Woe, alas and lackaday - or perhaps something less dramatic - our Saturday morning chemo sessions are no more, yesterday's was the last. I can't say I'm surprised; it was very quiet last time, and this time, from what I could tell (I was asleep for most of it), I was the only bed patient, and no more than maybe half a dozen more people came in during my six hours. Well, you can't possibly justify opening and staffing a clinic at that level. I deduce that someone thought the clinic was a Good Idea - which it is - and then didn't bother to see to the administration; or, possibly more likely, that the administration got handed over to someone who thought it was a Bad Idea and/or just couldn't be arsed and who deliberately scuppered it.
Anyway, the rest of my sessions are on Mondays - I think; where and oh where has my Little Red Chemo Book gone? - at 10.00, which Judy is not pleased about as she will have to fight the tail end of commuter traffic and will have huge problems parking, and which I am not pleased about as it will be much noisier and I may have to fight to baggsy a bed.
As I say: woe.
Anyhow: yesterday's session went much as predicted: arrive, wave vaguely at nurse, collapse on bed, get cannulated, get pre-medded, get poisoned x 2, sleep more or less throughout, go home. No emergency poo stop this time, hurrah! Avoid the tuna sandwiches, is my advice.
Any medical news? H'm, let me think. My red cell count is down - this might account for Mr Crab demanding bacon sandwiches, steak and chips, etc - but no-one had any very sensible advice on how to get it up again. It might have to be bacon sandwiches. I do have iron pills somewhere about the place, but they have tragic effects on my tummy at the best of times, and this is not the best of times. Although nor yet the worst of times neither.
And Chemo Nurse went against the tide of popular opinion and strongly advised against a flu jab, mainly due to aforementioned cell count. So sick people - not to be insensitive, but stay away from me, please!!
Back home and to bed, to horridly crampy legs and very cross cats. As we were going out early and not getting back till mid-afternoon, we didn't let them out in the morning and then we kept them in on account of fireworks - also on account of the ShadowCat's little misadventure last week. Oh, they were displeased!
And that ... pretty much ... is that. I'm fairly awake today, but very shaky - there's a wobbly feeling in the middle of my chest that, most disobligingly, never shows up in any scans or tests or anything - which means that I feel as if I should be up and doing ("Filthy house!" chants my conscience, "Just look at it!"), but can't actually do anything of the sort. Bugger, bugger, bugger.
(Didn't the 'creativity' forum used to be called something a little less inelegant than 'arty farty'? I feel sure I wouldn't have joined a group called that. Just saying.)
Judy has to go to a friend's daughter's confirmation today. I do not think this will be the high point of her life.
Which reminds me, Judy very kindly send off for a free DVD/booklet on 'look good ... feel better'. AHAHAHAHA, as if! It's all about how to put your slap on when Mr Crab fucks you over. I hate to say it, but a little mascara is not going to make me feel any better in any way whatsoever. I didn't wear make-up pre-Crab, so I'm not likely to start now. My personality, my emotional wellbeing and, dare I say it, my femininity are neither manufactured by nor dependent on Revlon.
/hairy-legged (only not any more) 70s feminist.
I'm expecting former colleague Tina at some point today. I may have to lie on the sofa and let her talk. The brain is willing, but the body seems determined to screw me over. DO NOT LIKE! GIMME SPOONS! GIMME THEM NOW!
Huh. A DVD on 'How not to turn into a raging bitch during cancer' might be more to the point.
