‘Twas the Night Before Chemo

Day 23 

General status update

Hair: Were there a few more hairs on my comb this morning? Is my hair becoming LOOSE? IS IT?

Or is this just the Chemo Paranoia Demon getting started? 

Nausea demon: Quite subdued today after partying late last night to see in the New Year;

now getting an early night, in anticipation of being on constant duty for the next few days after FEC 2 tomorrow.

Chemo Muse: Very excited about the intravenous steroids we’re going to be getting tomorrow, which will make her ROAR!

Paranoia Demon: arrived after my meeting with Stan yesterday, of which more below – has unpacked, settled in, and immediately got down to work.

Mouth: My tongue is getting sore. Toast hurts. Can’t eat anything at all spicy. Not even black pepper. And I was the Chili Queen of W6. Goodbye, channa masala, hello cauliflower cheese. NO! Nothing cheesy, the thought of that makes me feel even more nauseous. Hell, there’s not much left. A nice plate of plain pasta, or a bit of boiled rice. 15 more weeks of this. Sigh.

New, improved side effects: I asked Stan yesterday if the 'getting worse' bit, as the chemo cycles continue and the poison levels in my bloodstream increase, might be limited to the current side effects; if there was a chance I might be spared any new sorts of unpleasantness. His initial, wordless, glance of pity communicated instantly what he then went on to spell out, which may be paraphrased as follows: 'In your dreams, dear, IN YOUR DREAMS - brace yourself'. 

Collateral damage: R had a chemo-induced hangover today, after being forced to drink nearly a whole bottle of Prosecco last night during our New Year’s Eve celebration, as I took exactly 2 sips from my glass and was unable to continue. First alcohol I’ve tried since starting chemo – it just tasted vile.

Sleep, lack of: I’m allowed to have a Lorazepam tonight – YAY!! And maybe one in the morning as well, as a special treat, just before they start pumping the poison into my veins again.

Anxiety level (1-10): Close to peaking, but will soon be tempered by 2 consecutive Lorazepam. 

State of mind: Trying very hard to think about anything except what’s going to happen tomorrow; failing, on the whole.

 

 

‘Twas the night before Chemo when all through the flat

Not a creature was stirring, not even a rat;

Caroline was nestling all snug in her bed

While visions of side-effects danced in her head; 

When outside the window arose such a clatter,

She sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window she flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,

When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,

But a sleigh full of demons, all fuelled by Fear.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

Demons driven by Chemo sped through the sky,

More rapid than eagles his demons they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Nausea! Anaemia! now, bald Alopecia!

On, Fever! on Sepsis! on, sweet Neutropenia!

To the top of the porch!  To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" 

And then, in a twinkling, she heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As she drew in her hand, and was turning around,

From the chimney St. Chemo appeared with a bound

 He was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all toxic with ashes and soot;

A bundle of side effects hung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the bones in his skull were as white as the snow;

The stump of a syringe he held tight in his teeth,

Toxic fumes encircled his head like a wreath; 

He was fearsome and scary, a poisonous elf,

And she screamed when she saw him, in spite of herself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave her to know she had plenty to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled her with terror; then turned with a jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But she heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

HAPPY CHEMO TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!

 with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore