Announcing a major new competition, with unbelievable prizes (literally). Each one of the last posts during this chem cycle will have a meaningful title. But I will only post the initials. Can you guess tomorrow’s post?
And now for a short rant. Continue reading »
It’s now 13 days of chemo, and counting! Meanwhile the oral thrush medicine seems to work, except that I have a dark suspicion it keeps coming back. Continue reading »
The GP gave me a throat spray for the sore throat, which worked. But this morning I had white spots all over my mouth. Continue reading »
I’ve got a sore throat and spots in my mouth. Continue reading »
It’s the fourth day since the infusion into my arm, and the side effects should be well underway, but so far they are minor. Continue reading »
This is the day I would expect the side effects to kick in. Continue reading »
It was 12 hours in the Christie.
First the blood samples. That’s nice and quick.
Then go and sit in the conservatory until they ring you to say they are ready.
That’s when the boredom starts. Ten hours tied to a sort of hatstand with bottles of gung dripping into your arm.
With so much liquid going in, you need to keep going! That means taking the hatstand along with you every time. Worse, you can’t wee into the toilet, you have to do it into a bottle, on which you write your name and bed number, so that someone else can come along afterwards and measure it. Must be a great job!
So what did I do for 10 hours?
I finished a book I was reading, I managed to go to sleep for 90 minutes which helped a lot, we worked out changes to the plot of the Murder Mystery evening we are writing ( it’s called “Green Cyanide”, and we needed two more clues as to the murderer to be dropped in where nobody should notice them), and we listened to the first part of a Dr Who audio play with Colin Baker (not bad).
Then it just got to me, too long lying on a bed. I spent the last few minutes just sitting on the edge of the bed feeling miserable, until those wonderful words, “you can go now”, so we did.
Today was the start of cycle 3. 12 hours of utter boredom while poison being shoved into my arm – because it is even more poisonous to the cancer than to me. Continue reading »
Laughter is indeed the best medicine. Both Malcolm andI have a terrible sense of humour. We laugh a lot and play jokes on each other a lot. His losing his hair we turned into a joke and now he seems quite comfortable with no hair or the little fuzz on top. We are also experiencing many joys from family and friends showing so much care and thought for us. Continue reading »
Being given the news that your husband has a life threatening illness was not new to me. 40 years ago when my 2 eldest sons were 2 and 1 Malcolm was involved in a very serious road acciddent. He was left with no unbroken ribs and a mangled right leg and paralysed gut. He had a 50/50 chance of surviving. So I had to stay calm for the chilldren and prepare for my life as a widow. Continue reading »