Wednesday, 4 May 2011

One down!

4pm today: (I'm writing this whilst in bed, and in a drug-induced haze, so I apologise in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors.)

Am back home after my first chemo treatment. The process itself was a lot easier than I thought it would be, with the cold cap being the most horrific part of it (more on that later). I just sat in a chair whilst the drugs were pumped into my system using the port installed yesterday.

Perhaps the process could've been more traumatic; but as I had lovely friends drop by their company got my mind off the treatment itself. It was truly uplifting to have friends around to get my mind off the whole procedure. I laughed a lot and ate very very well as girlfriend A arrived with a basket of delicious and healthy organic treats. At one point A (to distinguish him from other As I shall now refer to him as LH for Loving Husband) had to leave the room as I think he may have felt slightly uncomfortable in a small room with nine women all chattering at the same time. Poor thing... Actually I think the nurses were pretty shocked too - I suppose chemo parties are not a very common sight.

Now the Paxman cold cap. The use of a cold cap is a matter of personal choice: it stops hair loss in approximately 70% of people who use it. If I knew that could pull off the bald look a la Natalie Portman, I wouldn't bother with it. But as I know that I will look like an alien cone head, I thought I'd better give it a try. Well, I can only describe this as an instrument of torture. When Nurse R put the -5 degree Celsius cap on my head, whilst pressing down on my scalp with all her power, it took all my self-control not to slug her. Brain freeze amplified. Luckily, after five to ten minutes my head went numb and I stopped feeling it. I still looked like an enormous mutant zit though... Oh, when it was finally taken out I had icicles in my hair. Nice.

I am now home in bed, feeling pretty woozy and quite weak. It's similar to travel sickness, I suppose. This is annoying as I was hoping I'd be one of the lucky few who would still be able to go about my daily life without too much interference. I'm just grateful though that the drugs are working and zapping those nasty cells into oblivion.

So, one down and fifteen to go. It's a pain but every session brings me closer to health, so bring it on!

9.30pm. OMG. I feel like absolute sh*te.


  1. Not commenting. Just hugging and smiling at what the Spire nurses thought of your party. BIG HUGS xxxxxxx Lx

  2. Are you getting "Neulasta" tomorrow? It's given in the US to help boost your immune system. I would love to hear your voice soon! I hope I can call tomorrow or in a few days (once you feel better)!


  3. Seriously, I have got to nominate your blog for some award. This is the most amazing, amusing, introspective and sincere blog ever. Thanks for sharing your journey with us step-by-step.

  4. Chinot, I so completely agree with Alan's observation. I'll go a step futher --- I'd like your permission to have your blog published in a local magazine here as it'll be interesting reading not just for those undergoing treatment but also for their families and friends.
    What say you?
    In the meantime, all of us here are storming heaven with prayers, offerings and sacrifices to keep your spirits up and that evil crab down.
    Love you!

  5. I hope that Chemotherapy is treating you kindly this morning.

    I feel that you and your girlfriends may have a business opportunity there, Chemo parties a celebration for a new beginning free from cancer. Designer cold caps! Organic snacks etc., what a great way to spend the time keeping spirits high.

    Keep being strong we're with you every step of the way. Love you Lx