Guinea Pig dramas

No, the guinea pigs are not drama queens. We've had a couple of close calls with our guinea pigs. Sabina's guinea pigs.

The first close call was when we had the guinea pigs in their portable outdoor enclosure. The enclosure keeps them contained, but is totally open above them. So we cover it with an old fly wire door. But that only covers half the enclosure.

Anyhow, that's how they were when Sabina and I were walking a horse back to his paddock. We looked up and saw an eagle. We marvelled at his wings, at his head, at his tail. We marvelled at his beauty. Then "Sabina! The guinea pigs! Quick!", I shouted. The little girl didn't need a second prompting; she arrived breathless at her guinea pig enclosure and kept them company until the eagle flew away.

The second drama occurred just before dinner time. This time around the guinea pigs were in "Fort Cavy".

Sabina and I were inside preparing dinner. An odd sound caught my ear. Sort of like dogs barking. "Mama, I think I can hear dogs barking", said Sabina. I dropped everything. I don't even know if I left something on the stove or not. Without another word I bolted out the back door, to find "Fort Cavy" surrounded by two keen Jack Russell terriers. Words flew, dogs started running, and I kept chasing them till they were well down the driveway, tails tucked under. They were very lucky I didn't have a whip handy.

The guinea pigs were just fine.

I want my hair back

Yes, I want my hair back. Not on my head. That's just fine. Maybe it's not the norm, but I have my assortment of hats, as well as the wig, and I am pretty happy.

The lack of eyebrows doesn't bother me too much. Although one does look weird without eyebrows.

Arms and legs - love not having hair. I waxed once and I've been sporting smooth legs ever since. Under arms - same.

A thing or two could be said against the permanent Brazillian, but I can live with it.

But I do want my eyelashes back. Not having eyelashes (or very few eyelashes) means that every spec of dust and every breath of wind irritates your eyes to tears. In addition, the very few eyelashes that are left tend to get into my eyes and cause further irritation. So I use mascara - it fixes the eyelashes in place and keeps them out of my eyes. But of course the dust in the air still irritates my eyes, so I am constantly blinking the tears out of my eyes, which in turn smudges the mascara.

But, that's not the worst of it.

I want my hair back in my nose! Yes, inside my nose. All that dust in the air, and believe me, there's a lot of it, settles inside your nose as you breathe in. Normally, it settles on the fine hairs inside your nostrils, and all is well. But, when that fine hair is gone, it settles on the ultra sensitive membranes inside your nose, the membranes react by producing mucus, the mucus dries up, and the result is very uncomfortable! Add to that the effects of chemo, and you get bloody mucus. Arrgh!

The farmer wants his dinner

I am busy perparing dinner when I get a phone call from my husband. He is somewhere on the farm, finishing off something, as per usual. These were his words. "Listen, I am in cow shit. The cows from the neighbour's have broken out. They are all over the road. I have just rang the neighbours, but they need to go into town this evening. So they can't fix the fence. We have to round up the cows into our paddock."

I turn down the simmering pots, and head outside with Sabina. Keep in mind that I am still recovering from chemo here, and a walk to the road is a big effort. When I get there, I am very pleased to discover that he was only metaphorically speaking when he said he was "in cow shit". Phew!

Then we spend the better part of half an hour rounding up the cows into our paddock. Mainly it's a pretty passive and quiet task, as the cows take their time to decide - will they, won't they go through that gate?

And where does that leave our dinner? Well the potatoes got a bit too roasted, but somehow, everything else turned out fine.

Kilos and shots

Recently I have been whingeing about all this weight I've been stacking on, while still claiming I could do a well posed shot. Check out the said shot.

I admit though, it would have looked better with that blonde wig.

Christmas and the wig

The wig has had it's many sceptics and supporters.  Either way, everyone meant well, and all the comments were valid.  It wasn't a cheap venture either.  And I can't say that I wear it every day.  The performance fanatic in me is screaming "extravagance".  But in the end, I think it was worth it ... even if it is for just this one Christmas shot.

Chemo 6

I rock up to Day Oncology as per usual and the nurse picks me up, weighs me - 66kg (gulp!) - and sits me in my chair. Dad gets me a magazine, because I've forgotten to bring a book.

Really, the chemo is uneventful. The nurse finds the vein in one go, and the drugs drip in, right on schedule. I don't even feel too bad. No desire to jump out of my skin and "popcorn".

