Ufff. What a week that was. Had the first of my weekly reviews today, with my oncologist and a few others on the team. These will take place every Friday. Five more weeks to go.
My oncologist is a lovely lady, a mixture of humour, understanding and competence that inspires trust. Though I had to work pretty hard to ensure I was treated by her in particular (how is a story for another blog, perhaps).
It seems that my blood remains pretty normal, which is important as the chemo obviously has a major suppressant effect on the immune system, lowering the white blood cell count. But not yet, apparently. Also good news is that I have only lost about 1lb in weight (less than half a kilo in sane measurements)
There is such a lot to think about: how to keep on eating even though food can taste like cardboard and makes you nauseous, physio to keep on swallowing, which medications work against nausea and which don't, complementary therapies etc etc Happily, my oncologist is willing to listen and at least consider other approaches, reacting with good humour to my tendency to walk into consultations waving some obscure (South!) Korean study I just found on the net about how the anti-emetic Dexamethasone can cause violent hiccuping and so on ...
The fatigue is an odd thing. You can be feeling OK and start something and then half-way through realise it is draining you totally. And you worry because it is such a trivial thing you are trying to do. Then you have to remind yourself that this is normal because a few days ago you were administered a toxic substance intravenously for 4 hours, and before that a load of other drugs to stop your body rejecting it. Yuk. But if it is giving the cancer cells a harder time than it is giving me, fine.
Life throws up some strange coincidences. Walking past a neighbour working in his garden, whom I did not know very well, I responded to his casual and friendly "How are you?" in most un-British fashion by saying, "Er, not too good actually, I've just been diagnosed with throat cancer." Even in my current condition, there was still quite a strong British urge to say "Oh, fine thank you." Crazy. I am glad I didn't because, he looked at me, took off his gardening gloves and said, clearly and resolutely, "Right, you're coming in for a chat." Turns out he had the same thing four years ago. For at least an hour he gave freely of his experience and his advice, but listened too. Turns out he even had the same oncologist. Hearing his story, I came away in awe of his courage. This simple act of human kindness, the sharing of a common fate and experience, has had a profoundly beneficial effect.
OK, early night, good night all.
