The day after my first chemo session was, surprisingly, not too bad.
I felt OK throughout the day and was able to do most things as normal, which felt like a small victory. I knew the treatment effects might not appear immediately, so I was cautiously optimistic – but also aware that I was still at the beginning of this particular journey.
The evening brought a new challenge: my first self-injection.
I have to admit, I was rather anxious about it. There is something deeply unsettling about having to deliberately stick a sharp metal needle into oneself, even when you know it’s necessary 😬 But once I actually did it, I realised that the anticipation had been far worse than the reality.
It wasn’t half as bad as the fear itself.
I also noticed that food was beginning to taste a little different. Nothing too dramatic, just not quite “right”. Still, I was determined not to let that stop me, and decided that tomorrow I would make myself a Greek salad — fresh, simple and hopefully full of flavour.
Then, around midnight, things changed.
I woke with awful pains low down in my abdomen. I believed these were the “growing pains” associated with the filgrastim injections, which stimulate the bone marrow to produce more white blood cells.
“Pain” doesn’t really describe it. It felt as though two tiny miners, armed with sharp metal cups, were scraping away inside my pelvis.
Not pleasant. Not fun. Definitely not an experience I’d like to repeat.
I resisted taking anything for the pain because I had been told not to take medication without checking with the team first. Another reminder that, during treatment, even ordinary decisions suddenly need a little more thought.
Still, another day completed. Another thing learned. Another step forwards – or so I assumed.
Leave a comment