I enjoy the lovely lunch provided by the hospital (that's in addition to my own sandwiches), and then Mum and Dad pick me up and take me back to their place. Here I am treated to another lunch, because of course I must be absolutely starving after sitting in a recliner for a few hours. Then comes the obligatory snooze. Well, I wake up at 5:30pm!

Mum and I chat for a bit, and then it's ... you guessed it ... dinner time. You never go hungry at mym Mum's.

When I get home I find a lovely surprise at my doorstep - some flowers and a frozen food soup from my horse riding buddy, Christine. I'ts a great way to celebrate the end of chemo.

Wait! The end of chemo? Yes. But not the end of treatment. Oh no. That would be far too easy. I seem to do everything that's endurance. I still need to have ongoing, 3-weekly treatment, via drip, at the hospital. Yep. You read that right. It's a drug called "herceptin" that targets my cancer directly.

The upside - very few side effects. So the hair should grow back, and I shouldn't feel too tired. The downside - well the need to have treatment until December 2011!

Tired

Chemo 6 is tomorrow. It will be the last chemo. Thank goodness for that. But, of course, the chemo itself is no big deal. It's the pain and tiredness that sets in three or four days later that's the big deal. And that's still to come.

In the meantime, I am just plain old tired. Everything is tired, most of all my thighs. All the time. I walk up ten steps and I'm out of breath. Don't even try to send me chasing after the horses. I have to stop and rest all the time. I've seen old grandmothers who move faster than me. Kneeling down on the floor with Sabina - that's a real effort, and I can't even do that for very long.

Weight Issues

Hmm ... big topic. Where do I start?

Traditionally, I like to weigh in at about 58kg. 57kg is better, but I find that somewhat hard to maintain. So 58kg it is. That makes me feel like Elle. Macpherson. Like I could just fly into Paris and walk down the cat walk. It's uber cool.

When my cancer diagnosis was confirmed I weighed in at 61kg. I wasn't happy about that weight. Losing those extra kilos had been on my agenda since giving birth to Sabina. Alas. Then I put myself on a diet - not to lose weight, just to get healthy. To lose the cancer. And amazingly, without starving myself, without denying myself anything, I lost the despicable kilos. So, I was back to Elle Macpherson ... just with cancer.

Like a model, strutting down the catwalk, I strolled into my naturopath's office. "And amongst other things, I want you to put on some weight", he concluded the one hour consultation. "I need you to put on about 3 or 4 kilos." My jaw dropped. No way! I've worked so hard to feel like Elle, and now he wants me to feel like ... well ... not sure what yet. "The weight you put on, it must be muscle", continued the good doctor, totally unaware of the battle going on in my mind. "You don't need more fat, but you do need more muscle."

When I walked out of his office I was at odds. I mean, if more muscle meant no cancer, then I was willing to do it. But, oh, to let go of feeling like Elle? Then came my chemo treatments, and the survival instinct kicked in. I had to eat to feel better, and raw veggies just weren't going to cut it. So I had a choice - carbs or protein. I followed my naturopath's advice and got stuck into the protein.

Currently I weigh in at about 61.5kg. I don't feel like Elle any more. No, more like Stephanie Rice. Can't quite cut the lean catwalk figure, but I can put some power into my life, before I do that well angled photo shoot. Yes, it appears that I have put on muscle - just like the good doctor ordered. I feel it. I feel strong, I feel powerful, I feel good. (Post chemo side effects excepted).

Come to think of it, maybe I just feel like me?

Pain Relief

As I said about three weeks ago ... taxotere, it hurts. I told it to the nurse at the last treatment too. She made big eyes at me, and said "you are allowed to use panadol". I stared at her. "Really?". Honestly, there are so many rules about what drugs you can and can't combine that I was convinced panadol was out.

"Really", the nurse confirmed. "There are no medals at the end of this", she finished off. I stared at her in disbelief. What do you mean there are no medals? Whenever you endure pain, there is always a medal. It's not always a shining gold disc that you can hang in your trophy cupboard. Sometimes it's something more meaningful like self-belief.

Anyhow, as the pain hit in earnest this morning, after a one hour family conference on whether to take the panadol or not, I took a panadol. It took the edge off the pain, just enough to make my day bearable, but not so much that I was in "conquer the world" mode.

Why did it take a one hour family conference to convince me to take a panadol? Because we are a family of endurance junkies. We love endurance sports, and when you do endurance you hurt. And if you choose to mask the pain, you suffer for it later on, usually with niggly injuries that drag out for months. So in the long run, it's just much better to stay in touch with your body, to feel the pain.

Having said that ... after one panadol, I still feel the pain.  Just not as much.