I’m writing this at the rather antisocial time of 3am in the morning – that’s steroids for you. Having spent most of the day doing my best to outdo the cat in fallling asleep in random places all over the house, I now find myself wired to the nines in the wee hours of the morning. Ah well, such is life.
Chemo day 1 was on Tuesday. All remarkably civilised – you sit in a room in comfy chairs with a gang of similar patients and get ‘plugged in’ Matrix stylie to a drip for a few hours.
Perhaps not surprisingly, given it gets pumped full of poison for 2 hours, you end up with quite a dead and useless arm afterwards… but those of you that have ever seen me on a tennis court will know that my similarities with with the Williams’ sisters begin and end with the grossly oversized calf muscles… and hence a dead arm is not likely to be a major impediment to my day-to-day life.
Other side effects noted so far include extreme pins and needles in fingers made worse by the cold – thanks Great Britain for choosing this moment in time to plunge us into a -6 degree siberian winter. The anti-sickness tablets also have the rather unpleasant effect of making me blind as a bat so I’m hoping to get them switched when I’m next in. Until then, it’s Kindle with remedial type size all the way.
I’d be lying if I said this transformation from ‘duracell bunny’ to ‘myopic sloth’ was easy, but Sam and I are taking things day by day as best we can. The countryside around our village of Tackley is being well-trodden as we strike out into the outdoors for our daily dose of fresh air. It’s not quite cycling but it makes a pretty d*mn good substitute for now.
And after all, as this post is entitled, this is just the beginning. It’s all about the end point really.