On the face of it, the current cycle should be easy enough, 10 days of pills, in 2 5-day blocks, and then 16 days break to recover. And after I finished the 2nd block of 5 I was lulled into this false sense of security: aside from feeling a tad fatigued, I had not experienced any side effects of note, and I thought I had it nailed. How wrong I was.
The pills had finished on Friday evening, and the following day I was feeling OK. So much so we decided to treat ourselves to a Thai take-out (that's the rock and roll lifestyle of chemo and lockdown combined). Everything was going swimmingly right up to swallowing the last mouthful: at that point I gagged, knew what was coming, raced to the bathroom, and brought up the entire meal. Not the best value for money I have ever gotten from a meal, it has to be said.
This episode set the tone for the next couple of weeks. Whilst I only threw up again one more time (we'll come back to that), my physical and mental wellbeing somewhat off the side of a cliff. It wasn't that I was particularly sick and bedridden, rather I was fatigued, felt (in my knowledgeable medical term) not right, and developed an annoying collection of aches and pains that had a revolving door approach to presenting themselves. On top of that, my cough at times was infuriating. Some times I was fine, other times I was bent double doing a reasonable effort at trying to expel my lungs. The breathlessness also seems to have got worse (and this was a disclosed side effect): getting up hills is a slow process for me, and something I avoid where at all possible. Not so easy when you live on a hill....
So generally it was a fairly miserable 2 weeks. I had work to do, but that was all over the place. For a couple of days I was wiped out, and spent the day curled up on the sofa feeling sorry for myself, unable to really do anything worthwhile. It wasn't just the physical side of things, the mental side was up and down too: it gets very hard to find positives in life when you wake up in pain, feeling rotten, and you know that it is not going to improve. But, as previously noted, this sort of self-pity is something I try and avoid, since it seems to bring the mood down for all involved.
With lockdown in full effect, there was not much that could be done to change things up. My sister came over for a socially distanced dog walk, following the "you can meet 1 person outside" rule, and we had a couple of group calls with friends. It was on one these that the 2nd puke moment happened. I had started to cough, so took myself out of the room and went to the bathroom. At that point I coughed so violently that I actually made myself sick. A very bizarre moment: I was not feeling queasy, I was not feeling like anything might happen. But happen it did, and I gave thanks that I was stood over the toilet when it happened, and not sat staring at a computer screen: the latter scenario would have been horrific for all involved.
Soon enough cycle was coming to an end, and I got my bloodwork done in advance of the pre-assessment call. The oncologist went through the results, and all was OK save for the CEA marker (it had almost doubled, not good, but at this point I am done stressing over it since otherwise I would be curled into ball in a dark room) and my neutrophils count (don't worry, I had to Google it too the first time): over 2 was OK, under 1.5 meant the chemo would be suspended, and mine had dropped to 1.67. Requiring additional bloods a couple of days later. Oddly, the count had rocketed to 2.84, and chemo was signed off for another cycle, starting the following Monday (today).
In the past few days I have received a few messages on the lines of "not seen a blog, just checking in, hope you're doing OK". One in particular coinciding with a fair amount of dust in my eyes and tears shed. In all honesty, this post has been sat as an unfinished draft for some time, I just didn't have the motivation to finish it. But, for those involved, please don't think I feel badgered by such messages. Fully to the contrary: I remain humbled that people care enough to keep me in their thoughts and ask after me.
So, 1 down in this set. 2 more to carry me through Christmas and into the New Year, and another CT scan beckons. For now, I'll block out the impending scan, the weighty significance of the results, and the chemo side effects, and try and stay as upbeat as I can, given the circumstances.
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