Wednesday, 2 November 2022
I am so fucked off. Have had a guts full of tits, hospitals, chemo, cancer.
Days 3 – 5 after chemo are always The Worst. This morning was no different. My 2am toilet run produced an alarming stream of dark, rusty brown wee. I returned to bed with 2 litres of water (and my next dose of paracetamol) to see me through the night. Unsurprisingly, I was like a jack in the box so sleep was short and interrupted. Woken by Jordan at Storage King to say my fees were 9 days overdue and would I like to pay them over the phone now. Yes, I would.
I make a coffee which looks super delicious but all I can taste is metal. I try a bit of toast with Ma Burton’s homemade Tayberry jam … again, I can sense the acidity but am no longer able to taste the glorious fruit. Give up.
A few hours work then off to Cancer HQ to see the Medical Oncologist. On the way I receive a call from the outpatient surgery people to run through my surgery (to remove Mirena) on 11th November. She tells me I need to be in at the hospital at 6am. I thought I had mis-heard, but no. Did you receive the letter we sent you? Yes (I’m just opening it now … it may have been sitting in my bag for a week …) I need a PA. Can’t keep on top of all the paperwork.
My body is trashed and in hindsight, I probably should not have driven myself to the hospital today. I am so weak, I walk at a shuffle. I try to use the stairs in the carpark but run out of breath. Man I hate this. The doctor is running an hour behind. I find a couch to flop on in Waiting Room A. The oncologist’s registrar is super cool, I haven’t met her before - I like her. She congratulates me on getting through the chemo. Hooray. Then she gets down to the shit stuff.
The shit stuff goes on for quite some time. She brings in the Oncologist. He is worried about the upcoming surgery to remove the Mirena and the risk of infection and bleeding. He writes (another) pathology request form to get the white blood cell and platelet counts checked before surgery. Great, more time off work. He talks about various hormone treatments – minimum 5 years – side effects, complications with my age, how they will need to change the type in 3 years’ time not to mention increased risk of blood clots/DVT. Oh, and I will need to get a bone mineral density scan + make an appointment with dentist to get any work done prior to receiving infusion of zoledronic acid (drug that is given to reduce risk of breast cancer spreading to the bones ie. it slows down/prevents bone damage). Continue with ultrasounds, mammograms (though I’m no longer eligible for the Breast Screen Australia Program … sigh). The list goes on. Oh, and would I consider getting my ovaries removed? WTF. Along with the pathology form, scan request, booking form for March 2023, instructions to contact the surgery team, I’m given a script for Tamoxifen meds to start on 2 January 2023 (they’ve given me a few weeks off for Christmas – and my birthday). I ask how much the prescription will cost, they don’t know – but I can look it up on the PBS site!
I leave the hospital weak and exhausted. Cry down the phone. Have. Had. Enough. Cannot see an end in sight. So so tired.
Friday, 4 November 2022
I feel the worst I’ve ever felt. Which makes sense given chemo is cumulative, an amount remains in the body for weeks after each treatment. Subsequent doses keep topping it up. Smashing those cancer cells (and everything else in between ☹) I’ve also caught a slight cold which means hours on the phone to BC care nurses and the Rapid Assessment Unit to determine whether I need to go in for antibiotics. I reassure them my temp is fine – I desperately don’t want to go into the hospital but I’m aware Canberra shuts down on the weekend so if I need to get drugs, now is the time.
Yesterday and today, the pain in my bones, my body especially my lower back, groin and legs is so bad I just cry and let out pathetic little whimpers. Nothing I can do but lie down. I can hardly lift my head. Going to the toilet is a mammoth effort and I hate it. Can’t eat. I just lie on my bed, then the couch, take 4-hourly doses of paracetamol, drift in and out of sleep, cry a bit then sleep again.
Saturday, 5 November 2022
I forced myself out for a walk this afternoon – to the local Supabarn and back. Recorded a new land-speed record: 2.96km/hr. Slower than a koala, faster than a three-toed sloth. Bought prunes, pears (for the obvious) and the makings of a salad – with loads of avocado. I have no appetite and I can’t taste much but I know I need to get some nourishment in.
I pass Bonnie and Spike on the way back. Spike has taken to boldly – and somewhat delinquently – hanging out in the middle of the road, like he owns the joint. Bonnie and I have a chat. The trees are now lush and green, I’m hoping there’s a new nest up there somewhere
Checked the mailbox to find this: Fifty and Fabulous!! Seriously poor timing – though I encourage you all to get the tests done: breasts, prostate, skin, bowel etc. The sooner you catch it, treat it, the sooner you can get on with living. Which just seems a long long way away for me right now. Like I said, I’ve had a guts full.
Where’s the good stuff at people? I’m struggling.…
The Full Bush Rat
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