Post 27: Chemo; my nemesis
Vital statistics:
Temp: 36.4 
BP: 128/81/52
Resting Heart Rate: 41 bpm
Mood: lowering
Anything else: the sky is crying 
Before I watch another episode of the latest drama I’m currently bingeing, I’d better make a start on the blog.
“Everyone Loves Me”—that’s the current show—and I must be enjoying it because I’m already halfway through in no time at all. It won’t be until part 23 or 24 (the final episode) that the LM (Leading Male) gets to kiss his LF (Leading Female), such is the way these Rom-Drams tend to play out. But I can wait.
I’ve now watched over 150 series, and I know these subtitled fantasies are a core therapy for maintaining my mental equilibrium.
Crikey, I must’ve swallowed a dictionary—ha!
But whatever keeps me sane is fine by me.
I suppose I am alone on this forum in my love of these Asian series, but it all started a long time ago with a certain Scandinavian thriller.
The now world-famous Millennium book series—beginning with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo—was the first film My Darling and I watched in the original language, reading the scenes like a book. We never looked back.
We followed that with more and more European thrillers (mainly), and we’ve loved learning how different legal systems shape the plots. We still enjoy the genre and will cuddle up and “read-the-TV” for a while.
But My Darling? She really prefers horror movies—the bloodier and more twisted, the better!
I can’t abide that sort of visual assault on my sensitivities, so I leave her to it and read-the-TV upstairs, well out of earshot of the world of pain and torture she’s enjoying.
Each to their own, I guess.
While we’re on My Darling’s viewing habits, I should mention her other massive interest: real-life murder stories and investigations. This, too, has been a long-time fascination for her—and there’s now a myriad to choose from on all the subscription channels.
Personally, I endure them more than enjoy them. I can be a bit of a judgy viewer, trying to preempt the plot or outcome, usually poking fun—but sometimes I get properly drawn in.
Still, her fascination with murder led me to joke with friends and family long ago:
If I ever go missing, dig up the patio!
(Insert nervous laugh here.)
———
This is the third of three quiet days—and it’s also a Bank Holiday Monday, so the world will be barbecuing, beach-going, and enjoying some outdoor fun… once the rain stops.
Not that it bothers me. My Darling’s at work, and I’m in bed (being Mr Lazybones), slumming it inside the house until she gets back. Later still, my wee brother and his wife are paying a visit.
He’s six foot tall, like me, but five years younger—so he’ll always be my “little” brother.
There are stories I’ll share eventually about our childish antics, but for now, I’ll park that up (as the cool kids say).
Mr Vicious’s check-up is just a day away.
And I’m not nervous at all.
Can you tell how relaxed I am?
Not even thinking about it.
Well… maybe a little.
There’s nothing too nerve-wracking, apart from the potential Catzilla situation, but I am really getting hacked off with the side effects of HT and the chemo.
The relentless hot flushes, the messy sweats, and the ever-louder tinnitus are just the start.
The tinnitus—that high-pitched sound only I can hear—is louder than before. Not new, as I’ve said, but harder to ignore now. I used to drown it out mentally, but not anymore. Maybe it’ll settle back down after chemo’s done.
The flushes are something I’ve dealt with for nearly three years. I was on HT a few weeks before being diagnosed, so it’s nothing new—but it’s after the flush that hits hardest.
I’m a bit of a lizard, really—a cold-handed, warm-hearted kind of guy. I like being warm and don’t mind the heat. But after a massive sweat, within seconds of the flush ending, I’m freezing.
That’s the big problem.
(Right on cue, I’m having one now. Very annoying.)
Zip-fronted hoodies are now de rigueur: unzip for the heat exchange, zip up for the freeze.
Add in chemo-altered skin sensitivity, and my year-round use of shorts is over. I didn’t wear long trousers often—only when My Darling asked nicely. Even in snowy winters I’d wear shorts—winter shorts, of course. Ha ha!
But seriously, I’m disappointed I can’t expose my skin to the sun. I love the warmth, the vitamin boost, the whole happy symbiosis.
Not possible now.
It feels so unfair.
All things considered, these are minor issues—but still, they’re hard to adjust to.
And I haven’t even mentioned the foods I may have to give up.
Apparently—according to a reply on the blog yesterday—some citrus fruits are off-limits when taking apixaban pills.
Which means…
My beloved marmalade might be banned. Again.
Oh nooooooooooooo.
Five days left.
Five slices of toast.
Five wedges of marmalade cake.
Then… oblivion.
I only got one month of marmalade after coming off olaparib (which also banned oranges), and now this?
Bloody chemo.
Bloody clots.
Bloody everything.
————
Turning back time only happens in science fiction.
Jumping forward won’t help either.
Like so many others, I live suspended in medical possibility—clinging to a life raft, not a time machine.
————
Not looping.
Not happy.
Currently looking for a marmalade replacement.
I wish I’d never seen this bus.
Still clinging on.
