I’ve never been a great fan of euphemisms. I hate it when women refer to their genitals as their ‘vagina’ (no, that’s the bit inside) and I’ve never understood why people avoid using words like death, dying... ‘passed’ makes me flinch, reminds me of Victorian spiritualism, and I can’t think how it could soften the blow of someone’s death.
I’m beginning to notice euphemisms associated with chemotherapy. I can understand it (no one wants to be scared witless at the prospect of side effects and there are some people who are prone to anticipate the very worst. I may be top of the list here!).
‘You may feel tired and lethargic...’ What they really mean is there’s a strong possibility you will feel either you’ve been knocked over by a lorry and left lying as roadkill, flattened by a steamroller or had your drinks spiked over a period of several days. Nothing prepared me, not even my wildest thinking, for that feeling that your body is not your body. Limbs don’t do as you will them to do, basically because they aren’t your limbs - surely they’ve been replaced by someone else’s? They feel numb, they tingle like a local anaesthetic on a grand scale and the only escape I found was meditation. When you’re in a trance-state, you don’t notice the heavy lightness of your limbs. That is good!
‘You may find your mouth becomes sore...’ Yes, I have. ‘Sore’ doesn’t cover it. I could literally feel and see the lining of my mouth peeling away in strings of slime (a bit like when I use Oral B toothpaste, only the lining isn’t replaced). I have chapped lips for perhaps the first time in my life, again the consequence of a whole layer of skin peeling away, so I’m constantly applying Vaseline (aloe vera of course). My gums feel like they have shrunk and my teeth itch like when I have the worst kind of cold. Chewing can be very painful. Add ulcers around my tongue (which I haven’t experienced for perhaps 30 years) and my mouth right now is in a sorry state. I shall take some ice lollies to the next session of chemotherapy and see if that helps. Meantime, Trina has sent me two tubes of flavour-free fluoride toothpaste. I expect it will be vile but it won’t sting! I got an ultra soft toothbrush especially but I might have to change it for a baby’s brush as my gums are so sore.
‘This treatment can make some foods taste different.’ Try, this treatment destroys your sense of taste and texture so basic foods make you feel totally nauseous. As soon as I find something palatable, like fresh pineapple and lemon/lime drinks, I meet a downside, currently ulcers. Try enjoying that burst of tangy pineapple when your whole mouth feels it’s on fire. Maureen found she favoured spicy foods. My delicate little tummy can’t handle garlic, let alone spices, so the blander the better for me. And the way my stomach has been feeling, despite Lansoprazole, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find layers inside me, like my stomach lining, being affected in the same way.
Hair loss is inevitable. I’m ok with that (I think). What I wasn’t prepared for was the pain of the process. As a kid, my mother used to tie my hair in rags so I had dinky little ringlets. It was agony by morning. That’s how my scalp feels right now, like I’ve been sleeping with my hair in the wrong direction. Ouch.
The best (?) is the comment that most of these do improve once treatment is stopped. Wtf does that mean?? Have I got another 5 months of this physical misery? What does ‘most’ mean?’ Which ones am I stuck with for life??
On the bright side, I’m getting cured aren’t I, so why am I whingeing!
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