C-Day

Wednesday, 24th August is C-Day. Chemo-Day – yahoo!! Can’t wait. Like really, I can’t wait. The sooner I get started, the sooner I can piss this fucker off.

I really really tried to find an inappropriate, funny picture to go with this post. Sadly, we, people, the internet are not good at taking-the-piss out of shit situations. I read an article today “What ever happened to Steady Eddy?” A man with cerebral palsy who did the comedy circuit in the ‘90s. At one performance I attended, he (inadvertently) won the dance competition while he was ‘on his way to the toilet’ – he made a career out of taking the micky out of his disability. Legend. Fucking funny. FYI Eddy is now married and living in Queensland. In his biography, Jimmy Carr describes introducing himself to Stephen Hawking and sharing subsequent pissy events and curries. Despite being a theoretical physicist, cosmologist, writer, Stephen was an exceptionally messy eater. I can’t find any pictures of that either.

Even though it sounds like good maths, it still feels like a lot to ask: to be tired and sick for 6 – 12 months to reduce the chance of cancer coming back and in doing so, give me a shot at living longer.

I’m aware I have an advantage in that I am relatively young. If it was a few decades down the track, I think I would forego the treatment and live-large on what I had left. Rather than be sick and weak and tired and bald for a year. The things I could do in a year ….

24 August 2022
Oh wow. What a big big day. Starting with a cold shower. Not by choice. The hot water has run out in the apartment building – which serves me right for not getting up earlier. 6 degrees, breakfast, coffee. I pack a few items from my sentimental shrine/chemo temple – things that remind me of good times, good people.

Level 4 today. My lovely nurse Hannah gives me a 1-hour education session. Very thorough – we cover pretty much every worst-worst-case scenario. Whoops, someone forgot to give me the pre-chemo steroid to take yesterday. No worries, they’ll pop some in the drip beforehand. I’m warned the steroid may ‘amp’ me up a little. A good day to get the housework done – if I wasn’t tethered to a drip for the next 4 hours.

Hannah attempts to put a canula into my arm. No luck. Mike gives it a shot. No luck. Lois brings out the big guns – the ultrasound. Done. First pop. Mike and Hannah then read-me-my-rights ie. name, DOB, address and what they’re going to administer. All sounds very formal and just a wee bit scary …

Susie, the pharmacist comes past and goes through the ‘support meds’ ie. the steroids, anti-nausea drugs. The list is long and I can’t pronounce most of the names. Apparently, I should be taking this this and this – at these times. My head is swimming with the names, instructions, schedule. I will have to get Hannah to help me write it all down before I go. I literally have a square blue bucket for all my meds. I also find out, while the chemo is covered by the government, the support meds aren’t. I will need to pay for them at reception on the way out. Thank you Slade Health (part of the Icon Group) – who are going gangbusters, these guys make a lot of money out of cancer ... I get a take home Slade Show-Bag which includes some MooGoo products, jellybeans and a soft bristle toothbrush for when my mouth, teeth and gums succumb to the effects of chemo in the weeks and months to come – hooray.

They start with the steroid in the drip and then, at about 12:30, the chemo drug starts. Slowly does it. After 20 minutes, another nurse, Jess comes through. All going well so she speeds it up a little.

The lunch lady comes around with her trolley. Yay! I thought I would be able to do a late lunch but I’m not going to be out of here for at least another 3.5 hours. I have a slice of vegetable quiche, not bad for hospital food.

1:06pm and I now have a long, dull stretch ahead … I have my chemo playlist, my crochet, crosswords, ipad with a variety of crappy programs downloaded and 2 books. My lazy boy chair is set to the perfect angle, I’m bundled up in warm blankies. Now kind of channelling a spa-meets-long-haul-flight setup.

This wing of the hospital is relatively new, the place is busy but discretely curtained. I see a few people walk past on their way to the loo – drip trolley in-hand. Some go frequently (I’m certain just to have a walk/take a sticky beak at the other inmates). Sadly, over half the people in there are men – most of them my senior. Guys – get your bits checked. For a few minutes' embarrassment/discomfort, it is worth getting on top of these things sooner rather than later. This is not a happy place to be.

25 August 2022
The morning after. I’m ok. I’m alive. Phew. Bonus. I can tell my entire digestive system is being pummelled, from the top of my throat to the other end. Will need to take some reading material in with me … No appetite but need to eat to take meds. My face is very flushed which is not ideal. I take my temp. I am now considered ‘special needs’, if my temp hits 38 it’s off to the ER. Temp is fine. I decide to walk down in the cool morning air to get a coffee – I not supposed to have caffeine but I feel it is best for my mental health that I do (bad Abbie). The walk back is slow and sluggish but I’m proud of myself for getting out for a walk, albeit short.

At 3pm I head back over to Chemo HQ to get my injection of Pegfilgrastim. This is the good stuff – it helps the bone marrow to make new white blood cells (which will be trashed by the cancer meds). I am now a regular, first name basis with the nurses. Again, I’m sad to see there are more men on the ward than women. The guy in the curtain next to me is vomiting badly. There is a young man (<30) walking around with his drip – he was in yesterday. Poor bugger. Hannah scoots past with two rubbish bins then returns to say hi. We talk about her upcoming ball and how her search-for-the-perfect-dress is going. Kelly then goes about administering the injection. He is keen for me to give it a whirl next time so I can administer it myself in future. Needles don’t generally make me wobbly, but the prospect of DIY is scary. 45-degree angle, in she goes, click, done. It hurts. Makes me think that the buzz intravenous drug users get from whatever shit they inject into their body must be pretty damn worth it because I would not do this to myself willingly.

Soup for dinner then last round of Dexa (which I’m certain is responsible for my subsequent sleeplessness and upset tum). My first chemo crochet bunny is coming along well. Head and one ear complete. Shower, bed, book. But no sleep. Still lying awake at 1am. Try a spotify sleep thingy, the guy’s voice is irritating but boring enough to get me to pass out until 4am. This is not good. I doze until just after 6am when my favourite Friday morning power-tool starts up. Some of you may not be aware of my deep loathing of the industrial-strength leaf blower the caretaker across the street uses every Tuesday and Friday morning. He moves dust and shit around from one place to another, no leaves. It is the biggest, most powerful unit you can possibly buy – it is noise pollution – and laziness at its finest. I have many unkind, inside thoughts about that man and his leaf blower …

26 August 2022

So here I am, three days later. I’m aware my anti-nausea meds will wear off today/tomorrow. I’ve taken the last of the ‘roids. Tomorrow it will just be me and the chemo. I can get around, I can drive, I’m a bit slow but taking it easy and trying to stay positive. I’m even doing a few hours work at home today. I can definitely feel the drugs in my body – could be described as a hangover with mild gastro and reflux.

Trying not to think about the long road ahead, just enjoying the sunshine my friends!

C-Day

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