My maths was wrong.
Sarah+lots of cancer+treatment = Sarah+much less cancer
or
Sarah≈Sarah
I always knew that squiggledy-equal-to sign would come in handy.
Second, a realisation of luck, and gratitude.
Being physically weak makes you feel very vulnerable. I was scared of the rat and the potential home invaders and the leak in the ceiling and the children's coughs because I knew my body didn't have the power to fight off the attacker or wrestle with the insurance man or stay up all night doling out Calpol. It must be very frightening to feel like that all the time. I think I might call in to my elderly neighbour a bit more often.
Third, a return to an old haunt.
I'm back on the chemo. Back to the plasticky chairs, but joy! there are new ones due to be delivered in a couple of weeks. Nothing like the smell of new cheap faux leather.
I have a new drug this time, irinotecan.
My Optimistic Oncologist (O-O) assured me it is very mild, he gives it to loads of 70 year olds and they're grand on it. My Realistic Generally-more-clued-in Nurse (RGN) says ooh this one's quite strong, you'll lose all your hair, here's the list of the local wig makers.
Hmmmm.
Who do I trust more? Who do I want to believe? How much of any of these side-effects is psychogenic and brought on by the anticipation? How soon do you feel queasy after someone says the word "nausea"?
I have forgotten so much of what the chemo routine involves. If only I'd written some kind of online diary that I could look back on....
I have been writing this post for four days now. My brain is at about 60% capacity I'd say. I just tried to do something related to DNS servers and websites and something else......pffffttt.
I watched Bridesmaids instead. That seems to be the kind of thing people do when in a chemo fog. I tell you what, it was just the job.
In psychiatry they talk about depersonalisation and derealisation. I could never really remember which was which, but I'm pretty sure that I'm now experiencing both.
Squiggledy-equal-to.
Second, a realisation of luck, and gratitude.
Being physically weak makes you feel very vulnerable. I was scared of the rat and the potential home invaders and the leak in the ceiling and the children's coughs because I knew my body didn't have the power to fight off the attacker or wrestle with the insurance man or stay up all night doling out Calpol. It must be very frightening to feel like that all the time. I think I might call in to my elderly neighbour a bit more often.
Third, a return to an old haunt.
I'm back on the chemo. Back to the plasticky chairs, but joy! there are new ones due to be delivered in a couple of weeks. Nothing like the smell of new cheap faux leather.
I have a new drug this time, irinotecan.
My Optimistic Oncologist (O-O) assured me it is very mild, he gives it to loads of 70 year olds and they're grand on it. My Realistic Generally-more-clued-in Nurse (RGN) says ooh this one's quite strong, you'll lose all your hair, here's the list of the local wig makers.
Hmmmm.
Who do I trust more? Who do I want to believe? How much of any of these side-effects is psychogenic and brought on by the anticipation? How soon do you feel queasy after someone says the word "nausea"?
I have forgotten so much of what the chemo routine involves. If only I'd written some kind of online diary that I could look back on....
I have been writing this post for four days now. My brain is at about 60% capacity I'd say. I just tried to do something related to DNS servers and websites and something else......pffffttt.
I watched Bridesmaids instead. That seems to be the kind of thing people do when in a chemo fog. I tell you what, it was just the job.
In psychiatry they talk about depersonalisation and derealisation. I could never really remember which was which, but I'm pretty sure that I'm now experiencing both.
Squiggledy-equal-to.
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