Post 159: Another 29 days and this blog will end.
That’s if the flipin’ chemo ever ends.
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Four weeks — Monday the official end of the treatment — will herald a sigh of relief from my Darling and me, but I will be back with the data from all the tests and reports after another six weeks, way out there in November.
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As per usual, just as you think your body is returning to normal and the likelihood of a real stool very soon is a thing of wonder and joy, your body decides it’s not playing along with the expected routine and I am riding the snakes back all the way to the start of the game, again.
The last two nights I’ve had a couple of senna pills to assist the transit of my bowels as suggested by Dr S, who prescribed them last Thursday.
Nothing has happened yet, but I’ve learned to be patient and not get too upset if nothing happens to me; we are all different, aren’t we?
I’ve already taken a Laxido today and that got my guts gurgling like a baby child being tickled by its mother. It’s sweet music to my ears because it ought to mean that there’ll be a movement on the horizon soon enough.
But it doesn’t, and things are backing up and hourly getting more painful.
My Darling had a good lay-in this morning and when she descended into my crazy world of drugs and pain I was delighted that she mentioned going for a walk today, after the rain stops.
“Great,” I said, and left it at that. Right now there was a breakfast on her mind and I wasn’t going to stop her — a full English veggie gut buster.
On the one hand I could use the calories and protein and the look and taste of it, but there’s always a nagging doubt that if the blockage is not eased then the gut will be close to breaking point and a severe problem might go nuclear!
Ah — worry about that when and if it happens.
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We were watching a period K-drama today (my Darling’s insistence), and the time-traveling was novel and amusing so all was well. But we had two interruptions that were, on the whole, a delight — and also caused real tears of sadness and joy in equal measure.
When I looked down at my mobile it looked like a video call was on the screen but there was no noise, so I picked it up — and it was Kev’s widow from New York calling. That was odd because we normally just text, it’s easier on both of us, but it was about time we called on the screen. In fact, it was a delight to see her.
That is, it was a delight for a while where we caught up on each others lives, until she asked us what she could do for us…
The way in which she asked and the way it was received left us reaching for the tissues. Nothing can prepare you for those moments of pure love that humble us and make us realise we are not alone — even though we are three and a half thousand miles apart.
As if she hasn’t got enough on her plate right now.
The other call was from my Darling’s sister with news of her ex-husband’s diagnosis of prostate cancer. Oh dear. Another casualty of the couple’s disease we know so much about. It’s not graded yet but it seems to be a stage 2 or 3 by all accounts. I’ll give it a few days and offer my ear if anyone should want to bend it. Good luck, N. You’ve got this.
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The breakfast was eaten but did little but cause the worst of escalations — namely stuffing me as full as a Christmas turkey, which led to me going to bed very early and taking the oral morphine up with me.
I was in agony.
I felt like I could go pop! any minute — and wish I could, to be honest.
My belly was a solid mass and I was getting pain all over my back and ribs.
It’s funny how it goes, because I had received a routine call from the hospice earlier asking about my pain control. I laughed it off as unbelievably good at the moment and no worries at all.
Obviously I’d like to take all that back and cry down the phone and ask for help (which I will if this gets any worse).
Why is this cancer treatment pathway so full of pitfalls and traps that come and go at a whim and cause so much suffering — suffering to both of us.
The bus is heading for its final destination. I’m on it but not enjoying it.
I want to lie down but I can’t. Sitting is not much better. Eating is now painful. And this is the weekend, which makes it doubly rotten in a way.
The walk’s been cancelled.
I’m glad I got to go to Goodwood last week. Looking back, it’s a small miracle I was able to go.
Good health and love to you all, especially those just diagnosed and needing a hand to hold. My hands are not in pain so I’m here if you need me.
