Pub Power

It's 5pm-ish and I am lying in bed, watching it rain. Rain? It's a serious downpour. And every now and then, it looks like someone is tipping a whole bucket out of the sky. Great entertainment.

"The power is out", announces my husband as he comes inside. "Oh", I mull the thought over in my head. Not surprising really. Whenever forces of nature get serious, it's pretty much guaranteed that the power will go out. "The whole region is out", comes an update from Pete. "Where's the number for the Toolshed? If they've got power, let's go out for dinner." "Oh", I ponder the idea of dinner at the Toolshed.

A few minutes later I manage to call the Toolshed - their power has just come back on, and yes they are cooking dinners. We're in the car and on our way. Doesn't matter that our power has just come back on as well. The pull of sitting at their rough cut tables, drinking beer from a jug, and devouring a mixed grill while rubbing shoulders with local men with big beards is far too strong.

While we're there, we even manage to fire up the juke box, and Sabina and I do some boot scooting ballet on the unpolished wooden floor.

The Green Grocer

I know my green grocer pretty well - because I am the only customer that rocks up at 6:30am to do their weeks' worth of veggie shopping. At those times it's quiet, and we chat and joke, and when the bill comes to $42.50, the green grocer rounds it down to a neat $40.

But I haven't yet told my green grocer that I'm unwell. He's aware that I no longer come in at 6:30am in my suit, he noticed when I cut my hair, but I haven't had the heart to tell him that something is wrong.

Today, I discretely come in to pick up a leek and a lettuce. He notices me straight away. "Hey, now the hair is all gone. What's going on?", he says jokingly as he comes over. Then he goes pale. "You're sick, aren't you?" I tell him the truth, and huge tears well up in his big brown medittarean eyes.

Walking

My echo cardio experience on Tuesday has got me walking. I go for one walk in the morning, and another one in the late afternoon. I need to avoid the really sunny part of the day - my skin doesn't have the same resistance at the moment, and I am not allowed to get burnt.

It's not easy to get out there and walk. You feel so lousy, you don't think you can walk five metres. And once out there, it's not easy to walk. You feel heavy and uncoordinated. It's a struggle. And so I struggle.

When you get back from your walk, you still feel terrible. Tired, weary, heavy limbed.

Then you rest for an hour. And then, all of a sudden you feel terrific. You feel alive. You feel fresh. You feel good.

Not for too long, mind you.

Echo Cardio

With the chemotherapy treatment I am given, there is about a 4% chance of developing heart problems. So the doctors need to do an echo cardiogram on your heart once every three months, just to make sure your heart is not affected.

Well, I demanded a stress echo cardiogram. Because I am me. And it's all done my way.

Now, scheduling an echo cardiogram is easy - because it's fast. For a stress echo, you have to work up a sweat, gradually. So it takes time. So appointments aren't easy to come by.

So, here I am, one day after my chemo treatment, walking on the treadmill. Then walking faster on the treadmill. Then running. I feel like an elephant. But I run. Stomp, stomp, stomp.

Eventually I call out "stop". "Does your heart hurt?", asks the doctor. The treadmill keeps going, I keep running. "No", I puff, "my legs have gone to jelly". Puff, puff, puff. "Any other pain?", asks the doctor, "chest, arms, anything?". "No". Puff, puff, puff. They slow down the treadmill, get me back on the bed and have a look at my heart with the ultrasound.

"Stop breathing". Yeah right, they must be joking. I'm ready to burst. "Ok, start breathing again." Puff, puff. "Stop breathing". These people are nuts, my heart is going 160 bpms and they want me to stop breathing. "Ok, start breathing again." Eventually we're done. They show me the pictures. All good.

I walk away with one lesson. If you're feeling like crap, try running. Just for a short time. It might make you feel better. I feel great, but it takes me about an hour to recover.

Chemo 2

I visit my oncologist before my chemotherapy treatment. He reads out my blood results - all good.

I head down to day oncology and get seated next to the window. Lovely. Except that when the nurse starts to put the needle in my vein I can see her reflection perfectly. I gaze at the ceiling.

