I doubt whether anyone will be riveted by the nitty gritty of the week that follows a visit to the VIP lounge, but as some of you will be wondering how things are going, I am reporting in.
Overall, it has been a bit easier to cope with this time round.
Perhaps this is mostly a case of forewarned is forearmed. Being told repeatedly that "everyone reacts differently to chemo" is an open invitation to gloomy imaginations. Better the devil you know, etc. I have been clinging on to the knowledge that there is a Good Week coming.
(Is there, though? I am struggling to write this post. I started it yesterday, propping myself up on pillows and straining myself to get my sentences straight. Unable to finish it in one go. This is day 7 of chemo. Shouldn't that overwhelming exhaustion have evaporated by now? Surely it wasn't this bad last time? But wait, let me see... "All of a sudden, I am feeling much better." That was on day 10. Right. Just another couple of days then. Just as well I kept a blog, as my memory is playing tricks on me. In the midst of a gloomy winter's night, it's very hard to imagine that the sun will ever shine again.)
A quick round-up of the side effects...
The nausea, for starters... With four different anti-sickness pills at my disposal, it has been more bearable, although still not completely beaten into submission. The extra pills make me drowsy though, so I've crossed my fingers and stopped them this morning, ignoring the occasional retch.
Chemo Tongue... With the spices and pickles lined up, I am winning the battle. The ghastly chemical taste in my mouth improved over time but never left me completely, so perhaps I'm simply getting used to it. Plus, my sister crossed the Channel with a fridge-load of karnemelk to melt my pour battered taste buds. Wine, coffee, chocolate? No thank you. Give me sour milk - pure liquid gold.
Exhaustion... It was bad before, but somehow it seems worse. Perhaps there is a cumulative effect? Knocking someone down who had only just scrambled back to her feet? I'm trying to keep myself going, daily walks included, but last night I found myself stranded halfway up the stairs, snoozing.
Fizzy Nose Syndrome. I'm putting this in because it fascinates me. My nose feels as if I've snorted a cup full of swimming pool water. It's not debilitating, but it's annoying, and it has lasted all week. What is it about chemical substances targeting specific parts of one's anatomy? With the CT scan injection, it was the bladder. ("You'll get the urge to empty your bladder," they said, and they weren't half wrong. Within seconds, it felt as if I'd wet myself.) With my first lot of chemo, I only felt the Fizzy Nose for about half an hour, immediately following the infusion. I mentioned it to the nurse. "Oh yes," she said. "Everyone says that. It's one of the chemo drugs that does it."
Actually, let's leave it there. A full round-up of side effects would be highly tedious. But I must tell you about my brain.
Ah, my poor frazzled brain.
I can still think (just about) and type (just about), but something happens to the words when they try to make their way to my mouth. I am left garbling. This is very disconcerting and very strange.
There I am, wanting to ask my husband to pass me the kitchen roll. I can see the word kitchen roll in my head. I would have no problem writing it down. But the poor man is left guessing as I wave my arms around ineffectively (acting out a kitchen roll has never been my strong point) and mumble weakly, Ehm... white... round....
Oddly, I can hide this problem if needs be. This reminds me of my mother, who, when her dementia symptoms were creeping up on her, could hide them brilliantly when being assessed by the doctor. She gave perfect answers (or so the doctor thought), she was charming, she was fine. Until he left, and she'd collapse in a sorry heap, no longer able to keep up the pretence. Which left the professionals convinced that she was managing fine, and her daughters convinced that she wasn't. (For the record, I think the daughters were right. Always, always listen to the family.)
It's the same with the kitchen roll. Had I been dining with the doctor, I would have asked him immediately: Could you pass me the kitchen roll please? It's only with those close to me that I do the garbling thing. (So if you meet me in this state, you can take it as a compliment if I'm not stringing my sentences together.)
All this is giving me a headache and leaving me utterly exhausted. I am still waiting for that Suddenly, I feel much better moment. It will come.
Overall, it has been a bit easier to cope with this time round.
Perhaps this is mostly a case of forewarned is forearmed. Being told repeatedly that "everyone reacts differently to chemo" is an open invitation to gloomy imaginations. Better the devil you know, etc. I have been clinging on to the knowledge that there is a Good Week coming.
(Is there, though? I am struggling to write this post. I started it yesterday, propping myself up on pillows and straining myself to get my sentences straight. Unable to finish it in one go. This is day 7 of chemo. Shouldn't that overwhelming exhaustion have evaporated by now? Surely it wasn't this bad last time? But wait, let me see... "All of a sudden, I am feeling much better." That was on day 10. Right. Just another couple of days then. Just as well I kept a blog, as my memory is playing tricks on me. In the midst of a gloomy winter's night, it's very hard to imagine that the sun will ever shine again.)
A quick round-up of the side effects...
The nausea, for starters... With four different anti-sickness pills at my disposal, it has been more bearable, although still not completely beaten into submission. The extra pills make me drowsy though, so I've crossed my fingers and stopped them this morning, ignoring the occasional retch.
Chemo Tongue... With the spices and pickles lined up, I am winning the battle. The ghastly chemical taste in my mouth improved over time but never left me completely, so perhaps I'm simply getting used to it. Plus, my sister crossed the Channel with a fridge-load of karnemelk to melt my pour battered taste buds. Wine, coffee, chocolate? No thank you. Give me sour milk - pure liquid gold.
Exhaustion... It was bad before, but somehow it seems worse. Perhaps there is a cumulative effect? Knocking someone down who had only just scrambled back to her feet? I'm trying to keep myself going, daily walks included, but last night I found myself stranded halfway up the stairs, snoozing.
Fizzy Nose Syndrome. I'm putting this in because it fascinates me. My nose feels as if I've snorted a cup full of swimming pool water. It's not debilitating, but it's annoying, and it has lasted all week. What is it about chemical substances targeting specific parts of one's anatomy? With the CT scan injection, it was the bladder. ("You'll get the urge to empty your bladder," they said, and they weren't half wrong. Within seconds, it felt as if I'd wet myself.) With my first lot of chemo, I only felt the Fizzy Nose for about half an hour, immediately following the infusion. I mentioned it to the nurse. "Oh yes," she said. "Everyone says that. It's one of the chemo drugs that does it."
Actually, let's leave it there. A full round-up of side effects would be highly tedious. But I must tell you about my brain.
Ah, my poor frazzled brain.
I can still think (just about) and type (just about), but something happens to the words when they try to make their way to my mouth. I am left garbling. This is very disconcerting and very strange.
There I am, wanting to ask my husband to pass me the kitchen roll. I can see the word kitchen roll in my head. I would have no problem writing it down. But the poor man is left guessing as I wave my arms around ineffectively (acting out a kitchen roll has never been my strong point) and mumble weakly, Ehm... white... round....
Oddly, I can hide this problem if needs be. This reminds me of my mother, who, when her dementia symptoms were creeping up on her, could hide them brilliantly when being assessed by the doctor. She gave perfect answers (or so the doctor thought), she was charming, she was fine. Until he left, and she'd collapse in a sorry heap, no longer able to keep up the pretence. Which left the professionals convinced that she was managing fine, and her daughters convinced that she wasn't. (For the record, I think the daughters were right. Always, always listen to the family.)
It's the same with the kitchen roll. Had I been dining with the doctor, I would have asked him immediately: Could you pass me the kitchen roll please? It's only with those close to me that I do the garbling thing. (So if you meet me in this state, you can take it as a compliment if I'm not stringing my sentences together.)
All this is giving me a headache and leaving me utterly exhausted. I am still waiting for that Suddenly, I feel much better moment. It will come.
Comments
Post a Comment