Pain pain go away

Things that help bone pain: paracetemol (naughty naughty, ahh the doctors will never know), a hot bath (thanks Nick) and a walk up the mountains (who knew?)

Things that do not help bone pain: sitting around thinking about bone pain. So why is this what I'm doing right now?? Hmmmm

Having done my first Neulasta night - a thing that, for those of you are are not nearly important enough to spend most of your time reading about lymphoma treatments and visiting lymphoma forums, is very feared among lymphoma-ers - I think I probably got off lightly. Don't get me wrong, it was far from comfortable but not as bad as others seem to have gotten it. Then again, like everything else chemo related, every time seems to be different. This time though, I'd put it on a par with hangover achey limbs at the same time as flu achey limbs, growing pains and a gym session combined - not nice, but not unbearable pain. I've just read that back and can't believe what can become 'normal' and what I'm now willing to class as 'not that bad'!! Childbirth is going to be a breeze after all of this.

The moral of the story - never take painless bones for granted - there are A LOT of bones in your body. You never really think about how many until they all start hurting. Every day that you wake up and your bones don't hurt, be grateful.  I know I will!

Neulasta- my new worst enemy and best friend

Due to low white blood cell counts (turns out I'm not as good at bouncing back as we thought) I will now need a weekly injection to boost them in order to avoid delaying my chemo treatments. This shot is Neulasta. I love that something exists that will prevent delays, as second to the chemo not working, delays are my biggest fear at the moment. I am also delighted that despite being over €1000 per shot I get it for free due to this great health system we have that everyone else seems to hate, I hate it.

If it's not bad enough that I had to sit with the syringe in my hand for hours trying to build up the courage to do it (stick this needle into my own stomach) before eventually giving up and driving myself to the hospital to beg a nurse to do it for me, it causes 'moderate bone pain' as it jolts your bone marrow into overdrive production of cells. Moderate my a**e. You can never really appreciate how many bones are in the human body until they all start to hurt at once. I feel like I'm in one of those medieval (no co-incidence that this word is medi-evil) torture devices that would stretch you by pulling your arms and legs simultaneously. Medi-evil is right. Medicine is evil. In the case of chemo at least. Surely they must be able to find a cancer treatment in general that isn't worse than the disease itself. 

The good news is that due to my squeamish-ness that I never knew I had, I now get a weekly as opposed to daily version of this drug so Nick is off the hook and wont have to inject me. Another upside is that the nurse spent a good 10 seconds pinching my stomach to find a bit that was 'less toned' to inject. Apparently I have a toned stomach. That's new. Never heard that before. I told her that maybe vomiting is the new sit up. Once a day and you've a six pack. Or maybe this nurse only deals with the gastric bypass patients and has never seen anyone below 500lbs. A far more likely explanation.

I think it's time to break all chemo laws and take some paracetamol to numb the pain and go to bed for 2 days until it stops. That'll be 2 days closer to the end. FML as the kids say.

THIS BETTER WORK

It is with sad regret that I inform you all that I will no longer be able to wear mascara. Not only does it now clump my 10 remaining eyelashes together to look like two monster eyelashes, I am quite conscious of not pulling out these last few little fellas. Good news is the eyebrows are still holding strong. I knew these giant eyebrows which, along with many other areas of body hair, which have been the bane of my existence for so many years would put up a good fight. If they've withstood my efforts to get rid of them over the last 15 years, I bet they can take a little more of whatever chemo can throw at them before they give up the good fight.

I am suffering a little bit more on this round, I'm just not getting back to normal. It's been a week and usually by this time I'm fine, gearing up for the next round. Not this time though. Everything aches, I still have the remnants  of the horribleness that was 'mouth sores of round 3 disaster' and I'm unbearably tired all the time. Had to have a sit down this morning after carrying a load of laundry downstairs and putting it in the machine. Yet again, I imagine this is what it feels like to be really really old. I'm hoping this is just part of the 'it's different every time' thing and not a sign that my days of feeling normal between hits are going to become fewer and fewer.

In other upsetting news, I got an email (??) from my liaison nurse at the hospital (same nurse who emailed me to inform me I was HIV negative before I started chemo!!) and she said that the oncologist who has been looking after me (and also got pony kicked by me during my bone marrow biopsy) was faxing a prescription to my local pharmacy and I was to go pick it up and start taking it immediately and they'd phone me later today to tell me why.... emmm no. I called and it turns out my stupid stupid STUPID white blood cell count was borderline last week getting my chemo and for the rest of my chemo I'd have to give myself (Nick will have to give me) daily injections to boost them. I also found out that due to my crappy veins which are being made even crappier by chemo, I will be having a picc line inserted into my arm next week. As if the baldness, grey skin and dark circles didn't scream out 'I'M SICK' quite enough, I now have to have a fully visible 6 inch tube with a tap on it hanging out of my arm for the next 4-5 months. Lovely.

All I keep thinking is THIS BETTER WORK.

Wishful dreaming

Last night I had a dream. I went for my 2 month scan and they told me thats it, I am in remission, no need for the further 4 months of chemo. Since I had responded so well there was absolutely no chance it was ever relapsing. I left the hospital. I woke up. The disappointment of waking up made me cry. It made me realise how much I want this to end, and end for good.

Today I am going to an awards ceremony lunch for work (I still get invites to the nice events without actually working, should have gotten cancer years ago!). Time to stick on my wig and a lovely dress and smile a lot. It's a lovely way to spend a day, still wish I could go back into dreamland though. Then again, it was raining dreamland and the sun is splitting the trees in real land. Maybe it's a sign? Or maybe my Irish subconscious can't fathom sun and so just sticks in rain as the default setting to all dreams? Either way, out into the sun I go.....

A normal weekend

Well, mostly a normal weekend. Saw friends, saw family, walked dogs (well, one dog). First out-of-the-ordinary was the weather - for those of you outside Ireland we have just had our annual week of summer. For 3 glorios days we have been able to venture out wooly jumper-less. It's due to rain again by Wednesday.

Other 'out of the ordinary' was a bit less fortunate - I've finally succumbed to the horribleness that is chemo mouth sores. All down either side of my tongue and then down the back of it also. Urgh. Hurts to eat sweet, bitter and spicy foods. I've happily survived on prawn crackers and salad. Much much better today so I think my magical combo of listerine, salt water, dry salt, anti-fungal mouth gloop (this has been my least favourite cancer medication so far - marzipan flavour thick stuff with a phlegm consistency that I need to squirt into my mouth 4 times a day) and a lack of anything sugary or spicy seems to have done the trick. Hopefully.

