Anyone remember the dread I had before the last time I had chemo and PICC inserted on the same day? I think this is worse. I have that night before an exam butterflies feeling where I forget for a second and then remember and it hits me as if I'm hearing for the first time that tomorrow, again, I will have to have my arm cut and a 45cm tube inserted in my veins straight to my heart and then have 4 hours of chemo. Oh but this time I get the added fun of injecting myself in the stomach beforehand in an attempt to heal my right 'giant smurf' arm which is still huge and blue from last week's blood clot fiasco.
Chemo is the ultimate endurance test. Every week, two weeks, three weeks whatever, you have to walk into a hospital knowing that you feel perfectly well and by the time you leave you'll feel like death for 4 days. Sick, hot, sore, tired, out of breath and achey. Then you feel well and it's back in again. Round and round we go. For six months. That time feels a lot longer than it sounds. As well as the ultimate endurance test it is the ultimate lesson in appreciating your time. I love the times I feel well. Love the mundane tasks I am able to do. Love the feeling of waking up, hopping in the shower and heading out for the day (even if I do have to draw on a face and attach someone else's hair to my head first). Anywhere. Just not the couch for daytime tv and pills. Soon, every day will be like that and I'm sure, like before, I will be bored of those mundane tasks and will spend my days in search of something more exciting. Now though I will know that something extraordinary happening doesn't necessarily mean GOOD extraordinary and sometimes boring is just fine.
So as you can tell from my moan I am not looking forward to chemo #10 and my new PICC line tomorrow, nor is my arm improved much. I'm hopeful that by the time I recover this weekend my arm will be better, not fully but enough that my fingers work! By then, I will also be just over 3 weeks from what I hope will be my final encounter with Mr. Chemo. That hateful bastard. Then again, he is theoretically saving my life so I guess I shouldn't be too hard on him. Tough love. He loves me really.
Something good did come out of my 3 PICC free days - I've been happily soaking in bubble baths - something you can't do (comfortably) with an opening to you heart just dangling out of your arm (even after having it there for 3 months, the concept is no less bizarre to me so I can imagine how that sounds to the rest of you). So now, it's off to enjoy my last bath before my new tubular buddy gets inserted tomorrow and I'm banned from my bubbly tubs of heaven for another month until they take it out BEFORE I LEAVE FOR GREECE :) Yup, still determined that that's happening. I'll drive there if I have to. I'd say walk but with the pace I'm held to these days I have a feeling it would take me a year. If it comes to walking I'd probably give it a miss. Otherwise, I'm as good as there. Bald and smiling.
Chemo is the ultimate endurance test. Every week, two weeks, three weeks whatever, you have to walk into a hospital knowing that you feel perfectly well and by the time you leave you'll feel like death for 4 days. Sick, hot, sore, tired, out of breath and achey. Then you feel well and it's back in again. Round and round we go. For six months. That time feels a lot longer than it sounds. As well as the ultimate endurance test it is the ultimate lesson in appreciating your time. I love the times I feel well. Love the mundane tasks I am able to do. Love the feeling of waking up, hopping in the shower and heading out for the day (even if I do have to draw on a face and attach someone else's hair to my head first). Anywhere. Just not the couch for daytime tv and pills. Soon, every day will be like that and I'm sure, like before, I will be bored of those mundane tasks and will spend my days in search of something more exciting. Now though I will know that something extraordinary happening doesn't necessarily mean GOOD extraordinary and sometimes boring is just fine.
So as you can tell from my moan I am not looking forward to chemo #10 and my new PICC line tomorrow, nor is my arm improved much. I'm hopeful that by the time I recover this weekend my arm will be better, not fully but enough that my fingers work! By then, I will also be just over 3 weeks from what I hope will be my final encounter with Mr. Chemo. That hateful bastard. Then again, he is theoretically saving my life so I guess I shouldn't be too hard on him. Tough love. He loves me really.
Something good did come out of my 3 PICC free days - I've been happily soaking in bubble baths - something you can't do (comfortably) with an opening to you heart just dangling out of your arm (even after having it there for 3 months, the concept is no less bizarre to me so I can imagine how that sounds to the rest of you). So now, it's off to enjoy my last bath before my new tubular buddy gets inserted tomorrow and I'm banned from my bubbly tubs of heaven for another month until they take it out BEFORE I LEAVE FOR GREECE :) Yup, still determined that that's happening. I'll drive there if I have to. I'd say walk but with the pace I'm held to these days I have a feeling it would take me a year. If it comes to walking I'd probably give it a miss. Otherwise, I'm as good as there. Bald and smiling.
Sona how unfortunate,am still praying so if you dont get to Greece there will be serious questions to be answered from above.Lizxxxxx
ReplyDeletejust little more Sona and everything will be history, always remember that you are not alone, this wave will pass, stay strong and think of the good times you will have. our prayers are always with you, and don't forget we LOVE YOU. xoxox Maro
ReplyDeleteSona you will make it with all the good wishes hopefully you won't remember half what you went through thinking of you always Rita and Brendan
ReplyDeleteHope yesterday was tolerable... another one down is all I can say! G'wan ya good thing!!! xxxxxx Karen xxxxxxx
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