Yesterday I spoke in such positive terms about the cancer experience that I even surprised myself. But come on: if the mammogram isn’t 100% reliable, then the fact that my cancer broke out in my skin (ie. areola) was sheer good luck. I’d be happily living out my days till my next mammogram which would reveal stage 4 cancer, probably affecting multiple parts of the body, judging from the disapproving comments the consultants have made about it. One day I must ask just what was so bad about that third lump that it led to all those tests and this treatment.
Anyway, suffice to say I considered myself lucky. I still do. In 5 days time, it’s a safe bet I’ll have changed that mindset.
Today I had chemo #2. We were ONE MINUTE LATE (I went to the wrong clinic reception) and had to wait almost an hour and a half before being seen, by which time someone else had baggsed the Overflow Room. I kept wondering, what if the effects of the Lorazepam run out?? However, even though I had an additional treatment, it was a lot faster than last time.
Things to note:
1. Don’t bother taking puzzles. You’re right-handed, Jan, and they have that right hand becanula’d and wrapped in a dinky little electric blanket. Basically, talk, sleep, eavesdrop, maybe the kindle.
2. The steroid effect varies. Today it was a sudden prickling in my buttocks, genitals and bladder that lasted about 10 minutes. Disconcerting, especially as the first thought is I must pee...
3. Epirubicin, which I seem to get in vast quantities, turns your pee scarlet. It’s essential to remember this to avoid freaking out when you do eventually get to the loo. It changes to a pathetic pink as time (and urine) passes.
4. I am in awe of the nurses who have strict protocols to follow which seem so time-wasting but are essential. They move from patient to patient, injecting those nasty poisons and distracting us with not inane chatter. Today was the origin of names - we had an Ibbetson and a Hellicar. Hmm, I notice Anne didn’t contribute her surname. Now I wonder why ;)
5. Hospital tea is undrinkable. Maybe someone could do research and see if it might be added to the intravenous drugs, the only way they’ll get it in me. It has to have some purpose and probably could kill off a few recalcitrant cells.
6. Leeds workers must be idle sods (I’m safely retired). The rush hour is well-established by 4.30!! Who’s manning the phones, attending trade union meetings?? Nope, all heading home for Pointless.
I have a mini-pharmacy in a plastic bag.
I need to have a serious look at it but it looks challenging. Hopefully if I get it right, it may obviate some of last time’s ugh-time.
What I must try not to do is anticipate what won’t happen. It didn’t last time. Why would it this time? Take each day as it comes, not expect good, bad or indifferent.
Maybe I’ll be trying so hard not to focus on the vast quantities of hair coming away at the slightest touch (and sometimes no touch at all). Poor lost little mites. Poor me.
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