Three Weeks In, Four to go...

Woe betide me ...

I feel ill, so ill, so very very ill ...
What shall I do next?
Swish brine, swish brine, swash Difflam,
Take a pill, anti-nausea, anti-nausea pill, pill.
Try and eat, try and eat, try and eat something ...
Maybe a piece of battered fish. Hmm. That's a big decision that requires much planning.

The child wants to join Moshi Monsters on the computer.
She only talks to me when she wants something of mine.

I feel ill, so ill, so very very ill.

I sucked on a Wildberry slushy that was way too bitter,
the chocolate thick shake nearly sucked my mouth out and  tasted like chalk.

Eating without taste buds is a heinous crime. And a gross over-use of time.

I am disappointing my child. I am not conforming to her will.
She has the "Christmas 2011 morning, after ripping open a dozen presents, long face. The i-pad didn't appear then and I'm not giving her what she wants now. At least I am in control of my temper. Christmas kinda took me by surprise.

I'd never seen such ingratitude in the child. It was astonishingly ugly. I rose to the challenge, throwing her out of her room where she had lain buried with her old DVD player and new "Modern Family" discs. For hours. Fortunately, Cyclone Grant complied allowing her and Michael to  head off on loooong corrective bike ride. I tucked into "Mao's Last Dancer" which I thoroughly enjoyed. It made my Christmas. I am sorry I missed calls from two of my brothers, Chris in the morning and Nick in the afternoon. But I had no voice and nothing to share. Amy had left me speechless. The phone, too, was dead. . The messages were very welcome and well received. Hopefully I will catch up with them anon when I am feeling  brighter.

Maybe I should've seen Amy's moods coming but she's nine, always such a placid, easy child. Now she's happy again because I've given her the soft drink which tastes like acid to me. As pleased as punch you could say.

Not quite ready for raging hormones and sullenness. A friend, today, reckoned she had chubbed out in the last month.

"Yes, she is starting to fill out. It's all those Christmas chocolates, ice-cream and custards I've been eating of late." And she's still forcing herself into a pair of micro denim shorts too small for her.

The past week has been a blur of nausea and tablets mainly, with a considerable dose of pain thrown in. I have been getting slack at everything, barely able to complete the minimum of my regime. I had moments of pure revolt when I've thought I can't stand this any more and I just want to loll here on my bed and  die... Every day brings a new script for this, that or the other. The pharmacist at RDH should know me well by now with my mesh patterned face and aqueas cream up a nostril, post radiation treatment appearance. Oncology anti-nausea, radiation anti-nausea, morphine, soluble Panadol - generic brand is a $1 cheaper and I run out every two days.

It's been unbearably hot. I slather on Sorbolene in the middle of the night, post storm if I'm lucky. So far my skin is holding up. I've had compliments all round, despite the increasing number of isolated lumps. They are miniscule, probably feel much bigger to my touch than anyone else's eye.

Lee, my key radiographer, the popiscle man, as I think  of him, who would disappear into THIN air if he turned sideways, spent particular time admiring my neck on Friday.

So it is New Year almost. Time to do something about that I suppose. I have removed most of my hair. So now I look like a silver-hulled coconut. Most of my dark hair and curls have fallen away with the clip revealing a very grey-haired person. Michael says he likes the silver. Amy had trouble recognizing me. It is a bit shocking at first. So be it. Beauty is not hair deep or skin deep. I must trummel the inner depths of my being to find the finer me. She has been under pressure this past week. And definitely inglorious. Thank God my family love me. Thank God I made it to a 12-step meeting this morning to have my perceptions re-aligned and know that there is still much goodness in the world. It is indeed great to be alive.

And thank God for movies! I have watched at least one, if not three, every day since Christmas and it is a wonderful space to be in. "Meet Joe Black" - yummy Brad Pitt, Anthony Hopkins, humorous expose on impending Death; "Failure to Launch" - Sarah Jessica Parker - light and funny; "Yes Man" -  Jim Carrey, Rhys Darby, entertaining, "Anger Management" Jack Nicholson, delightful and a number of Gerard Depardieu flix recorded from SBS. So now, to assess the weather and decide how best to bring in the New Year. 2012!
The Last Sunset over Darwin for 2011 

Home Alone and Itching to Say Anything

Thursday, December 8, 2011: 11.56

Well it has been a crap week. The second half, at least. Decided to dig myself out of a ditch this morning. Enough is enough. Wallowing time is OVER. Michael's thoughtful tumbler of iced coffee (sorry, tepid) helped as well. He needed rent money, ergo he needed me up, dressed and out the door to get it. He talked about securing enough rent from me for the next however many months should I be incapacitated. With his financial skills I was in the shower, swishing, swashing, slurping, guzzling pills, brushing and mousse-ing teeth, sooner than I could swallow my drink. While dressing, for the supermarket onslaught, I added on Ten Pin Bowling, (to re-shape Amy's Party plan as her four BFFs from school are away for January 9 - the usual Darwin evacuation). Chemist and library were thrown in for good measure, got to keep well-stocked in Panamax. Also on the hunt for red lipstick. Can't think why other than it's Christmas. And a book I've devoured recently, "The Elegant Art of Falling Apart" by chemochic blogger, Jessica Jones. Geminis never do Anything singly.

