Chemo 5

My husband is on holidays and I force him to come with me and sit through the entire chemo session. It's lovely to have loving company.

The nurse sits me down in my chair, and studies my hand. She loves my tan (exaggerated by the tan line from my watch), but not my veins. I swear they are much more pronounced in the evenings. Anyway, she does find the vein pretty quickly, and we're off.

When the taxotere starts going in, I feel feral. I feel fidgety. I feel like I want to turn myself inside out. I feel like I want to "popcorn" - it'a move Guinea Pigs do when they are really really happy. They leap in the air and twist. It looks great. I want to do that. Not because I feel happy, but because I feel feral. But instead I sit in my chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs at best, and lamenting to my husband.

The treatment takes so long that we're still there to receive lunch. I order a serve for myself and my husband. The lunch is delicious, and just as we finish it's time to go.

In the car, my husand smiles at me and comments "When we get home Sabina will be pretty hungry. What's for lunch?" But I know what that means. What's for lunch for him? Sheesh!

When we get home, I wave my hand in the general direction of the fridge and mutter something about ham, cheese and bread. Before long, my husband serves up ham and cheese toasties. Devoured in minutes.

Then I hit the sack with Sabina. She gets up after 20 minutes, but I continue dozing on. I don't know for how long. My mother's arrival with the shopping gets me out of bed.

I feel good, and make dinner. After dinner I feel even better and go for a walk. After the walk I feel better still - all desire to "popcorn" is now gone. But I bet that will all change by the end of the week. But somehow, I can live with it. Because there is only one more treatment to go!

Operation GP

 

 
Over the whole year we agonised whether to get Sabina a pet, and what to get her. In our case this is a dillema as my husband is allergic to cats and dogs. Possibly rabbits too. So to be on the safe side we were leaning towards an outdoor pet. But, maybe something that can be brought indoors every now and then.
 
For a while we were leaning towards chickens, then it was rabbits. Then I got cancer and all bets were off. As my treatment progressed, the pet question popped up again. I asked Sabina what was most important about a pet to her. "Holding and patting", she said. So we decided on guinea pigs. Two females. A Christmas present for Sabina; and a total surprise. And so "Operation GP" was born.

Secret flatpack packages arrived. Sabina would walk around them querying what they were. I would respond "I don't know." Then the hutches and cages were constructed while Sabina was at school, and quickly shipped off to other destinations - like the grandparents'.

We would make various phone calls to family and friends getting information about guinea pigs, how to care for them, etc, always referring to the little creatures as "GP". In the evenings I would sit at my computer, itching to write about progress of "Operation GP", but resisting, in case the news "gets out". Having resisted the itch, I would scan the internet for available guinea pigs.

Finally I found one I liked. I gazed at it for two days, before showing it to my husband. He thought she was so cute that I should call the seller immediately. Then Sabina came over. She gazed longingly at the photos of the guinea pigs on the computer "Oh guinea pigs!". "Yeah. Which one do you think is the cutest?", I asked. She pointed to the GP I had been gazing at for two days. "Oh so cute! Hey lets play with your toy dog", I ran off to the play room.

Needless to say, the said guinea pig was bought. I picked it up and just fell in love with it. It was sitting quietly in the workshop when Sabina came home from school. It was still a week before Christmas, and that evening the GP was shipped off to Oma and Opa's - who took loving care of it, which included hand feeding.

In the meantime it was just so hard to keep it all quiet. At one point I asked Sabina "So, what sort of pet do you think you would like?". "Mama, I have changed my mind. I don't want a pet any more. Papa is allergic to cats and dogs, and it wouldn't be fair on him. And I really think I would like either a cat or a dog." Oh. For a split second my heart sank. "That's what I thought until I held that little GP. Just you wait", I thought.

For Christmas day we went to Oma and Opa's. Straight away we took Sabina to the Christmas tree, and showed her the guinea pig. We sat her down, and put the guinea pig in her lap. She stroked it for a while. Then she put it back in the cage. She sat next to me for a couple of minutes then she said "Mama, it is real, isn't it? It's not a toy?"

The guinea pig was named Cissy and Sabina has grown confident in handling her, feeding her, and "making home" for her. But of course a guinea pig is never really happy by itself. So, tonight we picked up another guinea pig - Ginny - a diminutive of "Ginger", because Ginny is reddish brown.

Sabina stood in the kitchen looking at the two cages, with one guinea pig in each. She held my hand and said, "Mama, that is just the best present ever."

Gallops

Today was Sabina's last ballet lesson for the year. At the end of the lesson we received Sabina's ballet exam results. She passed. The examiner's comments read:

"Gallops well done"

Need I say more? I mean, do I send my daughter to ballet so that she can do "gallops" well? Of course she can do gallops well - she spends half of her time watching horses frolicking around the paddocks.

Is it, perhaps, time to expose her to ballet videos, or even to live ballet, if I am keen to see some more ballet-related comment?

Saved by my Mother's chicken soup

So, Taxotere is still here. And to be very honest, I am off my food. I am never off my food. Even now, it doesn't look like I am off my food. But I am actually off my food. I am not really eating enough of the right stuff.

The hardest moment is an hour or two before dinner. The time when you should be starting to prepare dinner. Well, by then my energy is the lowest. But, I do have a secret weapon. I dig out a jar of my Mother's chicken soup and heat it up, add some pasta and devour. It saves me. I feel better for long enough, to put dinner on the boil.

(If you're thinking where is the husband that should be preparing dinner? Then it's like this. The amount of energy required to get hold of husband, who is wondering around outside, and then explain to him how to put dinner on in such a manner that doesn't offend him, is greater than putting dinner on. An IT background is really good when it comes to computers, doesn't seem to work as well on humans.)

