like a pin cushion. Yesterday, I had the longest day of chemo ever..Despite being in at 8.45 am and having my bloods taken, there was a scare. Apparently, the chemo has affected my liver and they needed full bloodwork on my liver. That took an extra two hours before it came back clear and I could proceed to chemo... Went up to the day ward where they said that the pharmacy hadn't made up the drugs so they gave me a bleeper and told me to go and have a coffee... Luckily I live only two streets away from the hospital because I went home.. and had lunch...
The call came at 3pm to get back. By this time, I was tearful and tired. I cannot explain the anticipatory nausea I get but just walking down the corridor I feel the saliva flooding into my mouth and in between trying to hide it from the nurses, who I think will think I am pathetic and trying to almost distract myself, I was a mess by the time I arrived....
Luckily I was spotted by the homeopathic nurse whom I was meant to have a massage with and she found me a bed, and lay me down with three blankets.. The drip was started and so did the wonderful kneading of my scalp. The absolutely best thing about having little or no hair is being able to have one's head touched...better than even a back massage in my opinion...And I? I fell asleep - I must have been so tired, so emotionally weary and woke up at 6 semi refreshed. We left at 6.30 and I was so very, very tired...
This morning up early again. Into the hospital where I had an ultrasound appointment to measure the tumour and to put in a metal coil so that if it really does decline in size, the surgeon will still be able to find it...
First a local anaesthetic which stung a little and then a needle pierced down into the tumour. then a metal coil was pushed down into it, the needle retracted and that was it. The tumour has not shrunk at all at which I was really disappointed... but there was a bit of the tumour which showed was transparent rather than the translucent white splatter of cancer. The radiologist explained that that was fluid, that the tumour was breaking down inside itself which shows that the chemo is still working... But for some reason I still feel low..I was so hoping for more and have made myself disappointed - there is a lesson in there...
Tomorrow up early again for my GCSF injections which I will have every morning for the next three days to raise my white blood cell count - I am so very tired of this, so fed up of this process, and utterly fed up with living with cancer every minute of every day. It is my waking thought and my last cogent thought before sleep, I am so very very tired...
Minerva
28 comments:
Minerva
I so feel your pain. I completed my treatments Jan 2005 and to this day the smell of the dr. office still makes me nausea. Hang in there, it will get better. One day at a time.
you are brave...that and the love of your family will help you get through this.
it has been 6 years since chemo for me...and sometimes, i still taste it...damn nasty...
hugs to you hun...
peace...
Anonymous - It is precisely for comments like yours that I keep going with this blog..Thank you so much for your support...It means so much...
NWC - Thank you and that is true..I am just finding it more difficult than normal today..and as my kids are away at school at the moment, I find it harder to get away from the illness...
I am so sorry, Minerva. Wish I could make it better for you.
Brave girl...what a difficult, draining day...
I guess one of the hard things is having expectations based on what the last piece of 'good news' was? So the chemo blasted the tumour a few weeks back and it shrunk big time? QED, when the tumour shrinks that's 'great', but all other news feels 'not as good'.
Well maybe that's not right hon...who knows what these things do at different stages of their treatment. Maybe an initial significant shrinkage is often followed by chemo starting to dissolve it from within, with your type of tumour - that could well be absolutely what's supposed to happen? If the thing is starting to fall to bits inside that certainly sounds like good news to me!
Cuddle up in front of the fire. Get warm and snug. Eat chocolate (if the nausea hasn't kicked in). Dairy Milk is very good I hear for people who have had a day like yours ;-)
Oh the head massage thing - you're so right! The best thing ever (my hairdresser does it for me...yeah, I know, not exactly a top London teaching hospital, but better than nothing!)
Thinking of you
Jo
Wow Minerva. Your strength is inspiring. Each little moment and each piece of good news is so precious. Please don't beat yourself up for not being more joyous about it. C'mon girl, you have CANCER and until they tell you it's gone, well I think you have a right to feel less than joyous, you know???
Anyway, I hope you're feeling happier now. I think you're AMAZING. If there's ever anyway that I can help, you just let me know.
Best,
A
wow - I do not know how anyone does it, I wish you all the best, how long does this round of chemo run?
Praying for you today.
I'm thinking of you. I found you through The BOB awards or maybe blog olympics but whatever the case, your story has touched my heart. God bless you.
I can SOOOOO understand the way you are feeling right now. I remember it so well. I used to have to take 2 Ativan before chemo to calm me down. They also cause a little bit of amnesia so now chemo seems like a distant blur. Those head massages sound wonderful. Never got offered one of those. Hang in there and take care. We are sending good vibes your way.
I can't imagine how awful that is. I can only say, I'm sorry and hang in there.
Minerva, I so sorry you are going through this...praying for you. Be blessed.
You are in my thoughts and prayers.
My husband had chemo 24 years ago, and would become nauseated on his way to the hospital. That upset him even more than getting sick from the chemo. To this day, certain colors (of the chemo drugs) make him feel a bit ill.
Times have changed, though; there were no scalp massages in the chemo rooms in 1982.
Though I haven't experienced what you're going through, I've seen the process up close, and I know that it is exhausting. Hang in there, Minerva.
You have the kind of courage and strength that people admire. It is the kind of strength that will see you through all this crap. I am holding on to good thoughts for you.
Minerva - I hope it all ends soon and that you return to your normal life.
Minerva,
I wish I knew what to tell you. Others have told you how brave you are and yet, I imagine at this stage of treatment it is difficult to see this bravery. You are in my thoughts and prayers. May each day shrink that damn lump of cancer even more.
Bummer, long days, nausea, painful procedures, constant reminders....best words of comfort, "And it came to Pass" Know you are in my thoughts and prayers, always LD
No one says you can't rest and gear up... do or read something ... anything to give your mind, your body and your spirit a well deserved rest.
Dear Lady,
I am sorry I haven't been by in awhile-it seems that the trivial things in life get in my way sometimes. You remind me of what real challenges are, and I admire your willingness to share your struggles with us. Your bravery in the face of all this nastiness makes me appreciate life itself that much more.
Stay tough. A lot of us are riding with you in spirit.
Minerva,
This is the next-to-last treatment. I know that it is cold comfort, but keep in mind that you'll only be a pincushion for just a bit longer...you've already overcome the worst of it, and you've done it with courage and grace.
--Amanda
I'm thinking of you Minerva xx
You're in my prayers and thoughts dear lady.
(((HUGS)))
3T
you have a lot of people all over pulling for you, and benefitting from your beautiful ability to write, to tell to interpret your experiences. You are going way above the call to give us this gift of YOU when you are so drained. I hope we fill you back up just a little.
Hugs!
God's grace I pray for you, tomorrow is the feast of light, I will offer my day to you, healin glight, gentle light, peaceful light surround you.
You so very, very tired.
And I so very, very sorry.
Hope you are feeling better.
But as a famous poet once wrote, "I have miles to go before I sleep." And so do you, my friend. So many people need you and love you. Keep kicking and screaming and laughing and crying. Burn brightly and have comfort in knowing you are not alone. May today offer a measure of peace and one or two smiles. Love, Gary
You are amazing, brave, courageous, and wonderful. I offer prayers and hugs for your health.
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