If I should die unexpectedly - which isn't entirely out of the question, which, I suppose, means it wouldn't really be unexpected, but wotthehell - then please do not judge me too harshly on the evidence of my underwear drawer. I do sometimes fold my pants neatly, but other times I just think "Why?" and "Wherefore?" and "Inasmuch as which?" and then it all goes to hell.
My wardrobe's in a bit of a state, too, I never did sort out winter and summer clothes this year. And then there are all the books I've read that're waiting to be reviewed, and all the books I've reviewed that're waiting - ever so patiently - to be shelved, or Oxfamed, or whatever. All in all it's a bit of a mess, and I really do hope I don't die for a while yet so that I have a chance to sort it out.
From which you will gather that I'm feeling a bit under the weather and sorry for myself. I am indeed, but it's probably nothing more than post-chemo wossname. This was my third week of poxytaxel, so the side-effects have had time to build up. I hope they'll build down again, or whatever the term is, over the course of next week, which is my week off from treatment. At the moment I'm suffering from a triple whammy: the chemo is making my skin smell, I'm extra-sensitive to smells anyway, and a rat appears to have crawled into my mouth and died. My finger ends are very sore - I just bit off all my fingernails this morning, as they seemed to be adding to the sensitivity, and it actually does appear to have helped a bit - and I'm very tired, headachy, and shaky.
It's Not Nice. And I really do hope it's bloody well worth it. I expect a full accounting from the consultant next time I see her - something, btw, for which I don't yet have an appointment - and if the tumours haven't shrunk this time, then I shall want to know the reason why.
I shall want to know, but you can bet your boots I'll be too polite to ask.
It has been a busy, busy time since last I updated, a time of many visitors. You will recall that I whine bitterly when left alone for too long and not entertained 24/7, but, on the other hand, having to stay conscious and interact with humanity is very exhausting. But worth it! Please keep coming! Sunday before last it was Nairne (lemon cupcakes); Monday was the district nurse, who doesn't count, but in the afternoon we went out to see Rebecca and her husband, and their lovely kittens (caramel cupcakes). Tuesday was an uneventful, aside from an unplanned and unexpected fit of weeping, chemo session (no cupcakes at all, but free coffee and biscuits, and a sandwich that appeared to have escaped from the 1960s: two slices of white bread with margarine and one slice of filling. Still: free, so it's all good). On Wednesday Penny came down from Brigg (Hotel Chocolat tasting box!! We have a winner!!!), and on Thursday she and Judy went off the the quilt show at the NEC in Birmingham (no food was involved here, but Judy brought me back a pair of enamel earrings. Not quilted).
What I am very much hoping is my final birthday pressie for this year (because it's getting embarrassing; I'm really not that nice) popped through my letterbox sometime during the course of that week: a tummy chakra Trollbead from LM. Thank you, my dear! It was most timely; I put it on a chain and wore it to hospital on Friday, that being the high point of last week: my ascitic drain!
Ascitic drain #5, was this, or only #4? I have lost count, and it really doesn't matter, however many it is it would be too many. Drains are so nasty. They say they give you lots of local anaesthetic, but you can feel them poking around at your tummy and then, all of a sudden, BARBED WIRE THROUGH YOUR INNARDS, and even a big, grown-up lady such as I has a hard time not to snivel like a great weedy wet. Other than the treatment, the Churchill didn't do too badly; not perfect - lots of hanging around, lots of miscommunication - but everything turned out all right, and I even got to go home the same evening, which is a first. Just as well too, probably, as Judy and I had left poor Penny languishing on her own at home. Fine hosts we are.
On Saturday it was my turn to be left Home Alone, as Penny and Judy drove down to Gloucestershire to see Penny's mum. That's a lie, actually, I wasn't Home Alone at all, Lynn came up especially to babysit. It is a bit embarrassing to need a babysitter at my age, but, it's true, I'm not comfortable being in the house on my own any more. If I were taken ill, I'm sure I could get myself taken care of - but the bad cats are another matter. As I understand it, you actually can't leave them to fend for themselves, it isn't legal - and I wouldn't anyway. Of course. So, Lynn is really mostly there to babysit the cats, who actually quite like her (this, with our cats, is saying something). That makes me feel better ...
Lynn went home early on Sunday afternoon, Judy and Penny came back a few hours later, and there was Indian food. Hurrah! Never mind that I can only manage a starter and a Naan bread, hurrah! notwithstanding.
On Monday it was like a very small-scale version of Piccadilly Circus in our sitting room, as the district nurse came and went, Penny prepared to depart and my brother and his wife and bear arrived. (The bear had come to pay court to my own bear, Theodosia, as it appears they are of a like age, and who is to say that bears do not need love like the rest of us?) Michelle had booked a local hotel so that she and Tim could stay overnight and spend some extra time with us, which was a lovely thought. So, having more time than usual, we set out to see the sights of Bicester. One problem here: there really aren't any. The best we could manage was Bicester Village, and the best thing about that is the gelato stand ...
... food does seem to feature prominently in these blogs, doesn't it? No wonder I have never faded into a wide-eyed cancer waif.
And so to Tuesday, and another uneventful chemo session, only notable for my brother rather than Judy being with me. It was actually his birthday, and I don't know whether taking your sister to chemo is really something most people would aspire to by way of celebration, but hey. He got to witness me flaking out on Piriton, which, I believe, is very amusing. It makes the nurses laugh, anyway. And it was nice to have him around for longer, even if I was only semi-conscious for some of it.
Just about the only one of the usual suspects we haven't seen around here of late is the Gentleman Caller, and there is a very good - or maybe a very bad - reason for that: the poor old GC has been in hospital himself, in Cheltenham General, suffering from pneumonia. Judy and I drove down there to visit him yesterday. I am pretty sure that the universe occasionally sends me to other hospitals to remind me not to bitch about the Churchill so much. Cheltenham General is built on a Victorian core, and is an absolute maze inside - we walked miles to find the GC's ward, and then again on the way back, and I am pretty sure all we really had to do was abseil out his window - and ... well: a bit depressing, to be quite honest. And it has no facilities. The Churchill has a posh coffee shop - okay, it's a Costa; it has a coffee shop - and a rather nice boutique, and a wig shop, and a decentish W H Smiths in the lobby, plus a Friends' Cafe upstairs, and a restaurant somewhere so far away I have never bothered to go looking for it. CG didn't have anything like that. There was a WRVS shop, but even that was closed. I had originally had the tactful intention of just saying hello to the GC and then leaving him and Judy to talk, but I ended up staying. It is a little bit odd having a conversation with someone else's Gentleman Caller in their pyjamas. (He was wearing the pyjamas, I mean. Obviously.) I am glad to report that he seemed very much better than he'd sounded when Judy last spoke to him and, in fact, we heard today that he's being sent home tomorrow. Which is excellent, and I hope he takes better care of himself in future. He is a very nice Gentleman Caller, as Gentlemen Callers go.
It's possible that a long drive the day after chemo might account for how rotten I feel today. Never mind. We didn't do much today except go and do a Tesco shop in Brackley. And tomorrow we are expecting Lynn again, to come and stay for the weekend. There is never a dull moment.
Actually, there are plenty of dull moments. And plenty of scary, or at least worrisome moments. But why focus on those? Life is poo enough without fussing about the bad bits.
Pants, in fact. Hurrah for visitors and friends and cupcakes and anything else that will take my mind off it all even for a little while. Hurrah, and thank you! I may be a snarky old bat, but I really do appreciate it.
