NB: These posts are written from notes I made at the time. Some days they are reflections; some days they are simply a record of getting through the next hour.
The next few days became a lesson in not getting too excited by small improvements.
Day 5 began much as the previous ones had ended, with another bout of sickness at around 2:30am. The good news, if there was any, was that the brutal stomach cramps had eased. I still felt dreadful, but at least one symptom had begun to relent.
It was a late start to the day. Breakfast consisted of a little fruit juice, a yoghurt and another anti-sickness tablet. Around midday I received a lovely phone call from Ellie at the Galton Day Unit to see how I was getting on. She suggested trying something simple — a slice of buttered toast.
It stayed down.
That felt like a genuine little win.
Unfortunately, my digestive system still had other ideas, and diarrhoea continued through the afternoon. My throat was still sore, although beginning to improve, and despite everything I managed a short walk. It felt wonderful to get outside for a while, even if I was sick again almost as soon as we got home.
Tea was another slice of toast, followed — rather predictably — by another dash to the bathroom.
So, perhaps not quite out of the woods yet.
By Day 6, things were beginning to move in the right direction.
Although I was sick twice during the night, my sore throat was noticeably easier and, for the first time since this all began, I managed to get through the entire day without being sick.
That felt like real progress.
My stepson and his girlfriend picked up the owing meds from my local pharmacy, I honestly don’t think I could have managed that walk alone, but I did manage two short walks across the park. Food was still very limited – a slice of toast, a couple of TUC biscuits and some oat biscuits – but everything stayed where it was supposed to, which by now counted as a major achievement. There was still nausea and diarrhoea to contend with, but overall I finally felt as though I might be turning a corner.
Then came Day 7.
For the first time, I wasn’t sick overnight or first thing in the morning. The nausea lingered and the diarrhoea hadn’t completely settled, but there were enough signs of improvement that I began wondering whether I should stop taking the medication I’d been prescribed.
Then I noticed something new.
A very sore patch of skin had appeared high on my right thigh, close to my groin. By the afternoon another sore area had developed elsewhere, and although my temperature remained perfectly normal, something didn’t feel quite right.
I rang the hospital for advice. We discussed the ongoing nausea, the diarrhoea and the new sore patches. There was also the possibility that I might need intravenous fluids if I wasn’t managing to keep enough down.
Ellie said she would speak to the oncologist and call me back.
She didn’t keep me waiting long.
When the phone rang again, her message was simple.
“Can you come in straight away?”
I rang for a minicab, let my husband know – he was at work in London – and set off for the hospital, expecting little more than a review and perhaps some fluids.
I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen next…
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