So, a massive attack of chores accomplished this morning, probably not the best way to come out of a bed-bound week. For the past four years I have been blessed with a massive migraine prior to every period and mid-cycle (courtesy of Peri or pre-menopause, which I suspect is fouler than the full blown older sister). This week's migraine went from Saturday afternoon till Tuesday evening with a couple of respites here and there. According to literature thrust my way recently, chemo or radiation or both bring on menopause. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord. A Fringe Benefit. I hope.

Part of me feels I am to blame for bringing on the migraine. There are things I could have handled better. Rushing around a supermarket Saturday lunchtime hurling ingredients for a trifle and an afternoon tea party into the trolley. Flying home to startle the child into the kitchen - all in the cause of setting a jelly by 4pm. It could've been handled better. Whipping the cream to butter was interesting too. Haven't done that for a long time. When the tea party was deferred I took my sore head to bed.

I dragged myself to church on Sunday to collect the child who had enjoyed a sleepover and was sehr tired. Collected the tea party friend visiting from NSW who was full of good cheer. Kept it together long enough to hear loads of  news, tips and advice before collapsing back into bed again.

Thank God the Panamax is still working for I've been taking it round the clock. Popped another couple to ride me through Carols By Candlelight, Sunday evening. Thought I would spew before dark but for the glorious, green bowl of grass, the Darwin Ampitheatre and the rainbow lorikeets soaring overhead, their breasts fluorescent orange in the sunset. The wonderful brass band and Scottish pipers, the huge crowds decked out in green and red and silly headgear. The sea of red and white flickering candles as the old favourites, "Away in a Manger", "Jingle Bell Rock", "O Come All Ye Faithful" were pumped out. As our family-friendly tribe cracked nuts, Brazil, hazel, walnut, the traditional way. Now, I know why that Christmas ballet is called, "The Nutcracker". Bit slow, but then my family always had our nuts roasted or coated in chocolate...

It was a charming evening, capped off with captivating firecrackers, massive, beautiful, loud and splendiferous. Child and I got separated from Father and nut supplier friend at the end but after a short wait at the car and some firey gesticulations, "All's Well that Ends Well".

Monday was a recovery day, to wallow, awaiting the yanking of two wisdom teeth on Tuesday. Tuesday was  the devil warmed up and served cold day. If I never see a dentist ever again it will be a day too soon. Next appointment, December 20! Oh, the nurse and dentist were polite and kind, as far as that goes, while injecting a metre long needle of whatever into my gum while I can't open my mouth a fraction without tearing wincing in agony.

Thank God that's over! I may have slipped a few extra Panamax into the mix yesterday. All I did was mope and take pills. There was much gushing of blood, and my period joined in. A meeting in the morning, with a cheery chap from Perth, saved me from an hour of self-pity.

I indulged my lack of desire or inability to move or live Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday with the whole fourth series of "Big Love". Enthralling. Lifted me from my world of pain though their Mormon drama can be a bit full on at times. I was relieved when the third disc played out the final episode.

I thought I was going to die last night. About 9pm I was sure I would vomit from a Panamax overdose. My blood pressure dropped to a dizzying low and I was porcelain pale. My head still throbbed and there was massive toothache in both sides of my mouth, though the right lower where the stitches were was far worse. I contemplated all sorts of dire ends as I stretched out in the gloom in bed, I was definitely going to Accident & Emergency. Funnily enough, breath, prayer and meditation  got me through the night. I did not want to surface this morning. Amy had already begged Daddy to escort her to school on her bike as she was afraid of being abducted. She's been watching too much news... Michael says she's paranoid. "We'll be taking her to Tamarind (local mental health centre) next". Well we know where she gets that from.

At 7.40am, I was content to pull the pillow closer and hug my stuffed Emperor Penguin tight as I wished Amy a lovely day at school. It was not until Michael returned, mowed the lawn and made me drink tepid coffee, that I considered getting up may be possible.

The highlight of this mainly lost week was Friday when I was bathed in the fabulousness of friendships. Unfortunately, like most women, I must have talked four legs off a donkey that day. Such a pleasant break to be with witty, wise women and free of medicos. However, I outpaced myself, leaving my throat hoarse, sore, tired and ripe for the four-day migraine that ensued.

A notable feature this week has been how many dear well wishers have recommended extra treatments for my cancer.
One I managed to take on board today is:
A teaspoon of organic honey mixed with a teaspoon of Tumeric, morning and night. Yum! A little spicy. If you like your honey curried; an acquired taste.

Give up sugar as cancer thrives on it: Bit Tricky ... swap to Dextrose instead. Hmm

Lymphatic Massage - Waiting to receive notes ... and find out more

Bowen Therapy - maybe to help with the Trismus (lockjaw) - would definitely like to research this one more

A stint at the Ian Gawler Retreat in the Yarra Valley - for Meditation, Relaxation, eating organically to fight off cancer, etc and re-aligning my life: Highly Appealing!

12.43