Cut, Poison and Burn

I didn't have the best of sleeps, last night. It was broken. The night sweats are annoying!

This time of year, I am usually in my warmest pyjamas, tucked under a doona; keeping to the warm parts of the bed. These sweats however, have driven me to wear summer pyjamas and swishing around searching for cold spots in the bed. I don't know how long the sweats last, but they certainly don't stick around. Soon enough, my nude head becomes aware of the cold pillow and I'm back to feeling the real temperature around me. This goes on all night. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. Sometimes, I get so hot that I can actually wipe sweat away!

Low immunity leaves tomorrow. In its bag he will pack away (forever!) my three purple, cannula bruises, an itchy needle site (where the chemo was eventually intravenously received), a twitchy, watering eye and cheek patches. Once he departs the white blood cell count will be looking good. I can interact with large groups of humans again. Yay!

Since the radiation "tattoos", I have to admit, that I have seriously been thinking about getting a tattoo (that I actually want, not four silly dots). I've always been anti-tattoos, for myself, because of its permanency. But, I don't know...I think I want one... So, I'm thinking just a small ribbon on my left wrist (not allowed anything on the right side because of the removed lymph nodes). It may just me being in a celebratory mood. Time will tell. Maybe this little thing will turn into nothing...

Today, I read an excerpt from an article that got me real excited. It basically explained that having greater muscle mass means that the body is able to withstand trauma (like cancer) better. This is awesome news! My body is less likely to see cancer return if I aim to build muscle as part of my exercise. Secondly, and more importantly for now, is the implication for burn patients.

On August 22, I will begin my radiation therapy. As a burns patient, my body will need more protein to heal itself. So, if my body doesn't have enough, it will draw from my muscle mass. This is the incentive I need to really hit the weights (I won't do anything crazy) in the lead up to that first appointment. During radiation, weights are not allowed. As with the nutrition, there is so much to be gained in knowing that there is something that I can do to make the radiation ride a little smoother.

I've been cut and poisoned. I'm ready for the burn!

Climbing Back Up The Mountain

This last weekend has been the toughest! On Friday and Saturday I was unable to move. I just had no energy. At all. I recall being tired when I was pregnant. And, for those of you who have experienced that, that is how I felt. Except I couldn't push through it like I was able to when I was pregnant. My body wanted nothing else but to rest. I was deflated. So, the husband took the day off work Friday and then maintained homeland duties Saturday and Sunday. Poor guy! While I was terribly sorry that he had to do it all alone, there was nothing in me that could help. It certainly got me thinking though...

I have read quite a number of breast cancer stories where women reported that their partners left them after their diagnosis. Now, my judgemental self looked down at those blokes and tutted at such cowardly behaviour. I have to retract that now though. While there is no way my husband would choose that (so grateful), I can certainly better understand why, for some people, it's the better decision. To be a support person you have to be in it 100%, there is no half-hearted effort. Just after my diagnosis, a friend, who was told they had terminal cancer (they survived though), shared that their experience was that it was the partner who had it the toughest. That, in fact, it was easier to be the one with the cancer. The point has been taken. The husband had to look after the children and the demanding, cancer patient. All at the while, trying to keep up morale. It's hard work. I love the husband. He was a good pick.

Just because I am wanting to be open about all the stuff to do with chemo... I have to report that I needed Movicol. Now, if you look at the name of the product carefully you may be able to work out what it does for the human body without the google search. Actually, I'm looking at the box and it has a picture of a big wave on it. I am pretty sure that I do not want a wave to occur but anyway... Last chemo, I had eagerly eaten prunes on the off chance that the drugs would cause constipation (there I said it). This time, I rested on my laurels and all too soon it was the weekend and nothing was happenning that should be happenning, if you know what I mean. So, I took the meds. I am pleased to report that they did work. Moving along (pun not intended).

I didn't start out feeling too good, today. But, by lunchtime I was rocking! Yeah! I'm back in town! After lunch we went for a short walk up the street. The children and I were all wearing beanies and in our daggiest outfits ever. But, they didn't care so neither did I. It was also around that time that child number two seemed to have overcome the cold that had given us so many sleepless nights. Did I already mention that I felt... AWESOME?

My only "whinge" at this point is that (actually I have two), I am pretty over looking like I just walked out of a salon. Whenever I look to the left or the right I see bits of hair. It literally looks like I have just had a hair cut. Exactly a week after my first chemo, my hair was coming out in friendship groups. Tomorrow marks a week so, to be honest, I would love the whole lot just to come out. The second whinge, is that I have been getting hot every now and again. It was worrying me at first. In the middle of the night, I would feel the need to take my beanie off. Each time, I quickly grabbed my thermometre thinking that I had a fever. Anyway, I think it's actually a hot flush. You know, that strange thing that happens to women over 50. Menopause. Yeah.

