Week 1

Let's be typically British and start this blog with a moan about the weather. 

OH MY GOD IT WAS SO BLOODY HOT LAST WEEK, WHHHHHHHYYYYY!?!?!!

As if my body was not confused enough with all the new drugs pumping through it, this girl did not do well in the stupid heatwave that everyone else seemed to enjoy. Living in a barn with metre thick walls acting as the perfect little heat trap and minimal opening windows (yeh yeh, the floor to ceiling feature window LOOKS nice...) did not help. Sorry to be a scrooge about it, but I'm so glad we have been more overcast the last few days. Long may it continue!

So one week down, hoorah! And what a week it was. 

I had prepared myself for feeling tired, as the doctors said this would probably be the worst side effect for me (as I'm young and healthy, apparently). But the overwhelming exhaustion that comes and goes in waves is surreal. Random moments when I think I'm feeling fine turn into needing to just lie on the floor for a few moments and take lots of deep breaths. Like on Sunday, when we needed to go and do a weekly shop and I was suddenly struck down with a yawn attack (although this may have been a psychological protest to shopping!). 

The complete loss of appetite was an odd one for me, as I am such a foodie. But by Wednesday I was having to really force myself to eat and drink. Tuesday evening was like the Christmas dinner scene from the Vicar of Dibley, where she has to physically force brussel sprouts into her mouth at her final meal. It feels like an apt analogy, as I bloody love a sprout! Particularly cold ones that I can steal from the kitchen after Christmas dinner, isn't that right Dad? But the thought of eating made me feel sick, and the fact I wasn't eating was leaving me feeling sick and it all become a vicious cycle. And trying to drink on an empty stomach was also making me feel queasy. All in all, the first half of the week was pretty rotten. I had a constant headache from the dehydration, constant feeling of nausea and no energy to do anything about it. I don't think the caffeine withdrawal (banned because it dehydrates you. Bye bye beloved morning coffee) and the stupid heat which kept me up at night helped either.

But don't you worry. I got this.

Monday.

Dad and I arrived at the cancer centre for our induction at half 8. Lovely Tom talked us through what was coming, what to expect and what to look out for as an emergency. As the chemo knocks out your immune system, if anything goes wrong or you get any kind of infection, your body can't fight it. We then watched a very cheesy video, drilling this point home. If anyone has ever worked for a large retail type company, you'll know the naff type of film I mean. Of course it's serious, no question, but you don't have to patronise me with a bad actress telling me she nearly died. We're all here trying not to die. I promise I'll call you if I think I might.

I then met Mary Lou, my nurse for the day. She went through all the same stuff with me and then told me my specific chemo plan. 2 hours of fluids through a canula, followed by an hour of my chemo drug. Then a quick 10 minutes of fluids to flush it all through and then I could go. Easy! To be fair, the chemo bit was really easy. I just sat and ate and played on my phone. Baxter, my fluid dispensing machine, is a noisy chap and sounded like a beat box track from a Casio keyboard. Loved it. For 5 minutes. 

Then off we went to the Preston Park radiotherapy centre for my radiotherapy. A meeting with lovely Jessica, one of the radiographers, to talk through the plan, want to look out for, discuss diet and such and then away we went. 

Enema, poop, drink 4 cups of water in 5 minutes, wait half an hour and then down for my scan.

All sounds easy, and really it is, but once I was lined up on the machine, pen marks over my lady bits and the radiographers had left the room, the tears started. The realisation that this was actually happening kicked in. No longer was this just something to mentally prepare for and something I could pull out of if I didn't want to go ahead. This was it. No going back now.

When the radiographer came back in after 15 minutes to say I was all done, I tried to cover the tears as watery eyes. But I went to the toilet and cried (plus after 4 cups of water, 50 minutes and not much else to think about, you really need a wee!). I tried to pull myself together and walked out to meet Dad in the car. I was alright until he asked if I was ok and then I just sobbed on him. Poor Dad. I said to him on the way home that it's not the cancer treatment that gets to me, I can deal with the Bob stuff. Its the baby stuff that makes it so devastating. I'm choosing to zap it all, and I know it's the right thing to do because it's all very well being able to have a baby, but you need to be alive to do it. But it is truly crushing to know you're doing it to yourself. You're choosing to become infertile. At 30. With no children. It's a bugger.

