Friday, its chemo rechallenge return day, it the day Cycle 9 starts. I meander through the morning doing breakfast and my morning meds quite early. At some point I end up on the garden swing seat just staring at the sky. I tinker with the the computer and run off theatre tickets for May next year. There is a light lunch and then I prepare my chemo survival bag and include the pastry and kit kats my partner has bought for the occasion. Then its into the chemo routine. Firstly the Uber ride and drop off.
As we walk into the oncology unit we stop to buy fresh strawberries from the hospital fruit and veg stall. I hand in my “dance card” and buy a bottle of water. My partner and I get settled in the waiting area and I whip through the days cross word. To my surprise I am called in on time, I get measured, height and weight, and shown to bay 20 in the chemo suite. So it then begins, the tray of medical goodies are produced, and the hunt for a suitable vein to stick the canula in. One get selected and the needle slide in. My vitals are checked and as always my blood pressure is up as is my heart rate but not enough this time for there to be a check with the on call doctor. My pre meds are pumped in and then there is a 30 minute saline wash through. I get my poetry book out, set my water and nibbles out and put my chair into recliner mode. It’s now a wait before my poison gets pumped into me.
Its a strange soft anxiety that arises as I’m being prepared for chemo as I become aware of how odd it is to have needles put into my body and all sorts of liquids being pumped into me. Its not normal and as I edge towards the end of this set of cycles it becomes more and more not normal, which means I am not habituating to the process. It still feels odd. While being “flushed” at the end of the session I chat to the last remaining fellow “poisonee”. She was up at 4am making cakes before her ambulance arrived to bring her to her session. She was done by 1:30pm and ready to go home but here she still is at 5o’clock, her ambulance is taking more than four hours to fetch her. All she wants is to go home to bed, as she has another cake to make tomorrow morning at 4 o’clock. Apparently her chemo and steroids induce insomnia coupled with joint pain, I think I get away quite lightly with my fatigue. We leave the suit together, she in her wheelchair me on unsteady feet. I immediately head for the loo to get comfortable and meet my partner in the waiting room. We head for the hotel across the way where we get an Uber home.
My evening is pizza and football based. I intended to go to bed early but I got caught up in the thriller that was Argentina v Cape Verdi so end up in bed at 2am having had my nightmeds.
Saturday and I surface groggily and let myself come round slowly. I have a hot water and finally get up to make breakfast and watch an early international rugby match. I do a Tesco order and check my messages and newsfeeds having put my washing in. I watch some more rugby and then hang my washing out and take a swing seat break. My partner returns from the garden centre with more plants, lunches and then sets about finding homes for all the new plants. I return to the sofa and begin to draft the days blog. My post chemo fatigue makes drafting or writing anything a hard process, it just takes more effort and things do not flow as usual.
My day continues with more rugby, the retrieval of my washing from the line and then an evening meal while watching the first world cup football match as Canada get beaten by Morocco. As the evening progresses I can feel I am loosing my sense of taste. There is another match to watch and then I can take the last of the additional steroids and go to bed. I’m tired and I can feel the chemo fatigue kicking in.
