Thursday, August 16, 2007

The Last Time


This should be the last time.

The last waves of anticipatory nausea before any drugs get anywhere near me.

The last determined plunge of a Huber needle into my portocath.

The last time I have to look away whilst K, the kiwi nurse, pushes the raspberry red epirubicin into my main vein.

The last time I have to walk my drip to the loo because I just cannot take in all that liquid AND keep drinking all that water that should help me dilute the toxins for my stomach.

The last time I forget yet again that when I turn around to flush the loo my pee will look bright red. I never did get used to that.

The last time I have to press down on the bridge of my nose to stop the unbearable sinus tickle that the cyclophosphamide causes.

The last time I have to navigate my way home through public transport, feeling very fuzzy and a little out of step with the rest of the world.

The last time I spent the following three or four days in a stupor, monged out on the sofa.

The last time my hair is killed off at the roots before it has a chance to grow (Oh how I will welcome you back, hair - I'll even take pride in hairy legs just because of the novelty... at least for a while).

The last time I have to avoid ordering takeaway food, or seafood or fish in restaurants, or raw fish (i.e. sushi) or rare steak, rare lamb, rare anything non-vegetable, or eating brie, or blue cheese in salads, or eating natural yoghurt (but I break that law at least 3 times a cycle and get away with it most of the time).

This SHOULD be the last time.

Or at least, lets hope so. I guess you never know. But my chances of it not coming back are better than most of the women I sit next to during treatment. So I am keen to celebrate these moments of passage through my treatment.

And the euphoria that comes with that has overcome any nausea I've been feeling. I've not been sick, and I've managed to accomplis a lot today despite the mong setting in. The pschological boost that comes with knowing I should never have to do this again, at least not for many, many years, is fantastic (lets face it, even if breast cancer does not return there are many other cancers out there that get you when you're old, young, or just not looking).

Stage 2 complete. Stage 3 should be a breeze by comparison.

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