Post 81: No Pain but Very Tired.
A peaceful day started well and ended early.
———
After only a few hours out of bed today, the logical conclusion is that chemo is giving both the cancer and my body a thorough workout.
That, in itself, is good. It’s about time those naughty little cells were given the runaround.
I’ve been careful with the extra pills and food intake, but to be honest, my appetite is down.
Still, I haven’t been suffering — no pain, despite so little movement and so much lazy sofa-and-bed-based TV.
But here’s the thing.
I’ve been having counselling for a few weeks now, and while I do feel I’ve packed away a lot of the mental trauma into deep storage, I still sense that my temper is brittle — ready to flare at the slightest obstacle.
And since the chemo infusion three days ago, my emotions have been slipping into full-on tear-jerk mode.
My Darling and I were watching the end of that Italian thriller we both love when an unexpected, emotional scene between a mother and daughter hit me hard — left me quietly sobbing, inconsolable.
I’ve always been sensitive, hyper empathetic when watching dramas and Disney movies, but this felt different. Unexpected.
It’s not been the only moment, either. I guess my hormones are disturbed again — collateral from the treatment.
Worse still is the complete lack of any spark from even the steamiest scenes on screen.
It’s a jarring reminder of the hormonal treatment’s total and utter chemical castration — physically and mentally.
That’s when the last of the “man in me” wants to call foul.
Prostate cancer — the couple’s disease — can really mess with a relationship. But with kindness, creativity, and good old-fashioned love, many things remain possible.
It just takes patience. And teamwork.
———
Breakfasting with pills was the first order of the day, but the hungry cat was already waiting — waving his greetings at the patio door as I pulled the blinds to un-muffle his whining.
The first real sign of trouble came when I spotted four fluffy, 10p-sized black feathers behind Mr Vicious.
I opened the door to the usual ankle rubs and melodic mews… and stepped out to the conservatory, where I spotted the avian casualty.
A full-grown jackdaw, lying like he’d simply fallen asleep — eyes closed, not a drop of blood.
How Mr V gets such sizeable birds through the cat flap is beyond me.
This was a big bird. Awaiting Mr U, the undertaker.
Not the best start to the day.
Worse still for Jake the Jackdaw. RIP.
I scrubbed up and fed the cat, heated the wheat biscuits with a splash of blue top, and scoffed them while musing on Mr Vicious’s curious hunting habits.
He kills, but never marks. Bird or rodent, they all get the same clean treatment: quick dispatch, no dissection.
———
As I mentioned earlier, the tiredness caught up with me mid-afternoon. I crawled back to bed after a very slow, very lazy day.
Thanks to My Darling, I did manage three meals in the end — though I couldn’t quite finish the jacket spud and salad, no matter how I tried.
Sorry, Darling. I’ll do better tomorrow. xx
So: I’m hydrated.
I’m still getting those uncomfortable hot flushes.
I have no pain, and yes — I’m very tired.
But aside from those minor things, I’m in great shape.
Even Titus the Tortoise is behaving.
Now that’s a real bonus.
I’m still happy to be riding the chemo bus to the promised land.
Things are going well for me — which means they’re going well for My Darling, too.
Perfect. 
️
