91. You’re only as old as you feel

Right now, mid-80s-90s. I feel decrepit, useless, pretty helpless and generally awful. I can’t say I often feel my age and I’ve had the advantage of not usually looking it - till now.

Today was physio, in preparation for radiotherapy starting at the ridiculous time of 8am. I had to admit to D, the physiotherapist, that I’d done the best I could with the exercises she prescribed but that they aggravated my sore sternum and so, a lot of the time, I didn’t do them. I’m pleased to say I have made some improvement in my arm’s mobility/flexibility regardless of that excuse but we looked at versions that would not affect the sternum. I tried them all, with Lisa from next door making notes and coming up with the horrendous idea of videoing me so I’d remember arm angles etc. Brilliant idea without doubt. Unfortunately I hate seeing even photos of myself! Yes, now I have a home video of one very bony little arm sticking out of a hospital gown and being manipulated to get that breast muscle more flexible. Topped by an apparently bald head (it’s not bald - it’s transparent!). I also have a walking stick - a prop for an arm exercise - but the urge to burst into a Fred Astaire routine was strong. Sadly, I wobbled at the first step so had to rule it out.

I’ll be grateful next week but, by the time I got home, I was in agony. My breathing was laboured. The neuropathic numbness got worse. The neuropathic pain was execrable. I felt awful. I thawed out a bit sitting in the garden reading the paper but I have to be covered top to toe in the sun as my skin is still chemo-thin and soreness from a tiny bit of sunburn feels like flames, as I found out earlier this week when my shins caught the sun. What a waste.

What next? My mind is still set on sailing through radiotherapy now I can get my arm far enough back and can keep still for long enough. I’m not even going to think about sores and burns and damage... My mind is not allowed to go there. Instead I will fret about appointment times and hope the radiographer can accommodate me and move my regular appointment to later in the morning as Lisa has to drop Georgia off at school, then there’s the ‘rush-hour’ that lasts 2-3 hours in Leeds. However, I have a feeling I got the 8.45 slot because everyone else wants to avoid rush-hour too. I may have to rethink my plans but, at over 30 quid a day, a daily taxi isn’t a good option. Occasional, ok, but not 15 sessions on the trot. Mind you, I do get £33 a session from Simply Health as radiotherapy is considered a day admission - so I guess Simply Health can pay for my cabs if necessary.

I suspect there may be longer pauses between blogs for a while. I can’t pretend and the blog is for my own benefit (it does help writing my misery down) but there have been too many pitiful entries lately. Odd, I expected things to really look up once chemo had finished. Well, it seems the tentacles of chemotherapy are long and unpredictable - and I’ve not been having much luck so far have I? Stop there Jan. You’re cancer-free and alive.