65. Self pity is not pretty

Judy, my therapist, described me as a warrior in an email the other day. I replied that I feel like an automaton running on a rapidly-depleting power source. Cancer? Huh, can deal with that. Chemo? Huh, pimpsy (with the help of a little medication for confidence).

I am brought down by a mouth ulcer that gets bigger by the day and seems destined to hit my teeth every time I move my tongue. I am at screaming/retching point with my foaming saliva (sorry, not a nice thought but then it’s a pretty revolting experience). Add to that the complete absence of any energy (yes, I am eating reasonably well - for me - pain or no pain, taste or no taste) and I wonder how the hell I will get through the remaining 5 weeks.

FIVE WEEKS. That’s all it is. I can do it. But I need a plan. I can’t just wallow for the next 5 weeks. Last week I treated myself to

That, plus spotting my first lamb of the year (why do I always shriek?), had me set up for the week. It didn’t last, though the irises are doing fine. Better than I am, at least. Maybe I just need to stick my feet in a bucket of cold water and I’ll thrive.

So yesterday I made what I now call my tantrum stew. I needed D to cut the carrot as I just didn’t trust myself wielding the knife but I got the rest of the ingredients in the pressure cooker, fired it up to steam power and then sat down, drained. I ended up crawling up the stairs, collapsing on the bed and lying there thinking that, if that’s what ‘cooking’ does to me, what’s the point.

I have to say it was gorgeous - it looks pretty repellent but it tasted delicious, was filling and nutritious with its added baby kale and broccoli (which cooked away but I’m assuming some of its nutritional benefits survived).

And I’ve three more portions to get through. Guess what I’ll be having for lunch.

Chemo 5 tomorrow. Past the halfway mark for Paclitaxel and only a month to go. I need some fighting spirit and some physical energy. It’s no good saying I’m going to go for walk when I feel faint just standing up sometimes and I’m undone by throwing some ingredients in a pressure cooker. I’m desperate for a shower (and I have a shower seat) but I know right now I’ll end up with my head reeling, too weak to dry myself, let alone moisturise, moisturise and massage my noob before it completely seizes up. It’ll be interesting to know what my blood tests reveal. I’d say I’m anaemic or something but, so long as I can get through the chemo, that doesn’t seem to matter.

Ok, normally I’d say ‘Chin up, shoulders back’ to motivate myself - and find some chocolate. Let’s get tomorrow over, enjoy the steroid boost and then say “Only FOUR WEEKS to go.” I can do it.