As my treatment progresses, a lady comes for her first chemo session. She sits opposite me and giggles to her partner. I, with my husband's hanky around my head, feel like a veteran. I smile like one too.

By the time two hours are up, I'm bored and start making phone calls to friends. Then finally I'm out of there. At home I scoff down a massive lunch. Then nausea puts me to bed.

It's not as bad as last time, but it's still bad. Really bad. My mum sits by my bedside feeding me veggie burgers. She made them herself. They are delicious. They are the only thing I can stomach.

I show up at dinner, and try to make a dent. The food on my plate could fit into a small coffee cup. But I can't get through half of it. Back to bed.

My mum still sits at my bedside. The veggie burgers are all gone now. But we still have conversation. I think that at every chemo session you meet an angel. Last time it was my nurse. This time around it's my mother.

The day before chemo 2

Well, three weeks have gone by terribly quickly, and here I am pondering that tomorrow is my next chemotherapy treatment. So, as I am preparing my sandwiches for the treatment, how do I feel?

I'm looking forward to it. Yep. Can't wait.

It's not because it will be two down, four to go. It's not because you get treated like royalty. They are supposed to give me more anti-nausea, but I know that I will still feel like crap.

It's because of the spiritual journey. Yep. If you can just let go of trying to control everything, and let the nausea and feeling bad take you wherever they need to take you, you get an amazing sense of spiritual growth.

Initially, I suspected that I was going mad. But I've read other people's cancer stories. And some, not all, some, have experienced the same thing. Amazing spiritual growth.

Ballet Concert

Today is Sabina's ballet concert.  We arrive with anticipation, and our family takes up half the front row.  Of course, Sabina's participation in the ballet is our only drawcard.  That is, until we see the seniors perform.  Wow!

All in all, the performance is a fantastic mix of young kids just having a go, to intermediates who start understanding what it's all about, right through to seniors who are very close to professional.

We had a wonderful time!  Some say that the Cancan stole the show.  For others it was the belly dance.  For me, it was the Wicked Witch of the East!

Hair one day, gone the next

Yep, I've done it. Shaved all my hair off. Or rather my husband carefully shaved it off.

The truth is this - it was an absolute nuisance. Not only was it falling out everywhere, but it also hurt. All the hair follicles became really tender, and just wanted to grow their own way. Those that did get their way were fine. But those that didn't hurt ... a lot! Constantly. All the time. And the worst was putting your head on a pillow.

Now that the hair is gone, it feels fantastic. I still have to be a little bit careful when putting my head on a pillow. But other than that, the pain is gone. And the convenience! No brushing, no styling, no products. Washing takes a few seconds. Drying takes a few seconds. I absolutely love it.

But the best part is feeling the air. Every time there is a breeze, or I move my head a little bit faster I can feel the air rushing past my scalp. It has this freshness about it - like riding a bike without a helmet.

More about hair

On Monday I finally went off and got a hair cut. It took about 7 calls to different hairdressers, before I found one that could do it that afternoon. I walked into the salon, told her what was going on, and added that a "number 6" (shave) would be just fine. She glanced at me, and responded "do you mind if I give you a style cut?" So here I am, with my pretty short, style cut.  (Apologies for poor photo quality - taken by five year old, with phone camera.)

Since then, the "one by one hair fallout" has changed to a "mass exodus". Hair is everywhere, albeit short. Mainly it sits on my shoulders, tickles my neck, and makes me feel like I've never really left the hairdresser. Gets all over the computer keyboard too. Arghhh! And screen!!! I'm over it. A number 1 (shave) is starting to look really really attractive.

I would just like to add that we are a "no hair" family. That doesn't mean that we don't have any hair. On the contrary, plenty of that around, even if not on the head. What I do mean, is that when you see a hair, you pick it up and put it in the bin, so there is "no hair". So now you can better understand why the "mass exodus" on my head is driving me bananas!

The Hair

My hair has started to fall out. Not in clumps, or batches. More like one by one.

One on my left sleeve, one on my right sleeve, one on my shoulder, one on my pocket, one on the bottom of my jacket. I think you get the picture.

I must say - textbook timing.

It's not sad, it's not distressing, it's just plain old annoying!

