110. Fatigue

I remember when I first encountered the word ‘fatigue.’ Yes of course I read it as fattyguoo. I knew it meant tired, more than tired but not totally knackered (actually I didn’t come across ‘knackered’ until long after, which was probably a good thing - I’m still not sure if it qualifies as a ‘rude word’). What I never understood till now is that there is a distinct quality to fatigue that, for me at least, defies definition.

I was bright and chirpy Tuesday after the ‘chemo.’ I did keep dropping off, my eyes and mind feeling weary but not tired as I understand it. Wednesday I indulged myself with a pyjama day. I didn’t feel unwell, just not quite right. Thursday and today, I’ve had no choice: still pjs, still in bed most of the day, and lacking the energy to read, knit, even watch tv. Even the puzzles in the paper remain untouched. I don’t feel ill. I’m not tired. I don’t have flu-like symptoms which are a common side effect of the treatment. What I feel is utter fatigue.

This kind of sums me up, though I’m more upright. What I wouldn’t give to curl up like the good old days. Unfortunately, even a few minutes in this posture means rather a lot of pain. 

Speaking of pain, I guess I spoke too soon when I said radiotherapy was a doddle. It’s working its nasty work under the skin and my breast muscle hurts like hell to touch. To make things worse, it itches, but nothing so simple as an itch I can scratch. It’s that deep down, unreachable itch that makes me feel slightly queasy. Of course it triggers my numb arm so I’m dealing with weird itches down an arm I can’t massage, only rub upwards and into some mysterious lymphatic route with luck. 

OK, enough moaning.

I got my appointment for my MRI today: another 4 bloody weeks. It’s a good job I’m not really truly worried about the what ifs.  I’d do it privately if I were. It’s at the LGI Clarendon Wing at 8.50 on a Sunday morning. It’s stated very clearly so it’s not a mistake. Maybe they are trying to catch up with heavy demand?  Meantime, no driving. Really? I think I’m going to book a session with an instructor since I’ve not driven now for over three months. The question is, do I gamble or play safe and continue to spend a fortune on taxis (buses just don’t go where I want to go) and rely on friends?

Lisa’s off on holiday tomorrow so it’ll be a taxi to see the physio on Tuesday. I think she may be disappointed with my progress. I always seem to have a reason...  shirker!!