I had been meaning to write a post for a few days, but after a crappy cycle 6, I didn't really have the motivation to catch up until now. It all started well: had a lovely nurse taking care of me in the day unit, I was feeling positive about the fact that I was 6 cycles in (thus the end was in sight for this treatment sets), and I was expecting a few visitors in the following week.
I came home on the Friday, and crashed out for a bit, whilst the MIL went out, and then took it steady for the night. Saturday day was fine: it involved watching 2 rugby matches and 3 football games (including our latest capitulation, throwing away a 2 goal lead at Deepdale). Still, so far so good.
Disaster struck on the Saturday night: I checked the slow release pump, to see if it was almost spent, meaning a good disconnection the next day. However, it was nearly full, and on closer examination I noticed that the IV line was clamped shut, meaning no dose was being delivered. I had no idea how long the line had been clamped, or how it had happened, but the outcome was 1) I knew I was stuck with this for some more days and 2) I had been taking all the anti-sickness meds for zero reason, since there as nothing in my body to combat. The realisation was gut-wrenching, and suffice to say, I barely slept that night.
On Sunday morning I gave the hospital a call to find out what I needed to do, and went in later that afternoon to have them check it out. And my suspicion was confirmed, I was stuck with it until likely Tuesday morning. Visitors came on Monday afternoon, and all seemed OK. By that evening I had finished the anti-sickness meds, but no matter, the pump was coming out tomorrow. Then, tomorrow came, and the impact of being dosed with chemo, without the benefit of the meds hit home. I didn't experience bad nausea, but I was utterly wiped out, no appetite, no energy. I went into the hospital first thing to get disconnected, so at least that was a positive. A friend came over for lunch: I couldn't even finish a sandwich, and then passed out on the sofa when we we supposed to be watching a film and having a chat. Possibly the least impressive social hosting you will ever see. This carried on into Wednesday: chemo is really shit at times.
By Friday morning I was good enough to head up to Bath to attend the support group. It was good catching up with people and there were a couple of new faces too. One oddity of this group (and I assume all such counselling groups, I have no other experiences to draw on) compared to "normal" life is how you chat to new people. Normally, the last thing I would chat to a complete stranger about is anything personal, however in the comfort of the group, there is nothing wrong with "Hi, I'm so-and-so, please tell me about the terminal disease you have." I explained my story to a new chap, and then he asked me a question that I really didn't have an answer for "How do you get through each day?" Other than just cracking on with life in the here and now, there isn't really much else I can do. Those around me won't let me wallow in self-pity, not that that is my style anyway.
And so today, Saturday. Another trip to Bristol to watch City. A somewhat unconvincing, but very much welcome, 1-0 win home to Reading. One of our subs gave possibly the worst cameo I have seen in a City shirt in my memory. I fear the parents of the young lad sat in front of me had to explain some new words to him tonight. Sorry kiddo, but I needed to vent. Just tell mum and dad that those are football words, and blame the angry man in the seat behind you,