It’s been a while since my last post, mainly because the
first chemo session on 30th November hit me like a knee in the nuts,
except when that happens you know you will be sore for a short period, but the
magic sponge and a quick rearrangement of the furniture was never going to be
enough to remedy the ill-effects of chemo.
The nauseous feeling I suffered reminded me of one of those
mother of all hangovers I used to get back when I was a rugby playing pup, when
binge drinking on a Saturday night was a regular activity and often ended in me
kneeling to pray at the porcelain altar, calling for Larry as I delivered the
evenings contents for recycling.
The next day would be spent confined to bed, with a banging
headache and feeling sick, asking myself why did I do it (again). One of the many differences between the
regular Sunday affliction of my youth and the Chemo sickness is that with the
hangover I knew that 24 hours (in extreme cases 48 hours) later I would be back
to normal. With my chemo ills I had no real idea, I heard rumour it was a few
days and therefore I had set myself a false expectation and as 2 days, turned to 3
then 4 then 5, I started to wonder when will it ever end. The answer was after 10 days.
This timing could have been a lot worse as having exchanged contracts
on a house sale and purchase we moved into our new home on Monday this week. The thought of doing that when all I really would
have wanted was to be curled up in the fetal position in my bed was less than
appealing.
As it happens the move went well. We moved Emma’s house contents in on Monday,
with the exceptional support of the Wilkins removal firm and overseen by Emma's sister Rachel whilst Emma was at work. My eldest daughter Megan and boyfriend Tom also put in a hard shift.
We had briefed Wilkins in advance that the Lady of the House was the size of a barrage balloon due to being 8 months pregnant and that the Lord of the Manor was old, decrepit and riddled with cancer and so not to expect too much physical help on the day.
On Wednesday this week the contents of my
house arrived , which had been in storage for a few months. We also had Emma's mum and sister Sarah spending the whole day assembling the dreaded flat pack furniture for the baby's nursery - a little slowly for my liking but what can I say. Also my youngest, Milly assisted in the bed building department, and so with everyone chipping in it really did feel like an episode of DIY SOS but without
the tears.
The only problem now is that we have multiple
items, 2 dishwashers, 2 washing machines, 3 Fridge Freezers and 5, yes 5
sofas. Clearly if I have my way we will
set fire to Emma’s two down filled monstrosities to eliminate the constant need
for poofing but my cancer treatment has not in fact left me delusional whereby
I actually think I will get my way, but one can live in hope.
The window of feeling better was very short lived but as I
said thankfully very well timed. As expected my throat and mouth have
started to deteriorate within the past 48 hours due to the daily radiotherapy
sessions. The bowl of porridge that I
had been having to kick start my day has now become too painful to swallow, the
pre-prepared soups that were being taken for lunch now aggravate my mouth due
to the seasonings they contain and so I am virtually down to a liquids only
diet.
The hospital supply me with protein shakes which they say
towards the end of the treatment will probably be all that I can manage but
reassuringly they have all the vitamins and minerals you need to live off. Having said that they want me to try and use
them to supplement “normal” foods for as long as possible rather than replace
them.
On a positive note 13 Radiotherapy sessions down and only 17
to go. Rapidly approaching the half way stage which is a big mental milestone
for me – if only I didn’t have that pesky second chemo session next week. At least this time around I know better what
to expect and the Oncologist has modified my anti-sickness drugs to try and
better manage things so fingers crossed on that one.
I would like to end with a request from my lovely wife
Emma. Please can people stop sending me
food items – I have had some very kind gifts including cakes and chocolates none
of which I am able to eat however to a heavily pregnant woman it can be a little
too easy to spend an hour scavenging in the darker recesses of the kitchen cupboards
looking for food to graze on and to put it simply, she says if it’s there she’s
going to eat it. I would also like to
second this request as Emma has let herself go a little recently – now only managing
to get to 2-3 boot camp sessions a week and she needs to get a grip, it’s a
slippery slope and I never bought into a fat lass when I walked her down the aisle not 6 months ago.