I am definitely taking longer to bounce back this time round. Still very sleepy and a little nauseous which would have been long gone by Sunday night on chemo week on my first two treatments. I'm hoping it doesn't start pushing more and more into my good week. I'd hate to lose my lady of leisure time.

The hair is still coming out hard and fast. My bald patches are looking more like the norm than the exception. Other body hair is also started to fall. I'm praying that I get another few weeks out of my eyebrows. Things are going to get a lot more tricky once they go.

I love Sunday nights of non-chemo weeks. A whole nice week ahead. Great feeling :)

Goal accomplished

This time round, I wanted to make it out by lunchtime on chemo week Friday - I did it. I sheepishly made my way back to the couch 2 hours later but I still did it! Next time, the goal is go out somewhere on chemo week Thursday night. It's so easy to sit around feeling chemo'd for weeks. I'm going to try get myself to shorten the 'woe is me' time, a little at a time. It's the little things that make you feel like you're winning this battle.

My liaison nurse called to say that they are going to schedule my first scan for 2 weeks after my next chemo, means I have 4 more weeks to wait before I know if it's working. Apparently scanning too soon after a chemo session can distort the results. 4 weeks seems like a REALLY long time to wait. 5 more months seems like a REALLY long time to have left of chemo. But, as long as the end is really the end, I'm happy.

Overall, thats another session well and truly over, and now, once again, I have 10 days of freedom before I get hit again. JOY! Tonight, I get to relax, have a take away and watch a movie with my 2 favourite boys.

The road to normality...again

Day 2 after chemo 3, Ive had breakfast and lunch, I'm going to try end number 3 today. I'm going to shower, and go out somewhere. It's a lovely sunny day, I think a drive is in order. I always try a drive, minimal energy. I think the neuropathy drugs are what's causing my incredible sleepiness this time round. My hands are fine today so I'm going to try a day without them and see if I'm any more awake.

Too much info alert - if you don't want to read it skip to the next paragraph. Today I got my period - never been so happy to meet with my painful little enemy. I'm not supposed to get periods. My reproductive system is supposed to be shut down by the chemo, a type of temporary menopause, then we wait for it to hopefully restart after chemo is finished. If they never stop, then there's no waiting for the return and there's a very good chance my fertility hasn't been affected by the poison. This has, since day 1, been my biggest concern about this illness (I was so satisfied with my 90% survival rate that I didn't even consider the possibility of death) and so this is very good news. Now I get to pop a couple of painkillers, in addition to all my other drugs, and feel even more normal for a few days :)

The next thing that needs to happen is I need to join a gym. Another KG heavier this week and I'm getting really concerned about the effect of the steroids and the lying around all the time. I have 9 good days every 2 weeks. On these good days I have nothing to do. I realise that mid cancer treatment is probably not the best time to start a diet/exercise regime but something's got to change. Louie is proving himself to be the most horrendous exercise companion - he wont allow me to take 3 steps before he has to stop for an extended sniff of some very exciting tree/fence/ piece of rubbish. He has also taken to collapsing on his side if I try to pull his lead making it impossible to pull him away. Clever little King Louie. I may be able to beat pacman, but I doubt I'll ever beat that little beagle.

21 hours later...

I'm awake! This one seems to have really knocked me down. I fell asleep when I got home, woke up when Nick came home for a few minutes and then back to sleep until now. Feel like someone slipped me some industrial strength sedatives.

Yesterday was more or less the same as previous sessions. Usual vein trouble. This time however when she gave up trying new places and went back to old faithful on the back of my right hand, my reliable little blue buddy collapsed as soon as the needle was in meaning I was back in the warm water and we had to start again. Eventually she got one into my inner left arm (eurgh) and I was on my way.

Met a girl about my age who had just finished her treatment for breast cancer. Her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes had held strong the whole way through chemo and had all fallen out at once 2 weeks after she finished treatment. Gutting! She had a double mastectomy and was starting radiation. Met a man who had been treated in 2008 for Lymphoma and was still coming in for monthly visits for a white blood cell boosting drip as his counts had never quite recovered. Met a lady who was an in-patient in another hospital and was over for the day for her chemo for lung cancer, she had wet herself on the way over. She was laughing about it. Met another lady whose husband had died of esophageal cancer 3 years ago, 8 months after she attained remission from breast cancer and she was now being treated for incurable secondary lung cancer. None of these people complain, their attitude is inspiring - just get on with it, it will be fine. Any day you feel like you can't cope, pop into the oncology ward of st vincent's hospital and speak to some people. They'll change your attitude.

Side effect wise- I got my super strength anti-nausea drip so that seems to be working again (don't want to speak too soon though) and got some new tablets to try to help with last time's agonising hand pain which they have diagnosed as neuropathy. If the tablets don't help we'll have to lower my chemo dosages, neuropathy causes permanent damage. I'm eager to not alter my dose though, I want the tried and tested formula as this gives me the best chance of cure. Time will tell. I'm back on my trusty kidney failure drugs also, might help me break it all down a bit quicker.

Overall, I'm happy with chemo 3 - it's over, I'm 1/4 of the way through, only 3 weeks until I get my 2 month scan, I'm getting there. Slowly but surely. Might try spend some time in my amazing sun trap garden with Louie and enjoy the rare Dublin sun. I'm happy I got diagnosed in Spring rather than Autumn :)

Chemo 3 of 12

1/4 of the way through! This one has hit me hard. I'm floored. Full update tomorrow, thanks for all the calls and texts x

Bye bye

Goodbye feeling well, see you in a week. Tomorrow is chemo number 3. None of the dread of the previous times however, I am eager for it to happen. The quicker it happens, the closer I am to number 4 after which I get scanned to see if it's all actually working.

If it was a guaranteed cure at the end, it would be a lot easier to endure the chemo. The thought that I could be going through all this, just to be told at the end that I'm actually worse than I was at the start is unbearable. This scan is therefore a huge milestone for me. I think it's working. I think I'm getting better. I could drive myself mad poking myself in the neck trying to figure out if they're smaller or unchanged or, god forbid, bigger. I try not to touch my neck. Like I try not to think about it not working. Like I try not to take my temperature every 5 minutes, waiting for some infection that's going to land me in hospital. Like I try to avoid mirrors so I don't have to think about my baldness and my soon to be gone eyebrows and eyelashes. Like I try to not think about the next 5 months. Head in the sand. Ostrich approach. There's a lot to be said for it. Maybe it's never actually sunk in that I really do have cancer. I hope it never does.

I ran into an acquaintance of my parents today ' Wow, you don't look sick!'. She quickly caught herself and said 'I mean, you look great'. It was probably the best thing anyone could have said to me. Here I was, in all my scarved glory and I didn't look sick. That's a big accomplishment for a bald cancer patient, it made my day!

