Queasy, like a Tuesday evening

Well here it is, the long-awaited second slice of blog. Or should I say “bleurgh”?

Yes, chemo #2 was not the walk in the park that chemo #1 led me to believe it would be. Mind you, most of that was down to some pretty crap decisions on my part.

First of all, I have been determined to park on the road and walk in to the hospital for each visit. (“As long as I can walk, I will walk”) I arrived in plenty of time, but not a space was to be had. I drove around and around, finally attempting to leave Hattie (the DaiHATsu, who also bears an uncanny resemblance to Ms Jacques…) with her back wheel slightly obscuring someone’s drive. When I got out to see if I could get away with it, the old boot whose drive it was was at her window, waving her disapproval with a sour look on her chops. If only she’d been a bit more tolerant, she would have saved me twenty minutes of going around in circles, and eventually giving in and using the hospital multi-storey. Of course, because of my stubbornness, I hadn’t bothered to acquire my parking pass, so I had to pay. I decided to get a six-hour ticket, “just to be on the safe side”. Typically, I was a pound short. There was nothing else for it – I had to beg a complete stranger to give me a quid! I hated myself several times over, and vowed that I would be doing something nice to restore the balance of Karma that I had upset.

I legged it to my appointment, ten minutes late and in full flusteration. The receptionist informed me that it was OK as they were “a nurse down” today. That 6-hour ticket suddenly looked like a sensible choice!

I was plopped into a less comfy chair this time (hard arms, very upright back, clearly designed for Victorian posture and not sloppy Lizzies wearing pajamas and no bra), and the waiting began. 

The view from my #2 seat, looking roughly at my #1 seat.

No blood test this time – I had that taken last Friday, along with a brief discussion with the nurse about my health.

By the way, here’s the chart rundown of side effects from session one. I know you’ve been dying to find out. (No pun whatsoever intended):

5) Nausea: Stupid girl for missing an anti-sickness tab on Day 1. It was done deliberately as a) I didn’t feel that sick, and b) I really wanted to feel that all the stuff was inside my body, making a difference. What I got to feel was the exact location and shape of my stomach inside my body throughout the night, especially when I rolled over in bed! In the morning, I took double tablets and a dose of Dompy. Sickness dissipated. Lesson learned. Or was it…

4) Const.............ipation: Around Days 1-5. Double doses of my own laxative and my usual All-Bran (when I could face it) sorted it.

3) Weight loss: Oh joy! But the comfort-eating of chocolate since Day 5 has balanced that up and more. Must control myself or they'll have to wheel me in and out in future!

2) Delayed, cough, ladies' problems: Really unimpressed with this. Won't go into details as it’s all a bit vile, but nine days late makes for one painful period. And nine extra days of PMT did no-one any favours!

And this week's Number One:

Metallic taste in mouth/lack of taste: Hmmm. On and off since Day 1. Not amused! Mouth was also slightly sore, but that wasn’t helped by an unfortunate lolly stick injury procured on Day 8. (Never get over-enthusiastic with a Tangle Twister...) There was one point where even my old mates at Cadbury’s couldn’t get through to my tastebuds. It was a sad day, but I got through. I never realised it would be this tough.

Other than that (and a bit of tiredness, which could also have been the cancer), I was fine and bouncing around like someone who isn't even the slightest bit ill. I did three lots of three-mile walks throughout last week, more slowly than usual, but still completed. The lumps in my neck have disappeared, though my glands are still tender there and under my arms from time to time. I feel like my breathing is easier too. I've been slightly itchy, but that might just be "normal".

One thing I’ve heard said about chemo is that patients feel great before a session, and it’s demoralising to know that you’re going to go in and make yourself poorly again. At least we know it’s all in a good cause. 

Ooo yes please Mrs Nurse, I'd like a nice big needle this time.

Anyhow, my nurse today was called Lisa, and she was clearly very busy. She hooked me up efficiently, using my right hand this time. I’m getting used to all the needles, I barely flinched. I noticed that the first bag was Dexamethylene – a steroid. 

No steroids please, we're British!

I had been concerned that my ravenous consumption of food over the last week was due to these drugs, and so I made enquiries. It turned out that they were only given to enhance the anti-sickness effects and nothing more. “You can decline if you want to” she said. I declined, and that I believe was my second mistake.

Hooked up to saline only, I was in for a longer wait, as poor Lisa flitted all around the room. There were at least double people this time, and many came and went while I was being treated. My alarm went off three times at one point, and no-one attended to it. Luckily, I have a sister who works in A&E and a mother who is a healthcare assistant, and I know only too well about the problems of hospital staffing, so I just shut up and was a proper patient for a change! It meant that the whole shebang took six hours. I made it back to the car in the nick of time, feeling slightly wobbly but relieved to be released.