Since I have been threatening to shave my hair off for years, the concept of having to now cut it really short doesn't phase me at all. In fact, I am looking forward to it. Anything to make the "one by one" exodus less annoying.

Costume Trials

Sabina goes to ballet, and currently they are preparing for a concert. They have extra practices.

One of the practices is simply a costume trial session and photo shoot.

Sabina tries on a costume, and the photographer takes her photo. He then asks what her name is. Sabina gazes blankly at the photographer, and quickly runs over to Miss Lynette (ballet teacher).

"Miss Lynette, what's my name?", she asks.

"Why, your name is Sabina", Miss Lynette gazes at her kindly.

"Oh! I was so excited about trying on the costumes, that I forgot."

No more fog

Over the last few days my brain has felt quite foggy. Like, I could hold my own thought, if just that fog in my brain would go away.

This morning, I said to myself "no more fog". I devoured my breakfast, and held to that thought like to a life raft. And, to my amazement, it worked!

Of course, as a by-product I became very determined, bossy, short and sharp. I must have stayed within reason though, because the family survived the day in grand style.

Out of the fuzz

This morning I managed to walk Sabina to school, and then still walk Pete to the train station. Then I walked home. (A round trip of about 1.5km.) Oh the freshness of the air! How wonderful! Sitting at home can get so stuffy, it starts to suffocate you. Force yourself to go outside, and you immediately feel better. Fresh air is the best medicine.

As I was walking back by myself, I was actually toying with the idea of going for a short bike ride. I mean ... if a walk feels this good, how good would a bike ride feel? The wind in your face, the gentle flexing of muscles, blood pumping.

On another note - my skin has turned to alabaster. All the blackheads and pimples and impurities on my face have literally been jumping out of my skin for the last two days. Now they are all gone, and my face feels smoother than silk. I am really quite surprised that the "beauty industry" hasn't cottoned onto this yet. You know, "mini-chemo" could be right up there with botox, peels and the like.

Chemo 1 - Day 3

Well everything is going according to plan - today I am knackered.

There is this training ride we do on our bikes. From Mt Waverley we ride up to Kangaroo Ground, then St Andrews then almost into King Lake. We cut through to Yarra Glen, and then back home. It's a touch over 100km, and it's very hilly. It's supposed to give you a real kick up the backside, and get you fit for riding longer rides.

Today, I feel like I had done that ride. All my muscles are throbbing. And I am eating and sleeping to match.

Chemo 1 - The day after

Well I am up and about today, and feeling much better.  The morning was rather slow and cautious, but largely, the nausea is gone.  Mind you, they gave me 3 different tablets and an injection to prevent nausea.  That's on top of the anti-nausea tablets I am allowed to take any time.

Chemo 1

One chemotherapy session done, five more to go.

So, what was it like? How do I feel? And what have I done with my hair?

Well ... it was like this. I was busy all weekend with bullants, dogs and what not, and ran out of time to shave my head. So I turned up to chemo this morning with my full mane, tucked neatly into a pony tail, only to be advised that hair might not fall out after first chemo session - and even if it does it will start doing so in about two weeks. It's like getting an extension on your assignment. Yay.

The day oncology ward has a bunch of recliners in it. They look very similar to business class seats on an aeroplane. They even go up and down. But I don't think they can simulate turbulence. And there is heaps more floor space around you.

You get all the top class nurses that treat you like absolute royalty. There are all sorts of assistants running around serving tea, coffee and biscuits. My treatment arm was covered with a warm blanket, and I was covered with a blanket on top of that. First I was given a capsule (anti-nausea) - then we had to wait an hour to start treatment. For most of that hour my nurse talked to me like she was my favourite grandmother.

Once the needle for my drip was in, the rest of the treatment was painless. One of the drugs I am getting is red - so they have a little discreet pouch covering the bag. Very cute.

All in all the treatment took around 3 hours, and I felt great afterwards. My mother-in-law drove me home, I felt fit as a fiddle, and had some lunch. Then I started writing this blog. And then it hit me. First a bit of nausea - so I went to bed. Then more nausea. I took the anti-nausea tablets they gave me, and they worked ... a little bit. Basically, I was bed ridden for the rest of the day. It was a real effort to eat and drink anything, and the household went into shock that all of a sudden they had to do all my tasks, as well as their own.

