79. The magic of medicine

Today is ‘scheduled’ as the totally crap day in the Paclitaxel week. It started on form. I woke in yelp-out-loud agony from the pain in my ribs and especially across my breast muscle, which was on fire, because I must have slept motionless all night, on my back - not a good idea. It took me 20 minutes to ease myself into movement and sitting up. On top of that, my fingertips are simply deadened, my trout pout is almost visible to me looking down my nose (does that make sense?) and my mouth is foaming.

One Naproxen with my porridge and a firm shoulder massage from an ever-reluctant Dennis and, an hour later, I am feeling totally different. Yes, it still hurts but I don’t feel ill. I can type using my nails. I think today is going to be not so bad after all.

On top of that, I found that my bag of marshmallows, one thing guaranteed to taste sweet if nothing else, must have been too close to the heater I put on late last night and there’s just a mess of gunge. I suspect a photo would be too much! Waste not, want not. There were only about 5 left anyway so I’ve ripped open the bag and I’ve been gnawing at the sticky mess like a horse with its nose in a feedbag. Who needs dignity? It’s a bit like licking the plate (which I have been known to do, past childhood - usually Heinz tinned spaghetti juice, something I’ve not eaten in years).

I can’t stop thinking ONE MORE CHEMO. It seems incredible. Sadly, it’s a little marred. Until now, I’ve had not a single doubt but, last Tuesday, during the long wait in the waiting area, I had conversations with two inspiring women and both were ‘back again.’ I think eventually I’ll have to face the reality that there’s always going to be a remote possibility of all this treatment actually not working perfectly. Now is far too soon but I can feel a gentle nagging doubt building up somewhere in my mind, a little voice saying yes, but what if...? I think I’m going to have to compile a list of all those questions I’ve refused to ask, ready for my final oncology appointment.

So, it looks like Land of Denial is no longer my place of comfort but I’ll be eternally grateful to it. I feel certain I would never have got through all this so relatively easily without its existence.

Mango juice, by the way, is not a solution for me but I can see how some people with a dry mouth would benefit from its texture (I have no idea what it tastes like unfortunately). It could be seen as mimicking mouth mucus in texture. For me though, it just adds to the foam at this stage of the P Week. Oh, just think. Two weeks time and some of this will be just a memory, hopefully never to be repeated. For someone with an eating disorder, I’m doing an awful lot of fantasising about meals. Right now, Sardi’s spinach ravioli....