In the post today I got a lovely photo in a frame, what looks like half an accessorize shop's worth of earrings (for when I'm not wearing my wig) and some lovely cards. Thanks to all for yet again, more presents, thoughts and kind wishes.

Tune in tomorrow afternoon for an update on Chemo 3.  

Good deeds

A big blog shout out is deserved to my wonderful friend Lucy who ran the race for life in the UK today. Without money on cancer research, Lymphoma would not be on the list of 'most treatable cancers' and I would not have a 90% chance of having at least 5 more years to live! Well done Luce, very proud of you :) Cancer patients, this cancer patient and future cancer patients of the world thank you. I promise to help in the fight as soon as I've won my own one.

This brings me on to cancer related good deeds. I read in the news yesterday that the father of a Leukemia sufferer in the UK is trying to encourage people age 18-30 to add themselves to the blood stem cell donor register.  While we hear of blood donation, platelet donation, organ donation, I had never heard of bone marrow donation or blood stem cell donation. Targeting our age group is important as young people are much more likely to be selected as a match for stem cell donation, and yet 18-30 year olds only make up 12% of the register. Only 1 in 1000 people who join the register will ever actually be called on to donate (you are only called on when a specific sick person is a match to you and needs your cells) and extracting blood stem cells can be done like a regular blood donation or bone marrow from the bone.

There are currently 36,000 people worldwide awaiting blood stem cell transplant. If my current chemo plan doesn't work, this may become 36,001. Join the register and save the life of someone like me! More info in Ireland can be obtained from the IBTS. Only takes a few minutes and you can think of it as your good deed for the day/ week/ month/ year!

Spa'd

Spa'd - the opposite of chemo'd. Bit of pampering of my poor ravaged body went down a treat. Lots of food, lots of rubbing, lots of lying down - all very much appreciated and even needed. For the most part you are able to forget you are a cancer patient. Things that reminded me:

1) Being bald (nearly) in pools, saunas etc. People, being people, do stare. I figure however that since I still have eyebrows and certainly am not thin, I don't look 'sick' and so I was probably being put in the 'thin haired feminist hippy' box in people's head as opposed to the 'cancer patient' box. I quickly got used to it and within a few minutes was strutting around proudly with my peach fuzz on show.
2)Being told how much I 'deserved' my massage and facial because of all I'd been through repeatedly while they were happening. I'm assuming they felt this way as a result of the cancer as opposed to anything else going on in my life at the moment.
3) Having to, for the first time in my life, tick yes on the 'have you ever been diagnosed with any of the following' section on the initial consultation form. Suppose I better get used to this, it's never going to be no again.
4) For once not being told I have oily skin and in fact being told that the chemo is doing good things to my skin, an unexpected upside to chemo. It may in fact be the only upside. Besides the whole cancer killing thing I suppose.

None of these could outweigh the bed, the food, the treatments, the warmth, the sleep, the relaxation. I may have to do a monthly spa visit. I do after all deserve it after all I've been through. At least that's what they tell me. What reason do they have to lie?

Now, I need to go pick Louie up from his holidays. One more day before the chemo truck hits me...

Chemo brain

I had heard of this concept - 'your short term memory and concentration may be affected, this should return to normal in the months following chemotherapy. We call it 'chemo brain' in the biz'. Oh you crazy cats coming up with joke-like names for medical conditions in an attempt to better communicate with the cool kids.

I put this down to yet another one of those rare 'may happen but never really do' side effects. 'Painkiller plus, may help headache and period pain, may cause heart attack, stroke, stomach ulcer, chronic diarrhea, liver failure, blindness, leprosy and death of a pet'. The more days that pass the more I think I may actually be suffering from this chemo brain.

It started small, forgetting I had asked a friend to come round on a certain day, not remembering who I had written replies to and who I had not. I figured this was just the effect of the chaos that suddenly engulfed my life and mind. Yesterday I got off at the wrong exit for work - Ive done this drive at least twice a day for 6 years and a million times before that. How can I get off at the wrong exit? I took Louie for a walk but forgot his lead. I ran around on the beach with him and 3 hours later at 430pm realised I had not put on a bra in the morning and had been swinging free all day. I came home, cooked the dinner and VERY nearly poured a pot of boiling water on the hob instead of in the sink. Then got in the shower and dumped such an almighty handful of shampoo on my head that it fell down my face and into my eyes blinding me temporarily. How do you forget you were made bald a mere two days ago?? I'm wondering if I should be allowed operate heavy machinery. I'm scared as to what I'll do next. I'm a danger to myself and others.

Today, Louie goes on holidays to the doggie minder and Nick, the family and I head off for a fancy pants spa weekend. First though there's a lot of laundry, cleaning and preparation to do before the big chemo truck hits me again next week and I'm incapacitated. Probably for the best that I'm kept indoors when unsupervised anyway. Safer.

Happy Birthday LymphSona!

Today is not only the 1 month birthday of the blog, but I also received another four, yes four, presents. This marks 30 consecutive days of receiving presents. How can you ever lose faith in humanity after a straight month of presents, cards, well wishes and love from around the world?I didn't even think I knew that many people.

Today, I received a most awesome pacman stressball (he will be with me everywhere I go for times of stress), a chocolate hamper and surprise exploding balloon (nidge and tron, amazing, supporting my never ending steroid fueled feeding frenzy - some alliteration there for you - is always appreciated, lovely present, hopefully we can catch up soon, its been far too long), what looks like a very funny book (with a funnier card!) and a very generous voucher from Nick's colleagues (Nick will hate you all when he sees what it will be spent on). Today I also took my beloved pooch on his first trip to the beach. I had been meaning to take him for months and just never got around to it. Thanks cancer for giving me time. I also had Nick give me a '3 all over' to even out my scissor cut hair. It feels nice now, like a baby duck. Not that I've ever felt a baby duck. I'll add that to the bucket list. If anyone HAS a baby duck please get in touch.

The blog is now at almost 20,000 views. I'm really grateful to you all for reading, sharing, tweeting and generally spreading. If you remember (or read) from the start, you will know that when I was leading to diagnosis (those were some scary scary days - the days when I knew what it was but nobody would say it and instead they just kept sticking more and more needles and corkscrews in me and putting me through giant scanning machines) I took great comfort and great knowledge from the blogs of others. None however documented each day, none were outside the USA, none were female in their mid-late twenties. I not only wanted to add another blog, but add another blog filling one or all of those gaps.

