Let The Chemo Begin!

Started Monday, December 12, 2011: ~11.29am

I don't do mornings. Never have. Today was always going to be a rush. And with my Chemotherapy brought forward an hour to start at 8am today, majorly tricky. Well! Up at 7 o'clock charging around. Readying child for school drop off, doffing pills,potions, swishing, swashing, brushing, the time was gone in no time.

Thinness, scragginess, stylish oriental caps, grizzly faces, and an over-riding cheerfulness greeted Michael and I in the Alan Walker Oncology Unit this morning.


 "You must be Gillian."
 Yes.
 "That was a good guess, come this way."
 "My mum's name is Jill with a J.
I haven't cracked a smile yet. It's barely 8am.

 "You seem to have lost quite a few kilos. Is the Pink Lady helping? Milk is really important. Make a milkshake with Milo or ice-cream"  ... hmmm yummm, I'm eaves-dropping on the chat just out of eye-shot on my left.


"Your white platelets .... are too low. Sorry about the (three hour) drive. You'll have to go home again and come back next week." Older couple opposite, look tired and bleak at the news. I feel sorry for them. What will be my plight over the next seven weeks...? 

I seem to be having an easy session. Other than the needle for all the drips, which killed my right hand going in. My fault. Not awake, no breakfast, one cup of tea, one glass of juice, inadequate supply of blood flow. My veins are not junky material.

So many staff away on holidays. It is my prep nurse's first day on the job. I'm already nervous without that. I try using the 12-step program. Be nice. Lachlan, my No. 1 Florence Nightingale, is cruising Sydney Harbour on New Year's Eve. When will he be back to take charge? Abandonment fears surface, let them go. I am in good hands.

I set aside the Sudoko board game to open my black plastic best buddy. Catch up on emails and notes from precious well wishers. I visualise the scent of a lovely English rose candle lit in my health. Deepening our friendship, bringing us together in peace, ease and joy.

I am presently tubed into the chemo toxins happily tapping away. Saline, steroids, and popping anti-nausea tabs all at once. The nurses wear duck-bill masks, translucent blue plastic aprons, rich lavender rubber gloves and stand well back when administering the chemo. Reassuring... They look hilarious.

Michael has chooved off after addressing the nurse's questions on my behalf this morning.


 "Any tightness of  the chest? Tiredness?". 

"No, of course not, I can't keep up with her," he volunteers.

"Well actually my chest is a bit restrained. Has been for several months now... And I get a bit huffy puffy on the third flight of stairs."

I send him off to make a cup of tea, he's good at that. Now he's having his head clipped by the barber. Can't wait for lunch. It is 11.57am. The air-con makes me starving. At least my mouth is ok today. 

Made a "last supper" yesterday. Rack of Loin Pork roast served at 4pm with a mountain of roast vegies courtesy of acting chef Michael. Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner rolled into one as another day went astray. Too long at church, dallying at the market, gathering mangoes, and an over-ripe paw paw for the new life-saving device, the juicer. To be elaborated upon.

Day gone before you know it. Amy made a gingerbread house and decorated it with loads of lollies with a girlfriend yesterday. Delightful Christmas project you may think. Wrong! I arranged a friend to come over and supervise while I packed for the oncology unit but single child threw a wobbly when her friend turned up with younger brother in tow. Three's too many ... "Not fair, they're taking over my house", etc It was all too much. I evacuated across the road. 

What happened to the joy of sharing? Is it just the selfish generation? With five brothers, I was lucky to receive one lolly let alone have a whole gingerbread house to myself. Amy "thought about the gingerbread house all last night," now deposited in the North Pole of our flat - The Freezer. She said she would share a side of the house each with her friend and the little brother could have a door! Lucky boy.

Mum, Dad, a visitor, might like a taste?  It's these matters I found exasperating and stressful!

Still I managed about half an hour lying on a bench in the full throttle of the sea breeze, deep breathing and trying to let all things go. Praying the Serenity Prayer and Meditating.

My fresh juice today was exquisite; dreamy, creamy paw paw and carrot juice.

The juicer is a miracle machine.  Can't recommend it highly enough. First talked about on Friday a week ago. Bought this Friday. Just happened to be sitting there for us at Crazy Clark's, $50, and still performing excellently four days later.  A year warranty and it has already changed my life. A sack of carrots, a whack of celery, pears, apples, two fruit, paw paw, watermelon, whatever we can find to stick through it basically. Delicious! Instant health and feeling of well-being. Still finding ways to improve the outcome. Paw paw bit extravagant - insufficient juice extracted. Must buy GINGER, in all its many forms, fresh, tea, chocolate, etc... and beetroot.

So that is more than enough for me today. Unable to sleep at nearly 1am on Tuesday, December 13, 2011. Rather stuffed myself tonight on roast vegies, Brie, custard creams (very ordinary and totally irresistible at the same time). Took a whole 0.5 Clonazepam at 11pm. My Circadians are pretty stuffed. The Full Moon last Thursday was belligerent. I am tired now and want to finish.


Suffice to say, Lachlan says I skied through the first of four sessions of chemo. The staff are very positive for me. Though he did mention he saw me on the slopes of Perisher. I thought that was an unfortunate choice of ski resort. Michael who had returned for this conversation with "Multi-grain Pringles in sour cream and a noggin shaved to the quickening, reckoned I was going to be Fukishimoed in the radiation section shortly. We were bandying around snowfields I think.


Frankly, all went well, though the radiotherapy mask is hellish and gives me a good 15 minutes of strangulation. Amy was 9-year-oldly underwhelmed by it when I produced the torture tool for her. She was intrigued by the pock marks it leaves however.

Thank you ALL for all the wonderful supportive texts and well-wishes today. They mean an enormous deal to me. Please keep them coming, to Michael's phone, or this blog, or email.   xxxxxxxxxooooooo

Sianara, over and out. Loads of love, Gill

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