Last night I decided I had had enough, so I took myself off into town to a local restaurant where I ordered steak and chips, washed down with a delectable (large) glass of Malbec. Oh how I have missed tasty, delicious food! The meat melted in my mouth, and the chips were crispy and salty on the outside, soft and fluffy on the outside. And the wine….Sadly I woke up before dessert arrived.
I am pleased to say that the sun came back out today and it has been far more positive than yesterday. The weather seems to make such a difference when there isn’t much else to focus on apart from treatment. Yesterday was so grey and rainy, whereas today there were blue skies and sunshine. The early starts are becoming increasingly difficult given the fatigue is really now setting in. I set the alarm for 6:45am, struggled to eat some soggy cereal and then took the dog out for a walk. I learned after breakfast that it is now even painful to burp! It was scarf-and-gloves cold outside but the fresh air certainly helped to wake me up. The main reason for getting up so early and taking the dog out before treatment was so that when I came home I could just hit the sofa for the afternoon. I missed my sofa time yesterday as both girls were home for an inset day, so today I wanted to make sure I prioritised my slothfulness. Well, that, as well as resting, gathering my thoughts and letting my body try to start healing.
It was very crisp and cold on my walk. I have pounded the ground of the woods in all weathers, through good times and bad, and the changing seasons never cease to amaze me. It is now very clearly moving into winter. The ground is carpeted with autumnal colours, leaves of all shapes and sizes from the myriad of huge trees. It’s amazing to think that I started this treatment in August, when it was still summer, everything was still in full bloom and I went walking in shorts and a t-shirt. Nature has a very good way of showing you how quickly time passes, even when it feels slow at the time.
Today was a largely uneventful day. I am quickly learning that uneventful is a good thing when you’re going through radiotherapy. I had a(nother) new driver today. I’ve probably now had six or seven different drivers. This one asked me which route was best to get to the hospital. Why do some drivers do that? Isn’t that their job? I pointed to my pillow and explained that I mostly have my eyes closed for the journey, so I have no idea which way we normally go. He was the same on the way back, providing a running commentary on which roads were closed and why he had chosen a particular route. I wasn't rude enough to tell him that I don't care where the next set of temporary lights may be, but I did make a big show of putting in my air pods and did my very best to ignore him.
Music today was ‘Fix You’ by Coldplay. I usually try to choose upbeat songs when feeling tired, but today I was in the mood for something more mellow. Also because the line ‘stuck in reverse’ felt fitting. Actually, it feels pertinent for the past two years of my life but that’s another story.
I can’t quite believe that I only have to put that ghastly mask over my face three more times, although right now that feels like the highest mountain of all to climb. I am starting to open my eyes a little more now that I feel more comfortable; trying to take in what it feels like and what’s going on around me. I'll try to summarise it - so, I lie on the cold, hard metal 'bed' with a sheet of blue medical paper over it. There is a plastic piece I put my head onto and a foam under-knee support block, so I have to position myself as best I can onto those. I pull my hair out of the way, pull my t-shirt down over my shoulders and the team ask me to confirm my name, address, date of birth and the area being treated, to check I am the right person. The mask is then laid over my face. They then ask if I am ready. I say yes, so they start closing the bolts, one by one. The mask becomes suffocatingly tight; thank goodness for the hole for my eyes, nose and mouth. My lips feel as though they are being squashed and I cannot move my upper body at all. The lights are then switched off, and the red lights come on. There are three in total, one in front and one either side of me. They are on black boxes suspended from the ceiling that resemble screen projectors. There are also four bright green spotlights beaming down. The bed is moved around and up and down until I am in the right spot, two panels are pulled out either side of me, and the team leave the room. This all takes around five minutes. When they have done a scan to check everything is in the right place, one of them comes back in to push the panels away, then leaves again. Everything is controlled from the other side of the wall, which is where they sit when I am being radiated. The machine then starts up - there is a single green light in the centre of the circular machine, and I can see my reflection in the shiny silver window. It moves over my right side and stops just left of my head, waits about 40 seconds, then moves back down my right side. That part takes less than five minutes. One of the team then comes back to unbolt me, lowers the bed and I am free. And breathe.
One of the quirky things that happens almost every day is that as soon as they put the mask on and start bolting me down, I develop an itch somewhere on my head, usually around my nose, but sometimes also my eyes. It’s that sort of feeling where you know you have a loose hair touching your skin - it’s very tickly and you know something is there, but you can’t quite locate it. In this case, of course, I can’t itch because the mask is immovable, so any itch has to be mentally blocked out. I am amazed at how the human mind can mentally remove a physical itch. This is a skill I have developed over the course of treatment. When treatment first started, I would always give my nose and eyes and a good rub before they put the mask on to make sure I had removed any stray hairs. It then became a running joke that I was channelling my inner Nadal and was developing some pre-mask rituals.
When I got home today I went to bed for 2 hours. I think I slept, but the cat kept coming in to ‘check’ on me and the dog was barking a lot, but I must have managed to some rest. I got up only because I needed my meds, so I hauled my sorry self downstairs, dosed myself up and then fell onto the sofa. I didn’t even bother trying to eat lunch, I drank a shake instead. I definitely feel more tired today than I have any other day so far. But I am now 90% of the way through treatment so it’s certainly to be expected.
After yesterday’s gloomy post, I have had so many thoughtful and encouraging messages of support, I felt quite tearful today (in a good way of course!). Without wanting to sound like a scratched record, I am so grateful to all my lovely friends and family supporting me through this awful journey. You make me smile every day, so thank you❤️
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