The issues surrounding cancer and females my age are different to those of different age groups. In fact, I think there is a serious void in the entire 'cancer' world in general for people aged 20-40. We face different problems to other age groups, especially those much older. Fertility, raising a young family during treatments, being diagnosed while pregnant, losing our place on the career ladder and not to mention the 'it couldn't be cancer, she's too young' effect among doctors meaning many of us go undiagnosed for months or even years. This is if we even go to a doctor to begin with and don't just put our symptoms down to too many nights on the beer. Looking back, I should have gotten blood tests done at least a year ago. The signs were all there. My invincible 20 something mind just didn't see them. Another year, or half that, and I may not have been treatable, or worse, dead. It is so so so important to me to get the word out to anyone who'll listen that yes, it does happen to people our age, no, it is not the end of the world, yes, life continues around it and here's the day by day proof.

On a lighter note....My gorgeous sister modelling aforementioned pacman stressball.....

Fret not!

This is the latest time of day I've updated the blog in the month (tomorrow is the month birthday of the blog!) since I started it- I've had 3 texts and an email asking if I'm OK.... fret not virtual friends, I am alive and well. The reasons for the delay are that I've been out since 10am testing out my new 'do' out and about in society like a real live non-cancer person.

I was a bit worried waking up to my reflection would cause a shift in mindset and the baldness would 'sink in' leading to some sort of meltdown. Thankfully, I woke up still delighted it's been done. Last night was the fastest I've fallen asleep in at least 2 weeks. (I've been having a lot of trouble falling asleep. Once I'm asleep I can't wake up but I can't seem to make my mind settle enough to nod off. I'm starting to see why every fellow cancerer I speak to seem to be on sleeping tablets. Lets hope it doesn't come to this.) I think it was because I had no decisions to make, and wasn't 'waiting' for the hair to come out. In fact, I have enlisted a male short haired friend to lend me a hair clippers and tomorrow I will be going full monty on my head. It's still long enough to clog the shower drain when it comes out in bulk and I think Nick is fairly sick of having to unblock it. I'm more than happy to bid farewell to what's left.

I went into work today, I needed to get some things and wanted to see everyone anyway. Mistake. Seeing MY (that's right MY) work and projects changing and progressing without me, and mostly in ways I don't agree with, was upsetting. I took my things, milked a free lunch out of it and went on my merry way. Off to meet a friend I haven't seen in far too long. She apologised at the end for not talking about me and my current predicament enough - made me realise how nice it is to talk about something else! I do however find it difficult to think of anything else to talk about. It could be because cancer and everything surrounding it is so forefront in my mind. Or it could be because I'm doing nothing else at the moment and so have nothing else interesting to talk about. Either way, I was more than happy to listen for a while. She also gave me an awesome giant pillow. Another comfort to take to chemo, and use on the couch, and in bed, and in the car, and while walking Louie.... OK no, too far, but you get the point - it's versatile. Thanks for my awesome pillow :)

I am getting very good at having nothing interesting to say and still blabbing for a good three minutes of reading time. That's three minutes of your life you're never getting back.....

waiting waiting

There is a lot of waiting involved with cancer. Waiting for doctors appointments, waiting for results, waiting for your drip to finish, waiting to recover before your next hit, waiting for months to pass until it's all just a memory.

Today's waiting however is even more surreal, if that's possible. I'm waiting, by the phone, until 930am which is when the wig place opens so I can call and beg them to shave my head today. Any ambiguity surrounding my feelings on the subject of Shave Vs Save was extinguished this morning when I, as usual, took the hair tie out of my hair. The sight was so incredible I sent pictures to Nick and some friends. I won't post them on here, it's upsetting for people to see. Rest assured though that head shaving is not something a person, especially a person with an already existing and fairly ironic 'haircut' phobia (bad teenage experience, if any of you unearth THOSE photos you will more than likely push a relatively fragile cancer patient over the edge) takes lightly. It takes a lot of hair loss to make this person come to this decision. In fact, it made me regret not doing it instantly when it started coming out. Be warned any soon to be members of the chemo club- shave, don't try to save. The rest of you don't be jealous, its a really really really crap club.

Wait over, I got through, they're going to egg-ify me at 2pm. 3pm manicure has been cancelled. What a substitute.

Last night in my turmoil I got a supportive text from a friend ' You love new experiences, think of it as an adventure'. Hmmmm not exactly what I mean when I say I love adventure, but I see the point. A change in mindset is good. Mind over matter once again. Think of it as something crazy I would never have otherwise had the guts to do (lets leave aside for now the fact that I would have never WANTED to have the guts to do it) and go for it. Just another crazy thing I did that will make me a more interesting conversationalist! You never know, I may have the most beautiful head under all this hair that within seconds I am snapped up and become a multi-millionaire head model. Ok, I'm getting carried away.

This concludes my final post as a regular haired human being. Over and out.

The downsides of the freedom of choice

This illness takes a lot of, ok most, options away from you. Most of the time you feel utterly helpless. Watching and waiting for results while all your energy is spent literally surviving and trying to enjoy the precious moments where you feel healthy. Never though had I thought that maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this process would be a lot worse if I'd have had choices.

I wasn't given the choice of egg freezing in case my fertility is lost due to chemo - I didn't have the time. I wasn't given a treatment choice, a hospital choice, a doctor choice. I didn't have a choice in continuing to work, or how often I would receive my poison. It all just kind of happened around me. Imagine how difficult it would have been, and how unhealthy for my mind, if I had to make a decision on each of this points while trying to process the monumental blow of a cancer diagnosis to begin with.

This week however, I have a decision to make. My hair is falling out hard and fast. My plan was to make an appointment today to have it shaved tomorrow. They are closed today. I couldn't make an appointment. So, now I have more time to obsess. Would it be better to wait another week or so? Which is worse, watching your hair falling out or taking matters into your own hands and shaving it off? I had always said I would shave it off. I'm faltering now though. If I can just have a few more days of looking normal. The cancer equivalent of 5 more minutes. Delay the inevitable. The fact of the matter is that I'll be bald soon anyway so either way it really doesn't matter, it just made me realise how nice it was to have no choice. Sounds weird. But the difficulty in choice is ultimately the fear of regret. If you had no choice, you can never regret.

Got 2 packages from postie today. Well not FROM him, but he's been delivering so many packages here I'm kind of surprised he hasn't started to join in and send me some himself. I don't like mentioning names on the blog so I wont, you know who you are.

First was a delivery of hats/ pre tied headscarves from the other side of the world. Very fitting given my current dilemma! I haven't seen the sender in years but at one time would have considered her a very close friend. What a lovely thing to do. I hope, when this is all over, we can catch up. If there's one thing this is teaching me it's that those lost and far away friends are precious. Even people you barely knew can, and do, change a bad day to a good day. Thank you for being so thoughtful.