In the end though, the household at least seemed to accept the situation and peace was achieved. The nausea continued - now I see why they treat you like royalty - you suffer enough for it later on!

Dogs

Hunters frequent the state forest next to our farm. They've been out there for days. They have a machine that makes different animal sounds. Even I can tell the difference between a real animal, and the hunters' machine sounds. And the horses usually pick up the hunters from 2km away. Mainly, they hunt deer with dogs and guns.

Well they are out there today, making their fake bird sounds. I wish they would just get over it, as I saddle up Bess and Tornado. Crownie is a bit stiff through the back, and Sabina is really keen for me to ride Bess.

We ride out. It's a gorgous day and just lovely to be out there. Somewhere in the distance the motorbikes are out, and I stay vigilant. Bess lacks forward. I put it down to her character, and the motorbike noises.

We stop for a break on the side of the road. Sabina enjoys sitting in the shade and eating her snack, while I hold the horse and pony. Tornado seems happy enough, but Bess is disturbed. She keeps gazing in the direction of home and feeling anxious. I find this rather odd, as she is such a placid easy going horse. Either she is really hanging out to go home, or I have an electric seat.

As we mount up, Bess spins around so fast that I almost fall off. Oddly enough, she spins around and wants to run away from home. Strange.

We head towards home. Sabina keeps hanging back and chatting - sometimes to me, sometimes to herself, sometimes to Tornado. Bess remains on edge. Then I see them, two grey shadows ambling hesitantly down the road. Hunting dogs? Strays? They look like two huge greyhounds - each standing taller than Tornado. Their coat looks unkept, and it gives them a wild, somewhat savage look. The one closer to us has his tail tucked under his legs.

When they see us, they hesitate. We are half their prey, and half their masters. They look confused. Sabina is torn out of her childlish fantasy pony ride. "Mama!" I take a more solid grip on my whip. Thank God I brought one, and thank God I brought the one that does damage. I move Bess to shield Sabina. "Go home!", I call out sternly. I wave the whip at them. "Go on! Go home!".

They turn around, take another look at us, then slowly walk back up the track. Sabina's got the hang of it now, and she's fully roaring at them like a ferocious tiger. Thanks to her endless tiger games she's actually got a roar worth reckoning. The dogs, break into a trot.
 
We follow the dogs. I keep a very watchful eye on them. Sabina goes back to ambling 20 metres behind me, but she keeps roaring. From the farm, Pete watches the strange procession. He can't see the dogs - just me, and a screaming Sabina behind me. He thinks that Sabina is just having a bad time, and waves to us with jolity.

Finally, when we're at the state forest gate, and I see the grey shapes slinking along at the bottom of the valley, I breathe a real sigh of relief. We start laughing at our adventure. Deep down I marvel at Bess' trust in me, and Tornado's calmness. What awesome horses we are so lucky to borrow and own. (Thanks Lisa!)

Bullant

I am busy making dinner when the sliding door opens.

"Mama!!!" cries out Sabina, full of tears.

I drop everything, race to the door, my mind conjuring up all the worst case scenarios, my heart reaching out in sympathy. I come to a sliding stop on my knees right in front of my little girl. She looks upset, for sure, her pants seem to be a bit dirty (but that's normal at the farm), but I can't really see what else is wrong.

"Mama!!!", she screams sobbing. "Get it off me! Get it off me!".

The fading light makes it hard to see, but I suddenly work out that the pants are not dirty - that's bullants crawling over my little girl - about four of them. Instantly, I brush them off with a couple of agressive strokes. Then I pick her up, sit her on a chair and rip the pants off in a single motion. It appears the bullant problem is solved.

"Ouaaa", sobs Sabina, pointing to a red spot on her leg. "That naugtie bullant! Mama, that was a naughtie bullant. I hate that bullant. It's a naughtie bullant. Why did the naughtie bullant bite me mama?"

(Yes, it's not a "naughty" bullant. It's a "naughtie" bullant. So cute!)