The only period of my life where I have repeatedly used the phrase “I don’t want to be here anymore.” The most gruelling nine months I have ever experienced. Chemotherapy. Even thinking about it now, writing this, makes me feel nauseous. No one can prepare you for what your body endures after being exposed to chemo, it is completely different for everyone, which makes it so scary.
A few days leading up to chemo I meet with my oncologist and talk through all the retched side effects that have graced my body over the last two weeks. Thank you for always being so glamorous chemo! Then I’m prescribed more pills to take home to manage these side effects, which add to my mini pharmacy in the kitchen pantry. After a gazillion questions are answered we thank my oncologist and leave the room feeling positive.
I am weighed every time I walk into this building. 54kg. YES, I’ve put on weight! It seems a strange thing to say when I always (unsuccessfully) tried to lose weight in the past. A bigger number on the scales is always praised by the oncology team, seen as this cancer-thing is like weight watchers in reverse.
I have weekly blood tests to check that certain levels are adequate enough to tolerate the next cycle of chemo. Basically, chemo destroys not only the cancer cells, but also every other cell in my body too. This means my neutrophils (white blood cells which fight infections) are abnormally low making me neutropenic within a few days of finishing chemo. While on my new regime I require GCSF injections which I give to myself in my abdomen, enabling me to get through my bad week without getting any infections.
On the day of having my chemo, I start my day no differently to how I normally would. I hop in the shower, washing my none-existent tufts of hair which seem to be falling out after every chemo treatment now. Then I jump into a snuggly outfit because the hospital is usually freezing. I make myself breakfast and enjoy a lemon and ginger tea to help with the forecasted nausea. Then we are off, straight to the hospital with the hopes of completing another cycle without too many mishaps (fingers crossed).
Chelsea Ford? The nurse calls. We are ready for you. YESSS! I throw my arms up and cheer.
The nurses are always pleasantly surprised to see me welcome chemo with such a big smile but it will be slowly wiped from my face as the day goes by. I pick my lazy boy and prepare myself with all the essentials, water, snacks, laptop, headphones and kindle. My nurse begins to set up the sterile area needed to access my port. One, two, three, deep breath and the needle pricks my skin. My port is flushed but there’s no blood return. Gahhhh. Classic. There’s always something! After attempting all the tricks, lying down, standing up, upside down, arms in the air, finally success! My blood decides to join the party. Now I’m ready.
The oncology day stay where I usually start my chemo is never shy of characters and marvellous storytelling, a place of comfort and support with a pinch of sympathy and fear. Each person that enters this building brings with them a story of pain, strength and determination. They carry more burdens than you would ever know, but there are very few that would show this on the surface, instead they choose to fill the ward with happiness and positivity. I am hard on myself in my moments of breakdown and weakness, feeling as though my brave face is beginning to crack. However, today I feel at home with people who relate on a level many others aren’t able to comprehend.
The day is always long and drags out, watching the bags of poison drip into me while the colour quickly drains from my face. A few hours later and the chemo is done. However, I have a hospital stay and hours of post-hydration fluids to look forward to, lucky me!
Three days later, another cycle is done and the chemo hangover begins…
Travelling from the hospital bed all the way back to my own bed at home is always such a chore. The car journey makes me feel sick, and we are always discharged at rush hour which is incredibly inconvenient. Once I make it home I’m practically ready to fall asleep, but nooooo I must eat dinner. Ohhhhhh food. How we love you (well in my case, use to love you). How you keep us alive. But is there really any enjoyment in eating when you’ve lost your taste buds, you’ve had a none existent appetite for about four months now, and everything you smell makes you want to vomit? NO THANK YOU, I’d much rather snuggle into bed and prepare my body for the torment that awaits.
It’s a strange thing, this cancer journey. I show up for chemo, I deal with the side effects, recover and repeat. Now that I’m nearing the end of my proposed treatment, after a total of 27 weeks of chemo, I am feeling like a mixed bag of emotions with upcoming scans. These will tell my oncologist whether or not I am getting better and if the chemo has done its job.
My battle is far from won. I still have a hell of a lot of fighting left to do but I am determined to win this fight!
Chi x
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