Second was from another long lost group, at one time they really were like my family. A major regret I've always had is that I never kept up with them. Overnight they went from being a huge part of my life to not there at all (my fault) and I miss them. Thank you for the great tshirt- another contender for next week's chemo session! And that card is going on the wall....brilliant. Pictures are below so you can all see how awesome this family are. Thanks guys, his ass will indeed be kicked. HARD!

To the rest of you, enjoy this sunny Monday! I've spent the morning window shopping and coffee-ing with one of my bestest buds, looking at all the things I'm going to buy when I'm well enough to re-enter society full time, am working and deflate after my 6 month relationship with Mr. Steroid (He sounds a lot sexier than he is). Tomorrow is 'ladies what lunch and get mani's' day with my lady of leisure mother. Thank god for ladies of leisure or I don't know what I'd be doing with myself. Cancer doesn't need to be a curse. 6 months of being a lady of leisure every second week ain't so bad :)

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Yesterday, after my happy 'this is going to be a great day' post in the morning, turned out to be the scariest day I've had so far. My hair started falling out. Properly. Fellow newly- diagnosed cancerers far and wide need to be aware of the distinction between what you IMAGINE to be hair falling out (a few extra hairs coming out in the shower, when you brush, a few extra hairs on the pillow which I've been having since 5 days after chemo 1) and what is ACTUALLY hair falling out ( 10% of your head hair in your hand as you remove the hair tie from your ponytail). No matter how much you know, you prepare, you plan, you wait for your hair to come out, you will never be ready.

Holding a handful of your own curls is indescribable ( I imagine however that it's similar to holding a handful of your own straight hair). I dropped it in the sink and backed away from it as if it was going to jump back out and bite me. Then I screamed for Nick to come look. 'What is it?' ...'Oh'
He hugged me. I kept running my fingers through, taking 20 hairs each time. It just came away at the slightest touch. I realised it wasn't going to stop and as long as I was pulling, it was going to keep coming out. The doorbell rang, I put a scarf over it and went to lunch and then to walk the dog. When I got back I took off the scarf. More handfuls of hair, one after another. More tears. How cruel this disease is. As if the rest of it wasn't enough now it has to take the stupid curls I've hated as long as I can remember in some sort of sick 'be careful what you wish for' lesson. Way to kick me when I'm down pacman.

People (2 months ago I would have included myself in this) , think its vanity. Or superficial. it will grow back right? Right. Doesn't make it feel any better though. It's the least of your worries right? Wrong. It's traumatic. A daily/ hourly/ minutely reminder that you're not normal, you're sick. Very very sick. I would have said these things to a friend in this situation. Don't worry, it will grow back, wigs are really good these days, I bet you'll really be able to pull off scarves. All meant as helpful, kind, comforting words. Advice from someone who has been on the other side? Give them a hug and tell them you'll still love them when they look like uncle Fester. That's all they really need to hear.


To add salt to the wound- its not just psychological. I had no idea how uncomfortable it would be. It's hot, itchy and sensitive. It hurts when my hair moves. Not badly, about a one on the pain scale. Still very present though, lest you forget. Nobody told me this. Also hair falling means hair falling everywhere- in your food, into your mouth, into your eyes, down inside your clothes, everywhere. One day it's there, the next day it's ( or at least a large chunk of it's) not. I wonder if it's just me and other peoples hair loss is more gradual? Surely someone somewhere would have warned me about this day otherwise?

So, what to do? Throw on a scarf and gather a support group for a slap up meal. I cried most of the way to the restaurant. Then told myself that's enough. This is the way I am now and I better get used to it. For a while. On Tuesday (they don't open tomorrow) I'll go get my head shaved and pick up my 'piece'. Each tear is letting this illness win. It won't win. I may however cry a little bit when it's not looking. Shhhhh. But think of all the money I'll save on shampoo. One less thing to worry about buying in travel size for ryanair flights. Hmmm...can you tell I'm struggling to find upsides? My family, friends, Nick and Louie will still love me when I look like uncle Fester, and I just had calamari, lobster, crayfish and monkfish while looking at this....who says I'm unlucky?

In other news of yesterday, I heard of a woman who I have never met who has been recently diagnosed with breast cancer and somehow came across this blog through google alone. It made her feel better. Job done. I am determined that something positive will come of all this. As Elie Wiesel said, whoever survives a test, whatever it may be, must tell the story. That is his duty. I will survive the test and I will tell the story. I really hope it helps someone else facing their own test.

Success

Done! Hands are almost back to normal, brain almost functioning, legs almost ache-free and stomach eating as normal. Two down, ten to go. Thank god for water, hot showers and frozen peas.

Managed most of yesterday's tasks. All but going for a drive. Who needs that one anyway.

Today, I have a morning dog walk, a yummy lunch date, a fancy dinner date and a visit from the cleaner in the middle to hide any evidence that there's been a cancer patient hibernating in the house all week. There will be ten whole days of normal before it starts again. I'm going to enjoy every second of them. Happy Saturday everyone :)

Day officially brightened!

After my slightly depressed post this morning, the postman arrived. The difference a couple of hours and a couple of parcels can make....

Firstly, any concerns over what to wear to my next chemo session have been eased thanks to this little beauty...Brilliant, thanks love, really made me smile! 

The next box was a treasure chest of love! Artwork from Nick's niece showing Nick, Louie and I, some soft gloves (fortune teller - I had no trouble with my hands until yesterday!) and about 15 hand made get well soon cards from children in Nick's Mother's class at school. Amazing. Feel the love is right Ann!

Now just a quick rest before I get picked up at 445pm for my early movie date :)

A day in the life

Unfortunately today was not the day that I wake up feeling back to normal. So, having had enough of being zombied for this round, I'll have to make it the day I feel back to normal. I have a plan for this which, due to the new hand troubles, will need to be amended from last time.

First, I will need to bathe my mouth and throat in saline and anti-fungal mouthwash - I feel some scratchiness in there and the last thing I want is a sore throat. This, like every other day, will be repeated 4 times throughout the day along with 3 teeth brushes. Then, I have to have another attempt at mastering the art of showering without wetting my hands ( no easy feat with no waterproof hand gear I can tell you). Then, I will have dry toast while icing my hands on a bag of frozen peas. We have diagnosed me with 'hand and foot syndrome'. Caused by chemo drugs leaking from the capillaries in your hands and feet leading to you being burned from the inside out causing blisters etc. Making the capillaries contract with coldness seems to be the way forward so today, that's my mission. Once this is done, I will be taking myself for a drive with the windows open. Low energy requirement but provides some fresh air. Its been 3 days since I had fresh air. Hopefully it will wake me up a bit. After this it will definitely be time for a rest, so its back to bed with me for a nap. This evening, I will have some dinner and attempt a trip to see a movie. Low energy and I'll feel like I'm in society again. During the day I will drink 3-4 Litres of water in an attempt to flush the rest of it out of me. I will also swallow more tablets than most people see in a year. I will take some laxatives and be asleep by 10pm at the latest for my 13 hour coma. Ahhhh the life of a cancer patient. Jealous? Thought so.