Tuesday.

Just radio today. All went ok and we were back home quite early. Nice little afternoon nap but then spent most of the evening in bed feeling headachey and sick. Just chips for tea. 

Wednesday.

Another terrible nights sleep. 3 hours in the spare room so as not to disturb the boy. Clarence followed me in and kept my feet company though. Love that cat.

The steroids I'm on can cause insomnia, I'm told by Hetel, another lovely radiographer who'll be seeing me every Wednesday at the radiotherapy centre to see how I'm getting on. She also advised that I can drink a variety of fluids when I'm here, as so much water so quickly is making me feel sick. Fruit juices, squahes, cordials are fine. Thank God. 

Didn't stop me being too dehydrated to complete my scan though. They had to take me off the scan table and get me to drink another bottle of water before going back on. I had become one the people causing delays. Sorry! At this point I felt so sick I didn't care. Downed the water, curled up in my changing room and fell asleep for 10 minutes before they were ready for me again.

After a little nap once back home I managed to come downstairs for a bit when Steve got home so we walked to the shop and stocked up on all the above drinks. I need to get myself a 'cancer on board' badge (https://www.notanotherbunchofflowers.com/blogs/blog/113075141-what-do-you-think-about-cancer-on-board-badges) so I don't look like I'm just staggering about hungover. So tired. 

I was back in bed by 9pm. I slept through until the morning. Obviously needed that!

Thursday.

Mum and I were early to my appointment so I napped and cried in the back of her car before we went in. By this point I am just exhausted and so frustrated that I feel so crap already. I'm still not eating or drinking, and trying to down 4 cups of something is now almost unbearable. Today I tried a fruit juice drink and it was easier but still made me feel nauseous. It also didn't pass quickly enough, so once again I was taken off the table to drink more. Bleurgh. No more fruit juice allowed.

I crawled straight up to bed when we got home, while my Super Mum tidied the house for me. Such a babe. 

The fruit juices are now giving me some crazy heartburn and acid reflux. Dammit, I just want to eat! More force feeding required.

Friday.

Last session of the week, hooray! I have now learnt to eat a bigger breakfast and keep picking at food to try and feel better. Also pushing myself to drink more so my body is more hydrated for the scan. And yippee, it worked! On the table from start to finish and I was out of there! Starting to feel a little better with a bit more energy and managing to eat. Still heartburny but I have tickets to a charity comedy night with the girls and dammit, I'm going!! It was great to get out and see some friendly faces (because I'm sick of my parents now 😉) but I was having a hot flush and struggling to keep my eyes open by half 9. Bit by bit, I'll get there.

And then came the weekend. No appointments, hooray!!

I still felt tired and sicky but Steve's family were visiting for the day, so despite feeling sorry for myself and not wanting to ruin their day by being a pathetic sickly sort, they all encouraged me to go out to Brighton and it was lovely. Tiring but lovely. Getting some fresh air and being distracted was needed, and once again I felt better once I'd eaten in the afternoon. I think by this point it was as much psychological as it was physical - a fear of making myself feel sick if I ate or drank anything. 

So going to my friend's 30th birthday bbq that evening was my opportunity to stuff my face further, and it felt goooooood. Plus it was so nice to see some of my faves. Shame I couldn't join in with the prosecco drinking though!

Sunday was a nice lazy day for the most part. Quick food shop and then off to London to see Penn and Teller with the family. That was brilliant, but again I was ready for bed early! 

So all in all I had a really lovely weekend, and showed myself that I'm actually doing better than I'd let myself think earlier in the week. I am going to have crap days and feel rubbish at times, and if I need to nap then I need to nap. I'm putting my body through a right bloody nightmare and I need to listen to it if it complains. Apart from the food thing. I am just going to constantly eat to suppress the nausea. And I can probably cope with that. Now, where's my biscuit stash?