60. Who is this person??

I was a bit optimistic calculating I could drive myself to the clinic today but, in the end, I had no option. Actually I was relaxed and comfortable (and alert!) sitting behind the wheel and I impressed myself by locating a parking space I reversed into perfectly in just one manoeuvre. However, I probably shouldn’t have done it. I’m physically rather weak and felt awful. It was also blowing such a gale that Dennis had to almost push me against the wind to get to the hospital entrance. I was busy trying to keep my double beanie on!!

Clinic was slow, with too much time to observe the other women and feel incredibly sad at how destructive breast cancer seems to be to people’s spirits. A younger woman seated next to me truly looked like she should have been admitted as an in-patient - Dennis said later she had dead eyes. I usually notice stuff like that but I was too busy feeling sad for her and wondering about her prognosis. Yet here I was, probably only half a stone heavier than her, with hardly any energy to get up when called, not giving my own situation a thought. Maybe it’s unsafe territory? Nobody talks to anyone else except their companion(s). What are we afraid of? Intruding? Comparing? I’d love to have asked another woman how she manages with her wig but it felt rude to suggest I could tell she was wearing one. Me? No, still got my defiant fluff, though I have to admit that this morning I noticed a distinct shedding, something that’s not happened for a few weeks.

I would have loved to sit down with my oncologist (one I’d never seen before) and just burst into tears. But she introduced herself and her student and asked how I was getting on with the new chemo after ‘my awful experience’ with EC. I didn’t know what she meant. I just said something like ‘Oh it wasn’t that bad’ and added my usual joke that I can get a side effect just entering a pharmacy. It only registered later that she was referring to the neutrophil count and the neutropoenic sepsis. Ancient history now - why dwell on it? So I thought for a bit, listed the side effects I’m getting (illustrating very clearly the effects on my mouth by lisping - cringe)  and brightly said ‘It’s only 6 more sessions. Let’s just get on with it.’ Who IS this woman? I worried in the car because Den felt a bit queasy from drinking milk that he knew had turned and that was HIM feeling queasy, not me. Yet I take all this cancer stuff in my stride like a different person. It kind of intrigues me - how can I put on such a facade? Actually, I don’t think it is a facade. I had breast cancer. I have to have chemotherapy. I’m confident they are doing their best to mitigate the side effects in the light of my phobias. Yes, let’s just get it finished.

6 more sessions (sadly all at St James’s - the oncologist contacted Wharfedale and they only offer docetaxel treatment, not Paclitaxel), and then my next oncology appointment is in radiology.  I can’t believe it’s less than 2 months away. Having said that, it’s March and I’ve been dealing with this effing disease since September. In fact, it’s exactly 6 months since I spotted the little bumps. It feels like a lifetime. I am so looking forward to getting my body back but there’s a way to go yet. Big sigh.

And still nothing has been said about a prosthesis and basically just preparing for life after cancer. What on earth will I think about when I’ve no side effects to dwell on?