ve handed my body over to the experts - what choice had I? - and I’m suffering the consequences. Chemotherapy, let’s face it, is total shit. Your body is pumped with poisons doing god alone knows what damage to what was a perfectly healthy system in the hope/knowledge that, by destroying virtually anything in their path, they’ll destroy any rogue cancer cells.
I say that with certainty. If I didn’t have that certainty, I don’t think I could cope. Chemotherapy will work.
But I’m becoming increasingly aware that the treatment is stealing my body from me, making it do things I don’t want or like but can’t prevent. I think it’s all the harder because of my MH problems which mean I simply don’t trust my body, particularly in terms of nausea. But come on, I’ve not been sick, I’ve not felt sick, I’ve probably experienced less nausea than I did before. But lurking in my mind is the knowledge that chemotherapy can make you sick. That’s enough to fuel my irrational phobia. (Good example of tautology there!)
So I watch myself getting thinner by the day. Much of my day is spent trying to get in the calories and down enough fluids to keep hydrated without exacerbating the constipation and abdominal cramps. The loss of pubic hair makes me feel infantilised. You’d think the loss of a breast would be worse but I reconciled myself to that very quickly and it doesn’t bother me. In fact, when I look down, all I see is a healing scar, not a missing boob, and I’m actually rather proud - I got through it! The disappearance of nasal hair makes me feel like a kid, the poor little mite with the constant drip. I feel very tender bruises that aren’t visible. I have the beginnings of an open sore on the bridge of my nose where my glasses rub, despite having soft gel grips.
Right now, my biggest problem is my mouth. It’s simply not mine. It doesn’t feel like it fits. My teeth ache so maybe I’m grinding my jaws again, a habit broken long ago. I worked out last night that the excessive salivating and the foamy saliva is caused by the mouthwash the hospital gave me. Rock and a hard place! My tongue is ulcerated, red raw in patches, stripped of protective layers, and the mouthwash can help. But, as with all the other stuff, do the benefits outweigh the misery?? I went to sleep about 5 this morning - excessive saliva and a slightly numbed throat made sure I was too fearful to sleep. I slur my words and lisp because my tongue isn’t mine - not conducive to prolonged conversation when combined with chemo-brain.
My physical strength is minimal. We went out for a coffee yesterday (Happy Birthday Dennis) and I just felt so bloody tired, I thought I might faint. Not a fearful or anxious thought, just a recognition of how my body was feeling. I know I’m at the point in the chemo cycle where my blood count is likely to be lowest so I’m assuming it’s that. I decided that, rather than wear my buzzcut with pride, I’d wear my wig. The tightness is almost claustrophobic. I was tempted to whip it off and let people stare or speculate. I actually don’t care what other people think but, on the other hand, I don’t want to be publicising the fact that I’m undergoing chemotherapy.
Still, it’s all infinitely better than the chemo trough so maybe I should just be grateful that’s over for now? Only one more EC cycle to go before the next challenge, Paclitaxel.
I just wish I could be me again.
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