Day 128
General status update
FEC cycle 6, day 12
State of mind:
resigned to being a complete basket case for the time being – everyone tells me
that frequent emotional meltdowns are completely normal at the end of chemo.
Fatigue/weakness: continuing
Lachrymosity: lessening
– I’ve only burst into tears twice today, so far.
Nausea demon:
he’s theoretically still on duty, but starting to pack up his things.
Despair Demon: I
wish he’d stop whispering in my ear about … all manner of horrible things.
Chemo Muse:
she understands I’m having difficulties writing at the moment, so she made me
clean the fridge instead. So SOMETHING got done today.
Chemo Brian: he
keeps tempting me with Lorazepam, pointing out that in my current state
taking it is practically a public duty
to protect the community at large from hysterical outbursts. He may have a point:
I went to the bank today, became completely ENRAGED that rap music was playing at
high volume as I was trying to make a money transfer (my computer key for doing
online transactions at home is broken), and went and harangued the bloke on
duty about it. He looked quite frightened. Mind you, he was only about twelve. WHY
are they playing music in a bank, for God’s sake? HSBC, have you lost your
corporate minds?
I was listening to an interview with the writer Julian Barnes
on the radio today; talking about recovering from grief, he said that
eventually you do come out of it ‘not
like a train coming out of a tunnel, but like a gull coming out of an oil
slick: you’re tarred and feathered for life.’
As soon as I heard that sentence, I realised why I’ve been
such a complete mess this week: I was, idiotically, expecting to finish chemo
like a train coming out of a tunnel. Instead I’ve been hauling myself, inch by
slippery inch, out of a toxic swamp, and
I keep slipping back in; even when I’m back on firm ground again at the end of
this last chemo cycle, it’s going to take a considerable time to clean off all the
muck.
And some of it may never come off.
The poison is gradually leaving my body now, but I wish I
could say the same for my mind: I only have to think about any aspect of the
administration of chemo, or look at that photo of me in the wretched pink
helmet, to start retching. The needles, the drips full of toxic chemicals, the
clicking and beeping noises from the chemo machines, the searing pain when they
put the frozen pink helmet on your head – my head is still full of these images,
and I imagine they’re going to be haunting my dreams for years to come.
I’d love to be able to press ‘delete’ on my mental file of
chemo memories, but that’s not possible. I know their impact will fade with
time, so for now I just need to train my brain not to go there any more: I don’t
have to go back to the chemo ward physically, and I’ve got to learn to stop
revisiting it mentally.
You don’t have to go there any more,
Caroline.
This might not help, but last night on twitter, there was advice on how to cope with the terrible images from Boston. "Look for the people going to help, there are always helpers". It might help to try and replace thoughts of caps and needles with thoughts of the kind people who were there helping you get through it? If that's rubbish, ignore it. I've never had to go through anything like it (so far) xx
ReplyDeleteThat was a spot-on description of how it feels coming out from under the post-chemo mental miasma - or I should say 'trying' to come out from under.
ReplyDeleteIs slippery going, treacherous. One gets blindsided... Took my mother to the doctor the other day and the universe tilted crazily when the tech picked up the needle to draw Mom's blood.
And the Despair Demon? He is one tenacious tormenter. I vote we hire a private investigator; that bastard has got to have some skeletons in his closet we could whisper in his ear about. Both of us. We could give it to him in stereo. At high volume.
Hang on, hang on.
It does get better.
I swear.
xxx Jen
The last sentence is oh so true. I reckon all the pent up horrors of chemo can, when they end and you don't feel anything like back to normal, although you've soldiered on through the last 5, is a type of Post Traumatic Stress.
ReplyDeleteAfter all you've been slowly poisoned for over 100 days, prisoners of war get PTSD in less time.
I also think, though you may not be fully aware for ages, that writing this blog has been of immeasurable benefit, not just for us who have kept you in our hearts and prayers, but also for you. It's a place where you can be as raw as you want and, tbh, I thought thee would be days when you just couldn't do it. But you did. What brilliant willpower.
ps 'Roid rage is extremely common and you've got no idea how proud I am that you took it out on Rap Music playing in a bank. WTH? Banks should be tranquil, quiet places where you can think, not some gathering of the dubious poets of the 21st Century. :-))
Cut the bloody tannoy wires next time. Take a pair of pliers with you!
Tal xx