Hello again, I keep dropping off the face of the planet (and some would say that’s no bad thing).
I’ve completed the first part of my treatment – five and a half weeks of Radiotherapy plus Chemotherapy in tablet form and I’ve had a few days off. My body has had time to recover from the onslaught and I’m feeling a lot less tired at the moment. I’m not sure how long that will last as I start Chemo again (intravenous plus tablet) in around two weeks, ready for an operation and hopefully full recovery.
All of the above is the reason I’ve not been around lately. I’ve been tired, sore and had some weird side-effects (or at least I hope they’re side-effects of the treatment, otherwise, I need to see a doctor).
It’s been a scary few months and no mistake. At the beginning of March this year, I had a bodily issue which I didn’t ignore for too long in the hopes that it would go away. Trust me, you know your own body best and if something changes, GET IT CHECKED OUT!
So, I went to the doctor – a scary enough activity during a pandemic – and I had an examination (embarrassing of course, but however unpleasant it was for me, think of the poor doc!) My doc sent me for tests - procedures ‘just to rule out some nasty things’ and I prepped for them with lots of laxatives (nope, no details, you don’t NEED those details). I had a colonoscopy and a CT Scan and waited for the results.
I received phone calls from lots of people – most of them helpful, kind and supportive, one whom was not.
On 29th April, I received a phone call from the Nurse who has been walking me through the whole thing.
The phrase, “I’m sorry, you have cancer,” is NOT what you want to hear – never-ever-ever!
I asked if I could put the Nurse on hold whilst I fetched my husband and I had a bit of a ‘moment’ when I had to tell him. I believe, “I have cancer,” is also NOT what you want to hear from your wife.
Things moved along fast after that, I had a consultation with my specialist, and I warned him that humour is my go-to defence mechanism. He understands, I think – well, he does now…
During the consultation, he had to perform an examination. Bearing in mind where the cancer is, the examination was never going to be a pleasant experience (again, for all concerned parties).
Whilst giving me the rectal exam, I asked: “What was going through your mind at the moment you thought, ‘This is what I want to do for a living?’”
I’m calling it a win because he actually laughed (a snort, really, but I’m taking it.)
18th May was the scan that led to me getting three new tattoos – not really tattoos, they’re just three dots to make sure the Radiotherapy machine is lined-up correctly. I asked for a dragon, but unless it’s a really tiny one, I just can’t see it…
20th May, we both went to the hospital for the Chemotherapy Information Appointment. Nightmare to park, but the Nurse was patient and she waited for my husband to walk almost a mile from the car – I’m glad we went early…
26th May I made my way to my first appointment. I had to start the tablets that morning. Nothing scary about taking tablets, right? No… not right, I’m afraid. I have to make sure I take three tablets in the morning and three at night, 12 hours apart. If I go more than an hour over the time, I need to not take them, but continue taking them the next time. I have to have my temperature monitored religiously (we have a spreadsheet) and if my temperature goes up – even a little – I have to go to hospital. If I feel unwell, it’s hospital – immediately. I have a little card that I have to keep with me at all times, that warns medical staff that I MAY need intravenous antibiotics within an hour. Oh yeah… I could actually die if I get an infection.
I had to have regular blood tests and I rotated which arm to offer the haematology staff because the bruise hadn’t gone since the last time I had my bloods done. Only once has it been necessary for the consultant to be concerned – my white cell count was ‘borderline’ which meant I was dangerously close to not being able to take the chemo tablets any more. The next blood test came back ‘OK’ so… you know, back to it.
By the time 5th of July rolled around and my final Radiotherapy treatment, I had become used to dropping my jeans/leggings/trousers AND pants/underwear in front of Radiographers and Student Radiographers and anyone else in the room at the time, that I’ve become concerned that the habit will continue…
I have a few t-shirts for the ‘special’ occasions… face-to-face consultations for example.
Ah yes, my favourite t-shirt. I'd been speaking with my consultant for a few minutes before he realised what the shirt said. "You can't wear that T-shirt," he said... Yeah, I think he gets my humour now.
Throughout this, I’ve tried to keep my sense of humour, not only for my own benefit, but for friends and family. I know this has been (and still is) so very hard for the ones closest to me, but I didn’t want anyone to treat me differently. I’m still me, I’m still here, it’s just that I have something that needs to be dealt with before I can continue doing what I did before. It’s a pause in my life, a blip, something I hope will be way behind me very soon (by the end of this year, with any luck). I need to get the cancer shrunk and away from the nodes it’s ‘a bit too close to’ so the surgeon can whip it out and I can be on my merry way.
Plain and simple, this year has been one fuck-tastic Pain in the ARSE (ASS for the American-speakers out there) in more ways than one, and I will be heartily glad to be rid of it.
I have another two weeks of feeling normal before I start the chemo again and I’ve been forewarned that it could be worse than the previous treatments because it’s intravenous – although one good side effect of this is the gifts. I’ve guilted my husband into getting me a gift for every day of my treatment. Although the work gloves and saw are not what I’d usually consider ‘suitable gifts’. I mean… where are all the swords I’d like? And I've also received gifts from all over the world... Ginger-themed, of course.
My husband said: "You have so many friends online... Is that because they've never met you?"
'Probably' is the answer to that.
*All images are from Google Free to use search, or my own *
It is not an easy thing to go through. I had to watch my wife go through her second round of cancer treatment and chemo. Then she had to watch me go through my lung cancer treatment. I was fortunate I think in that I did not need chemo treatment. But I do understand it somewhat from both sides. Patience and understanding is what was needed in both cases in order for me to keep my sanity.
I hope all goes well for you, there is life after chemo and after cancer and after surgery.
I think that's the worst part of it. I'm OK that it's me going through the treatment, but I don't think I'd be as OK if I had to watch anyone go through it.
So many people have said "Oh, one of my friends/neighbours/family went through that, and they're fine now, 5/10/20 years on" so it's all good.
In many respects it is much easier to go through it, than to watch a loved one go through it. In America there really is no spousal support, and the doctors and nurses will very rarely talk to the spouse.
That's another downside of the American health system.
There are a lot of problems with health care when the primary controlling factor becomes how much can we milk this person for and add to our coffers. People have gotten far to greedy and the only thing that matters is money.