Week 4 - Day 19

I didn’t sleep well last night. My nose and throat are becoming more blocked so I kept waking myself with my very loud snoring. Somehow, I still managed to roll out of bed ready early, ready to embrace the week ahead and keep moving through the treatments. I just want this all to be over with as soon as possible. I took my meds as usual, but when I went to eat my Weetabix (as usual), it was impossible. No matter how long I let it soak and soften, the pain was just too much so, reluctantly, I gave up and took the dog out for a walk instead. Perhaps I just needed to allow more time for the medication to kick in. The weather on my walk just about summed up my mood. I left the house in glorious sunshine, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie. Five minutes into my walk, it started to rain, but the sun was still shining. Similarly, on the one hand I feel optimistic and hopeful that I only have 2.5 weeks left – in total 16 days including the next 2 weekends to be precise – but at the same time I experienced my own internal rain shower because until today I have always been able to manage breakfast. In fact, it has always been the easiest meal. I tried hard not to let this get me down, but it was a real blow because I was hoping to continue to eat right through treatment.

Today's driver was one I don't particularly like - the one who told me about his brother-in-law dying of cancer. He drives quite erratically and his car smells of stale coffee. He always wants to chat. Before we had even got to the end of our road this morning, he announced to me that Saturday had been a really bad day. I learned that his wallet had been lost, and luckily found again, and was being posted to him. I could barely bring myself to reply. If that constitutes a really bad day, his life must be pretty good. I would trade cancer for a lost wallet any day of the week.

Mondays always seem to be trickier than the other days, probably because the break from treatment makes it feel like I am restarting again each week, and a whole week feels so long. It didn’t help that I couldn’t decide on a song this morning. I was frustrated because none of the songs I had shortlisted were jumping out at me; none of them felt right for today. It is interesting that music has become so important to me throughout this process. It gives me focus while the mask is being put on and the bolts are being closed. It comforts me when the radiographers leave the room. It calms me when the machine starts moving. Right before I was called into the radiotherapy suite, Whitney Houston’s ‘One Moment in Time’ played on the radio in the waiting room, and I decided to go for that song today, because I hope my cancer is just that – a moment in time.

The senior nurse called me when I got home to discuss my medication. She suggested I stop my current routine of taking codeine and ‘topping up’ with morphine, and instead primarily take morphine, along with paracetamol and ibuprofen, which she hoped would enable me to get back to my Weetabix. So I spent the rest of the day in a morphine haze, not really moving from the sofa and struggling to keep my eyes open in front of the TV. It did, however, do the trick and I managed to eat both lunch and dinner (mac n cheese for lunch and a cheese omelette for dinner – cheese is the new meat in my current world). Quite a result given the breakfast fail!