This Too Shall Pass

Just when I thought I was beginning to understand the rhythm of chemotherapy, the weekend had other ideas.

Having sailed through round two of my targetted treatments without any major dramas, I rather optimistically assumed I was on the home straight for a “good” and “positive” cycle. Instead, Saturday was spent clocking up six hours in A&E with stomach cramps, vomiting and diarrhoea.

After yet more blood tests and a couple of bags of fluids, the verdict was that although my blood results weren’t quite perfect, there was nothing alarming enough to keep me in hospital. The most likely culprit was simply the toxic nature of chemotherapy doing exactly what it is designed to do: poisoning those fast-growing cancer cells. Unfortunately, it can’t tell the difference between cancer cells and other fast-growing healthy cells, such as those in our hair, skin and nails.

The less said about the surroundings, the better.

It was another part of the hospital that was, quite frankly, disgustingly filthy. Certainly not somewhere anyone would choose to spend six hours, let alone people who are already ill. It quickly became obvious that a handful of us medical patients had simply been parked there while we waited for a doctor to work methodically through the queue.  There were three ladies’ toilet cubicles, but two were blocked and there was only soap above one of the three hand basins. 

Resources were clearly stretched. Just one drip stand was available for several of us, so I ended up sharing it with a little old lady who provided a running commentary on absolutely everything that was wrong. My ever-compassionate husband took pity on her being there alone and disappeared to buy her a Milky Way.

You’d think that would earn him a smile.

“Oh… I only eat dark chocolate,” she complained with a sour face.

She ate the chocolate bar anyway – still without a word of thanks…

Eventually I was discharged with the familiar instructions: if I develop a temperature or have any concerns at all, ring immediately. One of the lovely chemotherapy nurses popped by to check on me and has also arranged for one of the oncologists to give me a call later this week to see how I’m getting on, which is reassuring.

Although I’m still ridiculously tired, I do think a pattern is beginning to emerge.

Day one: chemotherapy.

The next five days: feel absolutely dreadful and reach the point where I honestly think, “I can’t do this any more.” Fortunately, somehow, just when I’m at my lowest ebb, I seem to find a little reserve of strength and tell myself, “It’s OK girl, you’ve got this.”

The following nine days: become a hermit, avoiding anyone with even the hint of a sniffle while my immune system recovers.

Then, if I’m lucky, I should get about a week of feeling almost like myself again before climbing back onto the merry-go-round for the next infusion.

It’s hardly the holiday I would have booked, but there’s something oddly comforting about recognising the pattern. At least I know that feeling awful doesn’t last forever.  My lovely friend who endured chemo about eighteen years ago describes how she would count down to her next treatment hoping it would come and go without incident, but then she would begin panic and she felt like “a tiny mouse staring up at a great big cat that was about to pounce.”

The good news is that my appetite is beginning to return. Food is becoming appealing again, even if my taste buds are still staging their own little protest. Supermarket quiche, better known as ‘cheese ‘n’ ‘am pie’ where I come from, has a nice cold creamy texture, albeit little taste.  

The day after my second chemotherapy infusion, while I was still feeling relatively human, I decided that in what can only be described as either a moment of optimism or madness, I had booked myself a manicure and pedicure. There’s a first time for everything!!

A young Vietnamese couple have recently opened a salon at the end of my road, and I thought it would be nice to do something completely normal (for some folks anyway) and a little bit indulgent (definitely for me). They were absolutely lovely and looked after me beautifully.

The only downside to my glamorous session came when the young husband kept calling me “Auntie”. Now, I appreciate that this is a respectful term of address in many cultures, but never have I felt quite so old and respectable before! 😂

Still, I have to admit I rather like my new look. My nails are currently bright blue, with my ring fingers painted pale yellow, so whilst I may now officially be “Auntie”, I am also feeling a little decadent and radical.

I even have photographic evidence – hence the rather colourful hand holding today’s homemade ice lolly below!!

However, some things taste strangely wrong, and even plain water can have a weird metallic taste, especially without lots of ice to make it really, really cold.

Recently, I treated myself to some ice lolly moulds and made some chopped cherry and orange juice lollies, healthy, nicely cold, but currently disappointingly tasteless. 

One discovery I never expected?

The smell of wine is absolutely revolting

Anyone who knows me will understand quite how alarming that is. I’m hoping my appreciation for a decent glass of wine returns before too long because life without wine would be a very dull affair indeed 🍷🥺

Today’s culinary adventure was Marmite on toast. Marmite normally announces itself before it’s even reached the toaster, the moment you open the jar that unmistakeable aroma of ‘savouryness’ wafts out with the promise of delicious saltyness, but today it smelled of… absolutely nothing. The taste wasn’t much better either. Instead of that lovely dark savoury hit, it was like chewing gritty cardboard. Sadly, I couldn’t eat the second slice, but there was some melon in the fridge and that was ‘quite nice’ being cold and with a nice soft yet sharp texture.

Clearly my taste buds haven’t received the memo that they’re supposed to be recovering.

Despite all that, though, I’m doing OK.

I’m staying positive, I’m incredibly grateful for the treatment I’m receiving, and every cycle completed is one step closer to the finish line. At the time of writing, I’ve now completed five of the seven rather horrible self-injections for this cycle, so that’s another little milestone ticked off.

As the title of this blog keeps reminding me…

“This too shall pass…”