Rollercoaster

Day 96 

General status update

Despair Demon: the Dexy-fuelled Chemo Muse ambushed him early this morning, tied him up, and imprisoned him in the airing cupboard. At least it’s nice and warm in there.

Nausea demon: On the floor at the moment, bludgeoned by the IV Fosapprepitant, the steroids (which do combat the nausea, as well as making me high, remember), and the Ondansetron, Domperidone and Cyclizine anti-emetic drugs I have taken orally this morning. He’s just biding his time though, until Sunday, when the steroids wear off.

Chemo Muse: When we get steroided up on the Dexys after each dose of chemo, she expands like a genie coming out a bottle, and fills the room in a shimmering, swirling cloud of mist threaded with iridescent rainbow lights gleaming from the long, writhing snakes of her hair. (what can I say; I’m on drugs, alright? There have to be SOME good bits in the chemo nightmare). She is very, very powerful this morning, as a result of which I wrote 500 words before 8am.

Chemo Brian: gazing in awe at the newly-psychedelic Chemo Muse, and muttering about how she reminds him of a particularly wild mescaline trip he took with Aldous Huxley in the Sonoma Desert back in the day. Jesus, HOW OLD is Chemo Brian? I thought he was just an old hippy – he was at Woodstock, after all – but if he was hanging with Aldous he must be an old proto-hippy. Ah, good point – Chemo Demons aren’t mortal, are they? Chemo Brian is the Stoner for All Ages.

PICC line: in disgrace after it refused to function in the Chemo Ward yesterday, even for Matron Becky, after behaving perfectly 3 times over the last 10 days and gushing blood like a geyser in Yellowstone Park. We both looked at it, completely aghast. thinking ‘I JUST DO NOT BELIEVE THIS’. It’s claiming to be suffering from intolerable levels of stress and performance anxiety because of the increasingly high expectations heaped upon it. ‘Yeah, but you can hardly say that this HASN’T HAPPENED BEFORE, CAN YOU’ muttered Becky, darkly, as she prepared yet another injection of saline solution to flush it with. Actually, given that it had two assertive and increasingly pissed off women staring at it with increasing fury every time it failed to perform yesterday, maybe it’s not surprising it couldn’t get it up…

State of mind: only one more FEC to go, only one more FEC to go, only one more FEC to go!!!! Sorry, did you say something?

Hair: Dozing gently, as per post-Cold cap protocol, in snood and Smurf hat. It loves this bit of the cycle.

I wrote all of the above very early this morning in a mad burst of steroid-fuelled energy and then paused, intending to write the actual blog post this afternoon. I had to go off to the hospital first for another of those very expensive Pegfilgrastim injections to boost the production of neutrophils in my bone marrow, to strengthen my immune system and keep me infection-free during this chemo cycle. Because I’ve had two infections during the first four chemo cycles, the oncologist is very concerned to prevent any more from taking hold.

At the hospital two very good things happened – it was probably my best hospital visit ever, but unfortunately I can’t write about it now because my energy has crashed completely.

I’ve become so weak all of a sudden that I just have to go and lie down.

This is the Way of Chemo: sometimes the fatigue hits you so hard that your body tells you ‘Lie down – NOW’ and you simply cannot do anything else.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the good things that happened – at least those regular readers who have suffered with me every inch of the way through the last 14 weeks will know, for once, that tomorrow there is a cheerful post to look forward to.

Unless something bad happens during the night, that is, a possibility which can’t be entirely ruled out, given the run of luck I’ve had so far.

See you tomorrow, my friends.