But, back to the chicken soup. It also warms up the stomach and gets those digestive juices going, that by dinner time I actually feel like eating. And when I eat, it doesn't totally knock me out.

It doesn't just end with the chicken soup. My Mum has equipped me with barley soup, cooked beetroot, cooked cabbage and sour cabbage - they save me at breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Thanks Mum!

Taxotere

Generally, I am not one to whinge much, and I try to make the best of most situations.

In my life I have done some challenging and scary things. I've skiid cross country marathons, I've cycled around the bay in a day (as recovery for my knee reconstruction), I've done ski touring at high altitudes, I've paddled rivers that I thought were going to eat me alive, I've ridden horses that were out of control, I've been on hikes where you keep walking till it gets dark, and maybe beyond. Endurance and I - we know each other pretty well.

Now, in my chemo treatment we have switched to a drug called Taxotere (Docetaxel) (it's part of standard procedure). Nothing, and I mean nothing in my life so far, has prepared me for Taxotere.

It's signature quality is "aches and pains". Imagine the types of aches and pains you get with the flu. Now imagine they are about 10 times worse. Yes, 10 times. The pains travel. Sometimes my legs get such pains that I am worried I might collapse. Then my foot will start hurting, then my shins. I walk like I am a cripple, because some part of my legs always hurt. And if it's not my legs, then its my stomach. The pain travels up to my arms, into my throat, down my back. When I try to drink I feel like a boa constrictor is wrapping itself around my chest. When I try to eat, food feels like shredded cardboard with sand.

And there is no relief. There is no relief when you sleep, there is no relief when you walk, there is no relief when you eat. There is no escape, and so far, there is no end in sight. This experience started at lunchtime on Thursday, and today is Saturday night. This is the longest "marathon" I've ever done.

Why bother with torture, when you have Taxotere?

You get minor improvements when you eat fruit and veggies and follow it with a walk. Or even a genlte jog. Taking the pony for a run is perfect.

And, there is a slight glimmer of hope. My husband has been experiencing some of my symptomps. Isn't that cute? Well, the truth of it is, we suspect that we have picked up a stomach flu of some sort. While my husband's experience is limited to the stomach flu only, I have no idea what to attribute to the flu and what to Taxotere - they both started affecting me on the same day.

So, there is some slight chance that my next Taxotere experience won't be as bad. And I've got two more Taxoteres to go. Because the current experience, certainly is testing even my limits!

How much fun can you have in a brown wig?

So, I said that I bought a wig. Because ... because girls just want to have fun. Indeed. And the question arose, what colour? Well, how much fun can you have in a brown wig?

You can figure that one out for yourself, as you gaze at the photos. All I will say, is that when I went into the alcohol shop with my husband the other day, the guy behind the counter kept checking me out.

Chemo 4

Today we're changing drugs. It's just normal procedure. I am told that the new drugs don't cause as much nausea, but can cause more tiredness. Win one, lose one.

So I am back with my angel nurse, in the special little enclosure with just four or five chairs. Near the consulting room. There's a good reason for this setup.

Oh my, she can't find the vein. I'm busy looking the other way, imaging I am floating gently in a pool on a hot summer's day. I don't think it's helping today. She undoes the compression strap, a break, then does it up again. I can feel her poking with the needle under my skin. Brain! we're just floating in that pool ok? The compression strap is undone again, another break, then it's done up again. "I've got it!" Phew!

She prepares the drugs, then arranges five or six secret vials on her table. They come in all colours, black, red, yellow, clear and something else. I can't remember. She sets up the blood pressure monitor, starts the infusion, then stands in front of me, staring at me.

You know what those vials are for? Each one is to counteract a different deadly reaction to the drug.

She stands in front of me for about half an hour. "Is everything alright?", she asks. "Seems to be", I answer. Except for the fact that I just cannot get comfortable in the chair, and feel like madly running around the place. That's not a reaction requiring one of the six vials.

The nurse goes for her morning tea, but when she returns, she paces in front of me every 20 minutes or so. Same question. Same answer.

Finally, it's all done and I go home. I grab a solid lunch, and wait for the nausea to set in. I can't belive that by 3pm I am still vertical.

Hair Matters

My Mum and I went shopping together. Half Christmas shopping, half wig shopping.

Mum and I are serious shoppers. We're dangerous. We're just as likely to tell the shop assistant that an item looks shocking, as to throw dollars carelessly across the counter. Except that it's not dollars, it's credit card. But you get the drift.

So ... we bought the wig. Yes, after all that family discussion, and coming to the conclusion that really I don't actually need a wig, we bought the wig.

Why?!

Good question. Lots of answers.

Because my mum would like to see me with hair.
Because it looks more cultured at special family occasions.
Because it makes me look more normal when I just need to duck into the shops.

Because ... (and I guess this is the only real reason) ... girls just want to have fun!

And when this girl has fun ... there'll be food on the table tonight.

Dr Gruba, coffee and the real healing

When I first found out that I had cancer I went to a number of naturopaths to see if I could make the cancer go away, and to make sure that it never returned. Probably the best one of those was Dr Gruba.

Dr Gruba put me on an intensive 12 week detox program, where my diet was basically restricted to meat and veggies. No sugar, no alcohol, no coffee, no tea, no fruit, no juices, no dairy (except for butter), no wheat, and no processed anything.

In general I loved the diet. But every now and then I craved coffee. Absolutely craved it. In those situations, I would sit myself down, and explain to myself that I just cannot have the coffee. So in that case, what else would I like to do with my time? Then, I would see an expanse of time, at least half an hour long, that all of a sudden was mine. It used to belong to the "coffee", but now it belonged to me. Then I would merrily go off and do something I really enjoyed. That ... was the REAL healing.