day-two-after-chemo

Dear Day-Two-After-Chemo,

You are my least favourite day. Well one of. I have had a day or two from the last round to lift my head from the fog, and then yesterday the poison pumped into my port, as I sat and chit chatted with the gorgeous nurses and had a coffee and scrolled through Instagram. All ordinary. 

And one of my favourite nurses (really do love you Miss E) somehow saw we were late to our appointment with Dr K, and I was told that all year I have been casual about these said appointment times,  and been therefore been found lolling about in the waiting rooms and in chairs out the back keeping my doctors waiting. Whaaaat? Feel so bad now. Right. Time to step it up and be a fabulous patient to make up for it. Seriously, why did no one give me a slap on the hand or a little tiny tell off...sorry Dr K and Dr O.

And the fabulous Miss J is such a crack up. You have influenced me to get a puppy Miss J. Absolutely true. I just could not look at your face one more time when you asked me if we had decided yet. And I love how you love your Freddy. Lucky little doggy he is.

So you know I think you are hilarious, and sarcastic in all the best ways, and also a bit of a great nurse too. Shout out to you cos I never did ask if I could put your photo here. But now my littles will love you to. K?

But now it's day two, and this is less fun. It's me and you heading it off, but you have nausea and bone pain and exhaustion on your side.

And nausea you have come with vengeance, and yes you have managed to take me down, cowering in my bed, curled up and breathing deep, hoping with all my hope that your visit will be a short one. You might be my least favourite of all. No offence.

Dog bone weary. Is that a thing? I'm tired, 'like opening my eyes is hard' tired. Like 'turning over in bed to reach my phone takes some gumption' tired.  Tired like 'breathing takes thought' tired. 

I want to give up today. 

I'm sorry my littles. But I want you to get this, hear me say this. Today I want to give up cos this is hard. I want to say 'no more of this Havalen please. Seriously. No more, but thanks.'

I'm scared to voice that. 

The thing about being a cancer patient is that doctors listen to you. I mean, really listen to you. Like at my appointment with Dr K yesterday I kicked off our discussion with how full on it was last week with nausea. Now if you visit your GP as just a 'regular non-cancery-person' this snippet of info may just fall on deaf ears. Not here. If you are a cancer patient with not so much time left to live it up, all of a sudden being taken down by nausea on a regular basis just won't do. And so maybe we should not persevere with this drug Dr K suggests. What a thought. Kicking to the curb a major treatment option cos I'm weak.

He's a great doctor.

My words as a patient carry weight, and tend to guide the discussion and way forward with treatment and medications. Can't ask for more than that. But that's scary too, because I'm far more accustomed to my very legitimate complaints falling on deaf ears.

I must be too used to being healthy.

This is the major leagues. I better keep up.

Darling Soul wiggled in beside me this morning - I was watching a clip one of my besties sent me last night - such a beautiful song- to lift me, and Soul came to watch. He liked it. Then to matters at hand, he had to go and have breakfast. Huz was calling him, but he had lost his red hat that he wanted to wear (I wanted him to wear it too, after my enthusiastic attempt to cut his hair was not my best effort) and he lay there and sobbed, 'I want my red hat, and it's gone, it's gone, it's gone'. 

I had been doing my own sobbing into the pillow this morning, (thanks 'day-two-after-chemo') and somehow these baby tears over such nothings had me well up and cry into his little shoulder. Not at all over the red hat, no of course not. Over his little troubles, his very little little troubles, and over my very big ones. And so his chubby hand lifted my chin off his shoulder and he stopped his sobbing for a second to say, 'Or-right, I will marry you'. And it was so earnest and true. So I said, 'Thankyou darling. That would be nice'.

And there it was. A marriage proposal, given and received. I think it made me cry some more. And Soul puttered off to breakfast.

I wonder when the 'big day' will be.