One more to go. One more session of chemo and that’s this bit done with. Just one…so why is it not here already? Why am I still waiting? It’ll make me feel like I’ve been partying too hard for too long (these days that only means until about 1am) so can’t we just stick it in already? Apparently not. I have to wait 3 weeks…remember I said I was growing to hate 3 weeks? I’m past the ‘growing to’ bit. I’m there, glaring at it and throwing every 4 letter word I know at it. Just fucking get here already. I am DONE. I have things to do, to plan, to get on with. There’s a whole life waiting to be lived, a hen weekend (not mine, my schedule isn’t quite that busy). Wheelchair basketball championships to yell myself hoarse at, while Son 1 tells all his friends he is an orphan and he’s never seen that loud Scottish woman before. A wedding. Our holiday. All hanging on me hitting that last session absolutely on time. No delays. Time is moving so fast and so very slow. It is frustrating beyond belief. I downloaded a meditation app to try and chill myself out a bit. I told it to Fuck Off after mere minutes. I’ll give it another blast after #6, now is not the time to find my inner calm. It’s bolted for cover and is refusing to come out from behind the sofa.
Poor Pat. He knows that being still and taking it easy has never been good for me, and therefore him. The office is very busy just now….apparently. Wise man.
I don’t know what’s changed. I think because it’s taking me longer to recover after each session. I don’t like that, I was quite used to the 5 day hangover and then getting on with stuff. The hangover has stretched to around 7 days and even after that I am prone to needing an old-lady-nap during the day. That feels like admitting defeat, which makes me cross. Naps are for under 5’s and over 70’s. I am 48. I am not in nap territory yet, not unless we’re on holiday. Holiday naps are acceptable and enjoyable. Pat thinks I am insane, I don’t think he ever gave up his toddler naps though. At least he’s napping quietly now we have found A CURE for his snoring. Plastic plugs up his nose. You’d think that’d stop all breathing (and after 15 years of trying to sleep with my fingers in my ears that didn’t worry me as much as it should) but it doesn’t. A gentle rasp is all we hear now. The dogs are worried, they check on him often , but I think they’re happy too.
Chemo hangovers come with cravings, that was a bit of a shocker. Mini poppadoms. That’s all I wanted to eat. It was like the Hula Hoop and Haribo pregnancy cravings, one for each pregnancy not both at the same time. That would have been weird. Someone needs to make all spouses, partners, significant others, friends, family and everyone connected with a person going through chemo that their cravings are every bit as important as those of a pregnant lady. Coming home and saying “They didn’t have any” or worse, “I forgot”, is not acceptable. There will be consequences and they will be going back out again, to as many shops as it takes. They will not be coming home again without poppadoms. If a person on chemo tells you they fancy something, don’t turn up at their door without that thing in your hand. They’ll cry, or they’ll make you cry. Either way it won’t go well.
Other weirdness this time included sore toenails. All ten of them were in more discomfort than they were after I made them run a marathon with me. What chemical weirdness makes your toenails hurt? Any why only this time? Is each lot of chemo directed at a different part of your body? We’ve done head, shoulders and knees so this time it was toes? What the hell is #6 going to do?
The good news is my hair appears to be peeking above the parapet and braving a return. It’s very fine and fluffy, so much so I didn’t realise it was there until I looked in the mirror and squawked at my head…I have a 3 o’clock shadow. It’s not coming in red which is a bit sad, but I am very glad to see it in any colour. It’s looking a bit white… I look like the oldest Rugrat in town.