I had again planned to treat myself to a McDonald’s on the way home, but it was so late. I knew I would get tangled in the rush “hour” traffic even more than I was going to. All I wanted to do was get back to my house. I knew I was passing a Tesco Express on the way, so I nipped in to get some milk and a treat. What did I fancy? An ice cream please! But no, their freezer was full of microwave meals not Magnums. OK, I’ll have a treat when I get home. How about a ham and cheese toastie with pickle? Naughty! But as I got closer and closer to my grill, I realised that I was feeling sicker and sicker. By the time I was in, all I could manage was a piece of dry toast and a few sips of water, before hurling myself to the sofa and moaning in self-induced agony.

36 years and I have never been able to master the idea of being sick without making a pathetic fuss. It’s different when it’s a migraine, or (if memory serves) a hangover. You know then that if you throw up, you’ll feel better. This nausea is different. Nothing is going to shift it except the drugs that are designed to prevent it – the drugs that I had turned down due to vanity. I had said to Roger that I would rather feel sick than put on weight. Now, as I rolled around whimpering like a five year old, I knew that not to be the case. 

Dear readers, never fear! I was together enough to remember that I had the hospital switchboard’s number on my fridge, meant for me to use in situations like this. I called. They were very sympathetic. They got the on-call haematologist to call me, and she was full of reassurance and understanding. This was my second time, and the less steroids a person can take, the better. She checked and double checked, and said one of my own steroid tablets would cure the problem, and if not, to take an anti-emetic. I also had a throbbing headache, for which I took two of my codeine/paracetamol thingies. Roger had by now arrived home, and I asked him to stay with me, just in case it didn’t work and I got worse. The touch of his hand alone comforted me more than any tablet. He helped me to bed, and I slept in blessed relief. The steroid had me bouncingly awake at 3am, but the nausea was down to a background quease by then.

Drama aside, number two was for me a load of number twos. Maybe my expectations were too high? The lowest bit was when the last stuff went in. Last time it ached: This time it was really painful and I couldn’t move my arm as it made it worse. Lisa got a heat pad and a blanket, and I was trussed up for the final half hour, with Victoria Wood doing her best on my iPod to distract me from the pain and the fact that I couldn’t use my laptop. 

Chemo and crossword compiling. It doesn't get better than this!

If you know me well, you’ll know that I always say how much I hate people! That’s not entirely true – I’m good with short bursts of socializing, especially when something else is going on, like a rehearsal or a game or me cooking food for guests to eat. I generally prefer the control I have when I’m alone. Never have I been so happy and consistent in work since I became self-employed. It’s just me.

So being stuck in a corner and hemmed in by people, unable to leave the room is a bit of a ‘mare for me. Throw in a couple of children, and I would have ripped the needle out myself. Luckily there were no kids, just several talkative individuals. One was an old lady called Jan who has HL too, on top of her asthma and arthritis. (When she said they also suspected cataracts, I laughed out loud and told her that she’d better tell ‘em there was no room for any more.) She was very nice and incredibly lonely. Never married, no kids, no parents, no siblings. Just a dog called Sally who she can’t take for walks any more. Based on my Karma debt, I used up my quota of chit-chat on her. She must have been desperate for conversation as her chemo wasn’t until Friday – she was only in for her bloods, and could have walked (with the aid of her frame) free at any time, yet she chose to stay and talk to me. I didn’t mind at all. The foreign lady from last time was back for her check up, hair looking somewhat thinner. I talked to her via her boyfriend. She’s 32, with 3B HL just like me. She’s had her second PET scan and the results were good – the ABVD is working. I gave her the thumbs up and hoped that I’ll be where she is very soon. The lady who sat next to me with her mum (and was in and out within a couple of hours) had had breast cancer twice, and was now a Non-Hodgkins sufferer. She was very nice. I was reminded that I’m having a relatively easy ride. I like to kick things into perspective now and again. It’s very grounding. Finally, the lovely volunteer Charlotte, whose face fell when I declined anything on her trolley, even though I was starving. She said “I only want to make people happy”, and I felt like a fussy cow, so I had a cheese sarnie and a bit of birthday cake that someone had brought in for one of the other patients. She was pleased – her work was done.

Yes, I found it tough for many reasons. Despite my plummeting spirits, I was on my bestest behaviour throughout, and my upper lip was so stiff that you’d think there’d been Viagra in my drip as well.  

So lessons for next time:

1)     Car parking permit. Get one. Use it.

2)     Take anything they offer you against sickness. So what if it makes you consume all the Easter Eggs you bought as gifts for other people. They don’t need ‘em! Thunderthighs beats chunderpants anyday.

3)     Bring something to watch, especially during the last bit.

4)     Bring food and a big bottle of water.

Oh, and as of today (Thursday 8^th March) my hair is still locked onto my bonce 100%. It's actually falling out less than it normally does at the moment - I think my follicles are stubbornly gripping on! I did find an eyelash yesterday evening though and my eyebrows are looking less bushy than usual. I’m braced as I am approaching the Third Week, when hair loss generally occurs. Maybe the next blog will be Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow. Watch this space…