Thursday, last steroid day... who knows what lies ahead? It’s been different each time and I’m not going to bother fretting what if... What will be, will be.
Yesterday I managed a brief catch up with Judy. I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I wanted/needed the appointment but it was good to touch base at least, even if I couldn’t reach into my brain for what I’d originally felt I’d benefit from talking about. Then I went to book group. That was so good. No cancer talk, no reaction when I yanked off my beanie to reveal an increasingly transparent buzzcut. Just book talk, chat, company. It did me a power of good, I’m sure, but I just folded up as soon as I got home. I had to eat by 5 (steroid rule) but I needed a nap. Compromise: probably the most annoying Michael Sealey session ever (if only I could remember which ones never to use again) and Dennis waking me at 5.30 with my meal.
Angela sent me a package of homeopathic remedies to help - but I need to clarify the instructions. I know originally one was to help with my difficulty swallowing. If I could get that resolved, I’d be better hydrated. I can see my fingertips shrivelling again already.
Monday, after drip. Thursday, dehydrating
Today I went button-shopping, accompanied by Dennis (who seems a bit anxious about my driving for some odd reason. I’m actually ultra-cautious right now, for obvious reasons). I haven’t been over to Bonds in Farsley since they changed premises so that was a treat. Unfortunately I hadn’t the energy to explore. The old shop was a tip - that was the sheer joy of it. Everywhere you looked, something would catch your eye and I’d come away with stuff I didn’t want/need/maybe not even use. This is all neatly arranged and rather stylish. The buttons were downstairs and that was hard enough. As for selecting the buttons...chemo-brain doesn’t lend itself to selecting when there’s such a vast choice. The irony is I could possibly have bought two cardis from George for the cost of the buttons!! Still, Lottie Anne can be sure she’s not dressed in the products of slave labour (as if she could know!). Unfortunately I forgot to buy matching cotton. Oh well, can’t hold too much in this brain right now.
Then the most freaky thing. I am so fed up with mashed potato, I fancied pasta and decided I’d do it myself. Hmm... I’ve never made claims to enjoying cooking but I know the basics. Well, I used to know the basics. I left that kitchen like a bomb had hit it. Poor Dennis has been mopping up spilled pasta water, cleaning a scalded glass saucepan - and tho it was edible and tasted a bit of something, it was hardly haute cuisine.
I also checked in with Lisa (so far away, next door....) and hopefully she’ll pop round for a cuppa tomorrow before whatever ugh stuff the chemo trough brings.
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