Finally, if I hadn't upset your stomach from the earlier topic maybe I can with the last. A doctor reported to my mum that eating liver (cooked of course, I'm not a freak) can combat neutropenia. I grew up eating liver and onions and I really don't mind it. Pre-gluten days, I would have loved it with some fresh, white bread. Tonight though, I enjoyed it on spinach leaves and mushrooms. Delicious. Until, the chemo is over, I am going to aim to have liver twice a week. It will be my way to getting healthier sooner. Any liver recipes?

The Emergency Department

If I hadn't been told that an Emergency Department trip is not unusual for a chemo patient I may have been more anxious. So, there I was wrapped up in too many layers of clothing to count, on that cold, cold Thursday night. How did I end up there? Do you really want to know? Well, if I thought the last blog was a little too revealing I reckon this one will top it. Since you have been so generous in your time, in choosing to follow me on this journey (there's that word again) I feel very much obligated to share it all. And, of course, in years to come when I am able to reveal all that happened in 2011 to my children they would want to know all the details. Here goes...

My visit to the hospital was in the making only a couple of days before. I had noticed something. Something that did not belong. Armed with my computer, I conducted my own consultation. I diagnosed my condition. And, you know what happened? I freaked out! That evening I decided to call the Oncology Department and explain my symptoms. Perhaps there was a chance that what I was experiencing was just another embarrassing side effect that I hadn't heard of yet. It wasn't. I was told that it was worth getting to the hospital for. Great... A quick phone call locked in a babysitter and soon the husband and I were on our way to the hospital.

One of the perks, (well there better be something good about having cancer), is that you never have to wait if you report to the Emergency Department. I blushed and explained my condition to a kind lady behind glass, being careful that the crowd behind me couldn't hear. Next thing I knew I was on a bed explaining it all again. The third time I explained my condition I was talking to a doctor. She was young, beautiful and friendly. In fact, every person who I came into contact with was the same. I could very well have been an actor on the set of a television medical drama. Anyway, I am totally delaying the inevitable shame. I was told that I had a Bartholin's cyst. If you must look up what that is go for it, just don't think about me. Better still just take my word for it that you don't want to know.

Absolutely anything medical becomes an emergency when your body is warring against the weapons of cell destruction. I was pumped with three lots of antibiotics, after I waited an hour for my blood results. The first antibiotic was pressure pumped into my vein with a spring loaded contraption (medics feel free to name the item). It was very uncomfortable. I requested that the husband fetch the nurse in case the feeling of my arm being blown up was a normal sensation. It was. Fortunately, the husband had brought along an iPod so I distracted myself by listening to that. After the three minute onslaught, the remaining antibiotics were much more bearable. I listened as the drips fell, ever...so...slowly. By three, in the morning, I had spoken with the surgeon (yes, she was young and beautiful too!) and it was agreed upon that I would need the cyst removed on Tuesday. An operation. General anaesthetic. Perhaps I was too tired to really register all this, maybe my brain was beginning to comprehend all of what was going on, maybe I'm getting a little stronger. Either way, I was ok with that. With a duck-bill mask on my face I was wheeled to a ward.

The duck-bill was for my protection. My blood test had revealed that I was neutropenic, a low white blood cell count. Don't be shocked. It's pretty normal. In fact, it now meant that I was eligible for a needle for each chemo treatment that ensured that it would never happen again. Would you believe that a patient has to be neutropenic before the Government will fund the needle even though it's more than likely to happen? Anyway, it was a needle I had initially dreaded. I desired nothing more than to be in the small percentage who didn't get such a low white blood cell count. Now, having been hospitalised for what is a very minor condition, I was keen to have the needle so as to not have a repeat of this or another medical emergency (if I could help it).

Soon the sun was rising and we were anxiously waiting to hear whether I was in or out. The surgeon said that I would need to go to another hospital where the operation would be conducted. She gave me some antibiotics and a little hope. There was a chance that the cyst would clear on its own and the operation would be unnecessary. I held onto that.

Before I close this post I must mention my second itch. Since the start of my low immune days, I was having a lot of trouble with my head. It was just so itchy. Actually, it wasn't so much that I needed to scratch, I think it was more that I needed to move my hair around. The hair follicles were getting excited, that's for sure. What event was getting them so on edge? I reckon I have an inkling...