18. The Final Countdown
So here I was, final three chemo sessions to go. BRING! IT! ON! And of course, it had to be a bit of Bon Jovi added to the chemo playlist!
At this stage I thought I’d done three, so I’d be fine doing three more. I thought if I can get myself through the next two there would then be light at the end of the tunnel. My sister brought me to my fourth session. I didn’t know whether to bring her into the meeting with the oncologist or not. I knew I’d be curious about what went on in the meetings and how it all worked, so I left the decision up to her. In the meeting with the oncologist he always started by asking how I was after the previous treatment, if there was any sickness and he looked at the results from my bloods. When he asked how I was I told him I was doing grand, that I felt nauseous and tired after the treatment, but I just go with it and do what I need to do, sleep! I said it was ok and manageable, I said that because the way I saw it I had no option but to suck it up and get on with it! He smiled saying that I never complained and I was amazing and doing so well for the amount of treatment I was receiving. When he told me that I achieved what I wanted, I wanted to be the best at this that I could and he, in my head, told me I had done this. I was satisfied!
After meeting with the oncologist if everything was well then I had to wait for my slot for treatment. When I had a bit of time to spare I would usually go over to the Macmillan Centre just to get out of the Cancer Centre. It was a little bit of calm in the midst of a very busy and emotional morning. The workers were always very welcoming, offering tea, coffee and biscuits. Me and my sister headed over there. Although it was a bit of respite for me going to the Macmillan centre was always a bit odd for me for some reason. I’m not sure the reason, but I think it could be because I applied for a job with them some years ago and I always thought of Macmillan as being for people who were very sick. But one thing I had a real difficulty grasping when I was going through my treatment was that I was actually a cancer patient and I was sick! My go to phrase was I’m not sick, it’s the chemo making me sick. The reality was, particularly when I look back now, that I was very sick, or at the very least I could have become more sick had I not discovered the lump.
The gifs of candles just kept coming!
We left the Macmillan Centre and walked back to the Cancer Centre. There was still a bit of time to spare so we sat in the car just chilling out and chatting before it was my time to go in. We were just laughing and joking in the car, humour can be my go to when I’m uncomfortable, and it’s not always appropriate humour! However, when I got out of the car I think I might have met my match for inappropriate, but funny, conversations.
In the car next to us there was a man and woman. The man spoke to me from his car asking if I was in for treatment, I guess the bald head gave it away, however on the other hand my ego wouldn’t even let me flinch at the notion of being bald, in my head I rocked it, that’s what my plan was. So, whether I rocked it or not was irrelevant, that one’s subjective. The man went on to tell me his wife, who was sitting next to him in the car, was in for treatment and she was nearing the end. He said they changed the chemo drug for her half way through and apart from a bit of diarrhoea she was doing grand. Well that made me laugh, in what universe do you ever have a stranger tell you about their wife’s bowel movements, while they’re sitting beside them and yet this is all normal. The cancer universe that’s where! It’s a very real part of treatment, rotten, but real. Cancer patients talk openly about our symptoms because that’s our life and our world for the time we’re going through treatment, and a long time after.
I’ll tell you what if there’s anything that has taught me that Paschal is supportive and has my back, is that there’s no mystery after cancer, because you are at your most raw and most human and if someone stands by you through that, they are with you because of you and nothing else. There’s nothing glamourous about cancer, yet you can still laugh your way through some days, there are others you are very sad and others you are very angry. He has seen every level of me as a person and hasn’t wavered through it all. He’s still here, making unsuitable and inappropriate jokes, but that’s us raw and human.
After the treatment me and my sister went to a restaurant in Derry, down by the Quay. A bit of normality and time out. We’d just sit there for hours, chatting and watching the world go by. There’d be tears, there’d be a bit of craic, there’d be giving out, that was a usual conversation, but cancer is hard! I remember telling her if I wasn’t getting the chemo and going through everything I was going through, I’d never know I had cancer. It’s the most surreal thing to have something so serious in your body but not be able to connect with it because there were no symptoms or lead up into it. It just happened, one day I was going about my business, the next day my world stopped. We go through life thinking we’re indispensable, we place so much importance on work, yes work is important, but life doesn’t stop there. I wasn’t the type of person to take days off work, because to do so other people would have to do my work; in my head I was the only person who knew my carers; what would happen if something failed or went wrong on a wedding day. One thing I’ve learned, is that life goes on, whether I’m there or not, it all continues. Right now I’m trying not to place importance on the things that don’t really matter and put my efforts into those things that do matter. As my life centred around work and doing the best I could, I now need to relearn what’s important to me and do the best at that. I should also say that my best will not be the same as someone else’s, I’m aware I will fall way short of someone else’s best.
One of the things I stuck with as chemo progressed was not to plan ahead, not to have expectations as to when the feeling of nausea would ease, or when the tiredness would lift. The reading I had done told me the effects of chemo were cumulative. After my fourth treatment I realised that because I felt rotten. The diarrhoea started sooner in the week, the feeling of nausea lasted longer, the tiredness continued for longer. A week after the treatment I was feeling awful and it was very difficult to eat. From trial and error I discovered that in the week after treatment I could eat Dunnes soup, no chicken or bits in it, just plain soup. So I was on this food staple and as the week went on I wanted to try something different. I thought perhaps Weetabix?! Oh, no I was wrong! I was disappointed, it was like sharp cardboard in my mouth, so dry, I could hardly swallow it. It didn’t hit the spot at all. At that I just sat and thought maybe tomorrow. It was always maybe tomorrow! As it turned out it wasn’t tomorrow, it was another 3 days before I was able to eat. I also knew that this could get worse.
I was getting to the end of the chemo part of the treatment and in the vein (pardon the pun!) of trying not to think too far ahead, it was at this stage I began to think about the surgery. The possible options and what was going to happen. What was the best thing to do for the future? What was going to minimise the risk of recurrence? I had no clue and the thought of it all petrified me. I would look in the mirror at myself and try to envisage what it might me like if I was Bubless? Could I cope with that? What about reconstruction, did I want to do that? This felt like the biggest burden and biggest decision I was ever going to have to make for me, and the reality was I would never really know the best option because it’s on a wing and a prayer I’m hoping this never comes back.
Cancer is hard!
