On we went back to the hospital for chemotherapy freshers' day. The session started out with the now-standard weigh-in. The nurse commented on a significant change since last time, and just Tuesday as my wife was about to berate me for losing more weight, the nurse noted that I had seemingly gained 20 kilos in the past few weeks. I applied
here and concluded human error was the issue. I think I was at senior school when I last weighed what she claimed I did.
That brief moment of hilarity passed, we got down to business, and were then told all the good stuff I could look forward to. Vomiting, nausea, diarrhoea, fatigue, cramps, etc. On it went. Still, it's doing me good right? So look on the bright side. To be fair, the general premise with the side-effects is "if you get sick, we're doing it wrong", and I was advised I would be loaded down with half a pharmacy of anti-sickness meds, and have the whole hospital watching my back.
In the meeting with the oncologist I had asked to have a cold cap to combat the possible hair loss. I was told my particular treatment cocktail had a low incidence of hair loss, but being both cautious and vain in equal measures I decided to play safe. I was sized up with the contraption, a very unflattering look, in all honesty. Even
couldn't carry it off. To wrap up, we had a tour around the day wards, sadly each was chock-full of people getting treatment. Cancer really, really is shit. The night before, my wife had asked me how I was feeling about what was to come. Maybe I had not thought it through fully, but I replied that I was not terribly nervous about the chemo, compared to the surgery. This stage was about getting me better, I had to put faith in it.
So, the next morning we were back in, scheduled to be hooked up 10am-ish for a couple of hours. Unfortunately, due to there being
, the package from the pharmacy was put together to treat a mouse, not an elephant. It took almost 3 hours before that was rectified and we finally got going. First thing was to put the cap on, and fire up the refrigeration unit. At first it didn't seem so bad. Next up was an injection to combat a particular side effect of one of the drugs in the cocktail. I was warned it might "sting a little." Holy crap, did it ever. Hopefully that was the worst bit of the day. And then, the start of 2 hours on a drip. Not much to say about that: it was boring. However, as time passed, the impact of the cold cap kicked in: it was uncomfortable, cold (yeah, surprise surprise), and noisy. After about 2.5 hours I had to give up. It was like having your head clamped tight in a vise made from a block of ice. Every credit to those who stick with it, I just couldn't do it, and felt a bit of a failure as the nurse disconnected me..
After the drip package had finished, I then got switched out to a slow release pump device, that I would be carrying around, connected to me, for the next 48 hours. About the diameter of a grapefruit, and a couple of inches deep. Small enough to stick in my pocket, anyway. We left the hospital, did a few errands on the way home, and then I got back and rested. Getting to sleep that night was a bit of a hassle. I had to ensure I didn't roll on the device or the tubes, or twist my body such that I felt the needle shift in the chemo port (it happened once, and I woke with a shock). The next morning brought the challenge of trying to shower with an IV tube hanging out of you. Not too bad: clipping the device on the shower curtain was the key.
In my current state, I don't really need any reminders of my own mortality, or the general frailty of life, but the next day we got one anyway. The sister of a friend had died the previous month, after some weeks of illness, and her memorial service was to be held at
. She was a couple of years older than me: way, way too soon. I shed a few tears during a beautiful service that captured her spirit wonderfully. I am not sure I had ever been inside the cathedral before, it really is a stunning building, inside and out, and worth a visit if you happen to be passing.
After another night of avoiding getting tangled in IV lines, we went back to the hospital to have the pump disconnected. I knew this bit was going to hurt: the pump was kept in place with adhesive strips, and I am somewhat hirsute. I braced myself in the chair, clenching both arms tight, and then the nurse got to work. Ultimately almost as unpleasant as the pre-drip injection on Wednesday. I think even the nurse was wincing and felt uncomfortable as she ripped out yet more chest hair. And with that, I was free. For a couple of weeks at least. During the chemo cycle I had been shovelling down all manner of pills as directed. I am happy to report I didn't suffer from any of the adverse side-effects I had been warned about. With the caveat that I was also told that each cycle would increasingly ramp up the likelihood. However, by the time we got home I was wiped out, and was in bed early doors.
On Saturday we travelled up to Manchester with friends to attend a concert (
). We met some old uni friends beforehand, and others at the show itself This was to be a stern test of how I was doing: I had decided that I was going to sit quietly at the back, not drink, and walk back to the hotel the moment I felt in any way bad. As it turned out, all went well. It was a great show, and a lovely chance to catch up with people, some of whom I hadn't seen for over 20 years. We travelled back home on the Sunday, and after watching the twin excitements of the cricket world cup final, and the Wimbledon men's final, headed to another concert. This time it was Sir Tom Jones. I can't say I am a particular fan, but the chance came up, so we got tickets. As it turned out, he was superb, and whilst at 79 he might not be as mobile as in his heyday, his voice is still in fine order, and he can belt out tune after tune. Knew Elvis as well.
The coming week will be a bit of a voyage into the unknown: the nurse had advised that a week or so into the cycle is when the body hits the trough, so all I can do now is wait and see what happens.