Post 162: Happy days are here again.
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Some days it’s better to go back to bed, but that isn’t the easy option now — and the odd lie won’t hurt. (The happy days are certainly not here yet.)
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I’m basically rocker-seat and bedridden, uncomfortable in my own body most of the time.
I’m eating half a dinner and feel totally filled up, unable to keep my emotions at bay, and tissues are my closest friends.
My old best friend — my Darling — is quietly learning how to micro-manage me, now I need so much from her in so many areas of my fast-shrinking world.
Today I’ve found it very hard to get out of the rocker or pick anything off the side table where the drugs and water sit — that’s the daily issue downstairs.
Upstairs, the bed is now my enemy: it takes 15 minutes to get out of it, and that speaks volumes.
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(Stepping outside myself)
Let me talk about him for a moment — Mr U.
He’s the guy testing the strength and patience of his “my Darling” and everyone she knows. Everyone is rallying round as much as they can, but the change has been so sudden it’s hard to balance up all the bad that’s come his way, and keep up with the progression of pain and depression.
His texting has become slow and error-strewn, and he hides behind his age like a massive wall. One day he may finally realise age has little to do with health, and when he smashes that wall down he’ll get on with dealing with the cancer, the treatment after-effects, and — hopefully — start living again.
It’s hard to watch up close, because the mental side of pain adds to the physical: even getting out of a chair or reaching into a cupboard comes with suffering.
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(Back to me)
Tomorrow an occupational therapist (from Urgent Community Responce) will pop in to assess the chair and bed, probably at the same time as the Hospice doctor’s arrival for a pain-relief review. I need them both. If I can start the day without tears — just getting out of bed — that will be a good beginning. And knowing how much medication I can self-administer in times of trouble would be a huge help too.
This cancer/chemo pathway has twisted all the way, but this is now in the realms of the darker side of the forum: with me telling it how it is, even though it’s a rocky track I’m walking.
Positivity is still within me, boosted by your messages of love and support.
Right now I’m a taker.
You all give so much, and I’m grateful for your thoughts and words — you keep me charged up even through the black days of decay.
Walk a while with me would you?
Rest assured, I’ll try to get my head around the new me. With all the help on its way, I know I’m privileged.
I guess the bus is now in the hands of my oncologist, who will deliberate on Monday’s last cycle.
Will it — won’t it? That’s the question.
My money is on giving it up and moving on without it.
Have a great day.
