Good news at the hospital. My visible symptoms (the eye, the skin lesions) are all softening and improving but, best of all, my blood cancer markers are continuing their downward trend.
To be honest. I didn’t think I’d make it to the appointment (OK, it was for 9am and I’m not awake then!). I expected to sit down and burst into tears and reject cycle 4 as unachievable. I expected to plead with him to admit me as an in-patient and give me blood and saline to hydrate me. But he checked my eye and neck and said they were looking good, went through ALL my side effects - there’s no room for embarrassment in chemotherapy - and then pronounced that he was giving me a week off to get back to myself again. Then I will have cycle 4 on a lower dose and a CT scan which is routine every three months from now on apparently.
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| This is SO me |
In addition, he has cancelled my zometa infusions (I was a bit disappointed as I could have done with a bit of saline drip for hydration). Dr U said they’d done their job (clear bone scan) and were no longer necessary. He said the treatment I’d had would last for years, at least till I was a hundred . Nice to hear that when, at the back of my mind, is the unavoidable thought of will I make 71? Obviously yes.
I left the room a new woman. Still a bit wobbly but I could feel my body responding to the idea of a week off - shoulders relaxing, head a little higher. Of course, it didn’t help that the plan was to hand in my prescription at the pharmacy and then text my chauffeur Emma to come and pick me up. But…I’d left the phone at home. I couldn't believe it, I’d already got in the car and then had to go back for my glasses. But my phone is literally my lifeline right now. And of course I had no idea of Emma’s number. There was no point ringing D - he’s terrified of my phone!
Fortunately I’d explained to Emma that there are Oncology Patient parking slots on the basement level so I decided I could walk there and pray she had found a slot cos a) there are 7 stories b) all I knew was she has a dark blue car and c) it would be a physical impossibility to walk all those floors and stairs. I found her!! Thank you Emma.
By the time I got home and was debriefed (it feels like an interrogation) by Dennis, all I could do was head upstairs and collapse on the bed.
At the moment, this has several connotations - a simple collapse on the bed; a loss of balance collapse on the bed; a fall onto the bed when my head goes hollow. That’s how it feels. It was a simple collapse on the bed. Later I toppled onto the bed and later I fell backwards by the dressing table - something to grab to avoid disaster. A hollow head fall. Today I got out of bed, stood myself upright and immediately fell back. Wednesday I stood up from the loo, balanced myself and then fell against the wall and back onto the loo. More hollow head falls. I don’t know what’s happening, it’s likely to be an “unusual” side effect- we’ll see later this week when my body is clearer of capecitabine - but I’m a mass of bruises and getting very wary of walking anywhere where there is no support.
The summerhouse has arrived but we have no idea when the fencers will come to put it up. Of course it’s been raining so it’s not having a good start.
Ah, but it’s going to be great!
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