If I manage all this today, tomorrow should definitely be the day I'm back to normal. Here's hoping for normal. Not sure how normal you can be with skinless hands, but I'm still hoping :)

Being Friday, today in work we would have a meeting at around 10am. We would discuss the week just gone and plan out everything for the following one. Then we'd do some bits and pieces and around 12pm we would order the food for 'fat friday'. Pizza, chipper, whatever was the consensus of the day. We'd all sit together and have our food, some cake which was more often than not provided whether it was a birthday or not, do another hour of 'work' and head home at 3pm. I never realised what a nice way this was to spend a Friday. Make the most of your Friday, you'll miss them when they're gone!

Hands up who hates chemo

You've never noticed how much you use your hands until the skin on the palms of your hands stops regrowing at the rate it should. My hands are raw, sensitive to temperature, touch and constantly burning. Showering is difficult, the hot water hurts.

Round 2 has been completely free of the dreaded GI effects of chemo like nausea, vomiting, constipation that I experienced so strongly after round 1. I think that however may have been easier. Instead, I am aching all over, my muscles throbbing as if I've been carrying out some form of strenuous exercise for a week straight (not that I know what this would feel like, but I can imagine it hurts). My hands however are the most troublesome. Right now I'm typing with my nails (thank god the nails are unaffected so far!). Grass is always greener I suppose, I would have happily traded for sore hands when I was living in pukepoint HQ.

The cruel part of this disease, or rather treatment for this disease, is that it leaves you in limbo. A constant battle between mind and body. I'm not out of it enough to want to sleep and sit for days at a time, but I'm too out of it to do anything else. My mind wants to act normally, my body won't hear of it. I don't recognise myself in the mirror. I look tired, bloated, pale, dark circles under my eyes, seriously thinning hair. I don't look the way I do in my mind. It makes me think this is what it must be like to grow old - your body failing you, your appearance changing beyond recognition.

I will put up with it all, and more, as long as it works. That's the worst part - not knowing if it's going to work. Nothing to do, no energy to do it and too much time to think. The alternative is unthinkable. In the chemo ward on Tuesday I was talking to some other patients regarding insomnia and depression. I was the only one not on sleeping tablets and anti-depressants. I was however also the only one who was new to chemo. One woman was 8/12 done and one was 6/9 done. It won't happen to me. My body is weak but my mind is strong. Well, stubborn. I'm nothing if not stubborn. Tomorrow will be different. Better.

What is not so certain is whether or not you all can avoid anti-depressants after reading this post - WOW this is a depressing one. I do try to keep the blog positive. I also however, as you know, keep it honest. Nick says it's good that I'm feeling the effects of chemo so strongly - proof that it's destroying everything in my body, pacman by default. Easy for him to say. I see the logic though, I'd be seriously worried if I felt perfect.

The new plan - break the 12 treatments and 6 months into more manageable chunks. Having experienced 2, the 12 is seeming unachievable. I am now therefore halfway to my 2 month scan instead of 2/12 done. Only 2 more chemo's to go!

Dedicated to Nick

Nick and I started seeing each other 3 years ago today. After 3 months (and only 3 weekend long 'dates') he moved to Ireland from the UK, and in with me leaving his job, friends and family behind. The recession meant it took him 6 months to find a paying job during which I supported us both. Since then we have driven an ambulance from Dublin to Mongolia, bought, rebuilt, decorated and fully furnished a 4 bedroom house, raised an insane beagle and most recently, dealt with a cancer diagnosis and, worse, cancer treatment.

In our short 3 years we have laughed, cried, hugged and argued (who am I kidding, him laughing and hugging, me crying and arguing) our way through some relatively big challenges. Some self inflicted, some out of our hands, but all difficult. We have come out from each stronger than before. Before each one of these challenges, someone has used the famous 'this will make or break you' line (Nothing like 2 months, alone together, living in an ambulance with no air conditioning driving through mountain ranges and desserts in 50 degrees to test your patience). Each one has made us.

This time more than ever, I honestly don't know what I would do without him. He is stronger, calmer and more patient than I am. He gets forgotten in all my thank yous but he is the most important person, always there, keeping me laughing and keeping me strong. Thank you Nick. I really hope however, that you never need me to do the same for you. I would find this much harder the other way around.

Unfortunately, there will be no celebrating today. Today I am tied to the couch, zombied, chemo'd. Still no nausea, for which I cannot express my gratitude to whatever pharma company manufactured those anti-sickness drugs, but just generally floored. Aching all over, staring at walls trying to figure out why I went into the hall, wondering if I should risk food in case it ignites the debilitating nausea of last time.  Back to bed seems like the only option. Celebrations will have to wait until it passes. And it will pass.

In general, round 2 seems to be much better, I think I'll be back to normal a day earlier this time (I seem to be a day ahead of where I was at this time on round 1). I am feeling hopeful. We will get through this too. Then we can get back to the self inflicted challenges. The fun ones :) Alaska to Argentina in a mini anyone?

Kill Cancer Day number 2

Kill cancer day number 2 complete. That means I'm 2/12 done (1/6 that is - ahhhh fractions, making numbers seem smaller, I prefer 1/6). Overall it was the same as the first time. Lots of needles, lots of drips, lots of toilet trips.

Some great parts of today:
1. I didn't pull my IV out once or fill it with blood, this is a vast improvement on the walking disaster version of me last time.
2. I have been given the green light to go on short flights within the EU ( we're cleaner than the rest of you apparently) on my good weeks. Those of you in the UK and Italy prepare for a headscarved visitor :)
3. No mid way blood test this time meaning, unless I get sick, no more hospitals for me for 2 weeks
4. I am one chemo closer to the end
5. I got some super strength anti-sickness drugs in my IV so I might make it through today vomit free

Bad parts of today:
1. It took half an hour, 3 location attempts and a bowl of hot water before they could get a vein. The chances of me not having to have a port installed before the end of this are looking slimmer.
2. When my IV was removed I spurted blood everywhere. Not a nice sight.
3. I seem to be maintaining my steady weight gain at 1KG a week. Unbelievable. Steroids are not my friend. Now that I'm not working I'm going to have to get some serious exercise going.

Funny parts of today:
1. Nick pulling the lever on my recliner without me knowing, catapulting me into the IV of the woman sitting beside me
2. .... nah that's all I got, chemo is not very funny.

