Post 31: Full of fluff & thought.
Full of Fluff
I’m my own blogger, I say what I see
Some of My Darling, some about me
Not many readers, but some know it’s there
It’s a personal journey—of how and of where
There, is a place I don’t want to go
I’m travelling fast but most days go slow
It, is the place at the end of the end
And never the sought-after recent best trend
I write down whatever enters my mind
A view that is normally funny and kind
I love the others that post better stuff
Mine’s about me—and I’m full of fluff
Mr U.
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On the day after a new Pope is chosen in the Vatican, the sun is warming away the cold night air in the Home Counties, but I’m in a gloom again.
I was the first up, sneaking out of bed before the alarm could wake My Darling from a well-earned lie-in.
After spearing my belly again with the clot buster, I gathered my phone and empty water glass, got seated on my snail-paced stair-chair, and pushed the lever to the right.
“Going down…” da-dada-dadadaaaa.
I filled the jug for today’s measured water supply and heard Mr Vicious calling for breakfast, scratching at the kitchen door. This is the time he loves me most—but I still need to be on guard for one of his hurry-up-I’m-hungry slashing strikes with those very sharp claws.
Feeling pleased that I’d managed to do something useful for a change—and reduced My Darling’s list of chores—I opened the dishwasher she’d filled the night before and started to empty it. Another brownie point, I thought.
But before I could finish, she had sneaked into the kitchen and, like a mother to a naughty child, said: “Stop!”
I replied, “It’s okay, I’m not straining, I’ll be fine.”
She just grabbed me gently around the waist from behind and crushed the b-Jesus out of me in a warm but very firm cuddle.
It was a great start to the day. But still, I’m bothered about things.
My Darling headed for the shower and I went to the lounge for the next drama episode. A little more distraction and hopefully a little less worry.
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So—the problem I’m pondering…
On one hand, I want to get back to the Carboplatin chemo and finish the five cycles that remain.
On the other, I want to be absolutely sure my heart (and those clots) are healthy enough to survive the treatments.
But (I’m thinking) since I ended up—just ten days after the first infusion—with massive clots, doesn’t that say something? Doesn’t it suggest that Carboplatin might not be suitable for me?
Isn’t that a not-so-subtle warning and that perhaps we should look at other options?
Docetaxel was the other choice on the table, but it was left as a “later” option.
Should I push to revisit that?
I’ve already emailed the oncology department (as I mentioned yesterday), but I wonder—should I ask the second-opinion oncologist the same questions?
Well, yes. Of course I should. What have I got to lose?
Here’s the real question:
If I’d had that massive bilateral pulmonary embolism before the first chemo, would the oncologist have said, “Let’s wait and see what cardiology says”?
Or would she still have said, as she did last week:
“We are all good for next week’s chemo—are you OK with that?”
Am I being a wuss?
I should stop worrying, get a shower, and set the kitchen table for Big Sis. She’s coming over after work for lunch again—which is fab.
Last week, she brought a big bag of goodies (not so full now, believe it or not). The raspberry chocolate-covered cookies were amazing.
While I’m talking dirty—I should also say that the marmalade cake the youngest son and his fiancée brought is gone too.
If you’re reading this, Sonny-Jim: bring more next time, pretty please.
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I’ve now got the echocardiogram booking for next week, so that’ll hopefully shed some light on my heart health.
But what about the clots?
I’m going round in circles.
Wait, and worry. That’s all I seem to be doing. Wait and worry.
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Big Sis arrives with a box of treats this week, and as she tucks into her packed lunch, we chew the fat. After my soup, I have one of her gifted goodies: an M&M’s Crispy Bunny.
Delicious—and best of all, I’ve got three more to enjoy. Thanks, Sis.
While we natter away the afternoon and My Darling returns from lunch with her pal, I keep one eye on my phone for urgent medical messages; which is rude but what I deem essential.
None arrive—and that’s a cruel shame.
I should be happy that the weekend’s here, but it also means My Darling starts her three twilight morning shifts, and there’ll be no calls or emails to ease the anxiety I’m feeling about my treatment questions.
As it stands:
• Blood test Tuesday
• Second chemo infusion Wednesday
• Zoladex in the morning Thursday
• Echocardiogram Thursday afternoon
Why the hell hasn’t anyone from oncology called me?
I really am starting to feel like a leper.
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But the view from the rocking chair in the conservatory…
In the gorgeous evening sun.
With the beds of white and blue bluebells swaying in the cool breeze.
It’s calming; just the ticket.
After a few deep breaths, I realise—there’s more to life than life-saving medicine.
Nature’s beauty beats all.
I need to rest from the pain of worry.
Still in limbo,
Still need answers,
Still full of fluff.