I got home, Nick (who took the day off today for chemo day) had hung the giant TV in the bedroom, already moved my bedside table contents to the en suite side in anticipation of my panic vomiting sessions (the fear of me throwing up on his gadgets has obviously left a lasting impression from last time), and arranged my medications, thermometer, water and an array of crackers. Got myself a saint here, a bearded saint.

Now its time to sleep it off, drink lots of water, take lots of tablets and fibre capsules and hope I'm recovered in time for the weekend. End of round 2. Ding ding ding ding. I'm definitely winning....

Here comes the dread again

Is it better or worse to know what's coming? The dread before chemo number 1 was mostly due to fear of the unknown. This time it's fear of the known. I know that, tomorrow, I will spend most of the day in hospital. I will be stuck with more needles than I can count, will be 'swabbed' many many times with alcohol (I already really really hate that smell, it's going to be a long 6 months), I will wheel my drip in and out to the toilet 27 times causing bleeding into my IV each time (just can't master the art of NOT ripping the needle from my vein each time I move, I'm sure I'll get there though), I will have the horrible red pee again with the horrible chemical taste in my mouth, I will try to eat a sandwich, it will lodge in my chest. Then I will go home and the bad stuff starts. Ever been hit by a bus after doing a 24 hour written exam in astrophysics during a severe bout of food poisoning? I would imagine it feels similar. Then the vomiting, the nausea, the constipation, the days of being zombified (chemo'd), the severe exhaustion, carrying the bin around the house in case I venture too far from a 'puke point' during my twice daily wander to get more water and crackers from the kitchen .

(NOTE: Puke points are a system engineered by Nick to avoid puke all over our newly decorated house- The en suite is puke point HQ, the bin I carry around is puke point 1, the kitchen, living room and bedroom also have plastic lined bins - puke points 2-4 respectively. I have to say, being on the verge of vomiting and hearing someone screaming 'PUKE POINT 3, PUKE POINT 3' in wild panic while you scramble for a bin is actually quite entertaining. Why is this necessary you might ask? Everything happens so suddenly that if I didn't sit with my head in the bowl our house would never be the same. )

This however, like last time, will pass. By Saturday I will feel almost human again, I will have eaten two meals and will have showered twice. By Sunday I will be fine. This time however, I don't have to go to work on the Monday. Instead, I will be getting manicured with my mother, lunching, hanging out with Louie and homewares shopping.

Today, I am lucky enough to be having ANOTHER event where I will be cooked for and generally entertained by some very loud and hilarious ladies. A great send off into number 2. (chemo number 2 that is, no other number 2's will be happening this week unfortunately. There I go again with the too much information, that one was funny though right?). Yesterday I spent the whole day in numerous public places with the scarf on my head. I'll get used to it. When people stare its because I look so damn good. When people stare it's because I look so damn good. When people stare it's because I look so damn good. I also somehow managed to chip a tooth. ON SUSHI. Another dentist trip is probably in order. Last thing I need.

If at any point this week you feel like you're having a bad one, or that its dragging, or that you simply cant wait for the weekend, rethink. I would give a lot to be having your week instead of mine. When this is over I will be very grateful for those boring, dragging, endless, uneventful weeks of work. There's a lot to be said for monotony, I had just never realised it before. Maybe this helps you with your weekly dread? Or maybe you think I'm a self-pitying moan? Either way, I do honestly hope you never have to experience it from my perspective.

Oh happy day

Would you have thought that a cancer patient, who was undergoing chemotherapy, could carry out an entirely normal Saturday? I wouldn't have. Cancer, and more so chemotherapy, were death sentences. Figuratively if not literally. My perception was the sick, bald, sad person with their head in a toilet bowl for months, slowly wasting away and getting paler and sicker. I am under no illusions and know that this can sometimes unfortunately be the case. It is not however the only possibility. One in three people reading this have been, or will one day be, diagnosed with cancer. One of the goals of this blog is to make that day a little less scary. Cancer, tumor, chemotherapy, radiation, prognosis, survival, relapse, these are scary words. They will consume your every thought if you allow them to. Don't allow them to, life goes on.

Today, my fabulous friends proved once again that they are indeed fabulous. They arrived at 10am armed with brekkie. Once we had munched our way through delicious granola, yogurt, berries, scones, tea and juice, we headed out for a couple of hours of shopping. Shoes, jewellery, sunglasses, homewares, presents and head scarves later we got back to the house for a little rest before we head out for an early dinner at 6. How can such an average day to most people be so so fun to me? Because I hadn't thought it would be possible. I thought I was doomed to a minimum of 6 months of life on hold. Not to mention the possibility of being the dreaded 1 in 10 who doesn't respond to chemo in this time. While I won't pretend that NO aspects of life are on hold (holidays and work being the most noteworthy), or that the fear of being that 1 in 10 doesn't maintain a permanent residence in my brain, or that there aren't days where I would give anything to just be someone else for a few months, life does indeed go on. And it's fun too.

Without cancer today would seem like any other day. I would not be appreciative of this day or anything it brought. The ability to see each and every day for what it is - borrowed time, a limited resource, something that will eventually run out - is a gift. Make the most of it while it's here. Do I sound like a crazy person yet? Or stoned at least? Probably. But maybe one day you'll understand what I mean.

Unemployed

When I was first being tested, and was first diagnosed I was determined that I was going to work throughout. I don't think this was even a 'I'm going to be the superwoman who can do it all' mentality that I adopt with a lot of things I do, I think it was more that I refused to allow this illness to win. Today, I decided to step back from work for a few months. I told everyone involved that I'm out. My announcement was met with a mixture of shock (what? you're quitting? YOU? naaah, you'll be here next week), sadness (it's so unfair that this happened to you) and 'you're right, just get well and then come back to work'. Nobody, trust me, is more shocked and saddened by this outcome (I say outcome as I don't believe it was really a decision, I don't think I had a choice) than I am. Today Pacman, you win, you will not win the battle though. Let's revisit this is 6 months and see who's alive and who's not.

I have some long term work projects I can tip away at on the good days. I also could use the time for other things I have always wanted to do - learn how to play an instrument etc. In general though, I plan to become a lady that lunches. Every second week obviously. I will still be 'lady with cancer' the alternating weeks. Any other suggestions, or lunch dates (lady that lunches sounds much more fun if I'm not alone while being said lady) most welcome!

Hair loss seems to have slowed. I'm wondering is it worse in the chemo weeks. We'll find out next week I suppose. Number 2 is scheduled for 830am Tuesday morning. Fun fun fun. In the meantime however I have a busy weekend ahead. Busy is good, makes the time pass faster.

I'm looking forward to chemo number 2, I have long thought that women have an innate ability to forget the badness, pain etc. of a situation and remember mostly the good. This is, I think, an ability with its roots in childbirth. If we remembered how bad it was surely we'd never do it again? But we seem to be able to forget, until we're back in the situation again. It also works with hangovers (never drinking again syndrome). I think I have blocked out the horribleness that was chemo 1 and am remembering only the reduction in cancer symptoms once I had recovered from the chemo. I can now turn my neck freely, I have no cough, I cant feel the lump under my arm at all and my night fevers seem to have stopped completely. All after one round. Maybe this is all in my head. Or I'm the first person ever to be cured of cancer after one round of chemo. All real possibilities.... hmmmm. I am however still sleeping an average of 12-14 hours a night. I do also still have a much larger than human neck. I'm hoping round 2 will clear this up. I would LOVE to have a normal neck before I'm bald!

It's Friday night, I'm having pizza :)

My body is awesome

You hear that FHM? Sexiest woman alive has nothing on me, my body is amazing. Blood tests today revealed that my counts are actually better than before chemo 1, meaning I am healthy, not open to infection, recovered from poisoning number one. This is better news than it probably sounds to most non-cancerers (lucky bastards). It means my 'bounce-back-ability' is high, meaning the chance of infections throughout treatment thereby meaning delays in treatment are lower. I'm weirdly ecstatic. I am also weirdly proud of myself, as if I had anything to do with it. Chemo 2 will take place next Tuesday at 830am. Strange thing to be excited about but I am - I like progress :)

This was at my door when I got home. It's no baby elephant (private joke, I'm not losing it, yet), but yes, it did turn my already present smile into a giant grin. What a lovely thing to do. I promise to pay all this kindness forward when I'm better. Thanks Deedee xxxx

Tonight, I get a visit from my oldest bestest bud (who abandoned me years ago for sunnier lands) among other buds who are equally awesome. With my newly discovered amazing WBC count I may also go mad and venture into a crowded public place. Always been a daredevil. First however, I owe a bored puppy a walk and I have a large box of delicious rocky roads to tuck into (don't need chemo weight loss, we've already established my body is awesome, remember?). Good days and better days - this is great day.

Faith in humanity

I just received 4 vintage scarves from a person I've never met who picked them up on a recent buying trip for her shop in temple bar. If you're reading this, thank you. I hope, when I beat this, I can be someone like you.

Cancer will restore your faith in humanity. Fact.

I've been robbed

I cant expect life to carry on as usual. Even on the good weeks. I had almost realised this after work on Monday. Today however, not only was the point really driven home for me, I also realised that once this is over (assuming of course it is going to be over!), I cannot just brush myself off and carry on. I will have to start again. This is going to be the most difficult aspect of this horrible disease.

Continuing a job on a week in week out basis is just not feasible. I have had to allocate my daily duties to others over the last 2 months or so of hospitals and being just to tired to go to work. I have also had to hand over, or rather hand back, the reigns of 'overseeing'. I fought long and hard for these reigns and had just gotten them. Once they're gone they're gone. I will not fight another 6 years to get them back. I have been robbed of my hard earned reigns. More and more it is looking like I would be better off saying goodbye. You are proving yourself to be a worthy adversary Pacman. More than I had given you credit for.

Over the last month I have been following (not participating in, I never felt like I had anything of value to add) some fellow hodgers on a hodgkins lymphoma forum. They tell their stories, discuss treatments, whose tumor is bigger, whose doctor is lying, who is cured, who has relapsed and other intricacies that would not be remotely interesting were you not fighting the good fight also. One person was of particular interest to me, same age, same diagnosis, same stage, same treatment plan but she was 2 years ahead of me. Last night she died. Her husband put up a post to inform the others. Her initial treatment (ABVD - same as mine) seemed successful but she had a rapid relapse and over the course of the next two years of treatment slipped further into weakness.

Again, my work woes are shot back into perspective. I have been robbed of my job (albeit it meant more to me than most people's jobs would mean to them) and the benefits that come of all the effort I've put in but, as long as I come out of this at the other end, what harm is there in starting again. Who's to say that whatever new start I make won't make me happier than this path ever would have. 

What, however, could I do with my time (in the good weeks, bad weeks will still be taken up with sleeping, vomiting, counting hairs as they fall, medicating, hand sanitising, being pricked with needles, poisoning, WINNING!) were I to give up work entirely? It would need to involve little to no physical activity, no situation that could increase chances of an infection, little concentration, little thought or intelligence, no repercussion for simply not doing it on a bad cancer day....hmmm.... (insert dad style 'job in government' joke here) that doesn't leave much.

Tomorrow is a hospital day anyway, I'll go to work on Friday and then I have a whole week to think about it. If only I were able to think. About anything else besides cancer that is. I seem to have an incredible gift for constant thought about that. Anyway, I leave you with a picture of the page I was reading today. I rubbed my eye and then looked back down at the page to see this.... so long little eyelashes, you will be sorely missed..... 

Arrival of the piece

Got the call - my piece (that's what they call wig, don't know why they can't just say wig, it's not like someone who has ordered a wig has forgotten that that's what it is) has arrived. I missed the call, of course, it's me. The message basically said 'Hi this is X, Y asked me to give you a call to let you know that your piece has arrived if you would like to make an appointment whenever you are ready to be shaved'. Would so so love if I lost my phone, or was kidnapped, or was in some other situation that required a stranger to listen to my voice messages for clues and they heard that. Hilarious message. Also, they go to so much trouble to never say 'wig' in case it upsets you, but pop on in to be shaved is perfectly acceptable? Lucky I'm not sensitive!

What I can only imagine to be chemo related insomnia kicked in last night, I was exhausted but lay wide awake. 5am was the last time I looked at the clock. Lets hope that isn't around to stay, definitely something I could do without. Good news however is that all gastrointestinal issues are entirely resolved and aside from some tooth pain akin to having braces tightened and the fact that I'm shedding from places I never even knew I had hair, you would never know I had chemo last week.

I've had a strange change of heart regarding the chemo, I want the next one. This isn't even just to get it over with (believe me, it should go without saying that I want the whole thing over with) but because now that I no longer feel rubbish I feel like it has stopped working. I want it again to make sure Pacman and his fellow uninvited buddies get a constant stream of attack, no time for rest. No time to nurse their wounds and rebuild their strength. Kill kill kill. Ok, I know that to do this would give me no time to rebuild my strength either therefore kill kill killing me in the process but still. I like the feeling of progress and have never been one to be patient to get what I want. I don't even have to take any pills today. Seriously, this is really ruining my rep as 'sick person'. I am however happy I feel this way, to me it means I'm strong again and ready for round 2. Blood tests on Thursday will determine if that is in fact the case or whether my exhaustion related delirium is creating illusions of strength. We'll see.