I've got chills, they're multiplying

I've got the flu, and despite my giving LH a very hard time for his man flu, I'm milking this for all its forth. After all, I do feel terrible; and not only that, I'm worried sick that because of this darned flu my operation on Tuesday will be postponed. I actually saw the GP yesterday just to make sure that my cold had not turned into a chest infection. But apparently, there was no rattling in my chest. Phew.

I spent most of Friday in bed and felt much better this morning, except for a very persistent cough. So I took a teaspoon of Pei Pa Koa, a Chinese cough syrup my sister T had recommended the last time she was here. Admittedly, I was dubious; but considering that Chinese medicine can cure a whole myriad of ailments (Tiger Balm alone can cure nearly everything after all) I gave it a try. And to my surprise, within five minutes my cough had eased. And as its ingredients seem to be mostly herbal (no rhinoceros willies in there) it will now be a part of our medical arsenal.

As I felt much better after the miraculous Pei Pa Koa, I went about as normal and left to watch daughter N play lacrosse. And although I felt comfortable initially, as the afternoon wore on I got colder and colder, so I am now suffering again. Sadly the amazing Pei Pa Koa has not been enough to make me feel better; so I am now spending time in bed resting. Fingers crossed I'll be fine for Tuesday.

Sniffle, sniffle

I managed to avoid the cold whilst I was undergoing chemotherapy. But now that I'm done, I'm suddenly all bunged up! According to girlfriend S, it's probably because I was on high-alert whilst I was undergoing treatment. And now that I've relaxed a bit, I'm more prone to infection since I'm not looking out for it. Dang. Does this mean that I must continue with the wheatgrass and horse tablets to keep the cold at bay? Nah, I don't think so... I've just booked myself in for a flu jab. Because of the cancer, I have joined the ranks of the 'vulnerable' and am now entitled to yearly flu jabs. Ha!

By the way...

As it turns out, the feeling of bloatedness that I constantly had in the Philippines was not a result of massive overeating - it was water retention caused by the heat. (Well, most of it was anyway.) And it wasn't the dreaded DVT either - my feet are actually back to normal size and I can wear sandals again without embarrassment. Except that I cannot because it's very cold here.

And I've also completely embraced by bald look. But guess what? It's cold so I have to wear hats. Sigh...

God can have a pretty odd sense of humour. Well, He did make the giraffe!

Let's get physical

My beautiful friend A has just done the New York Marathon. This was her second marathon in four weeks (yes, she is slightly mad). When I congratulated her on the effort, she said, verbatim: "If you can go through what you have been through, then I can get round 26.2 miles!" First of all, what she did was 26.2 miles TWICE in four weeks.

Now I don't want to undermine what I have been through - or have yet to go through. Although physically it has been a challenge, and losing my hair initially was very hard, I honestly don't think that it's that different from what others go through, in terms of a physical challenges, on a daily basis. I can think of many people who are most probably facing similar, or much worse hardships in their daily lives.

For me, the hardest thing about this entire journey has not been the chemotherapy, the fatigue, the nausea or the hair loss. It's the thought of death. The thought that I would leave my children early when I have not yet taught them all that I know. The thought that I won't be there to give them a guiding hand when they are faced with their own challenges as they are growing up. However, I am off this mindset - when death finally does get to me, it hopefully won't be because of this darned cancer.

So, my darling A, give yourself a very well-deserved pat on the back for having done the marathon twice in four weeks - it is certainly an achievement.

Where does the time go?

Since I stopped gainful employment around three years ago, one of the worst things that LH can ask me when he arrives home from work is what I've been up to on the day. Simply because when I start enumerating things I've done, they all seem pretty trivial, and they all sound as if I would've been able to do them in an hour's time, tops.

Take a look at this: tidied up the bedrooms, did the laundry, sorted the paperwork, went to the gym and post office and made dinner. Looks pretty simple huh? Surely an hour or two, maximum? HA! Nothing like that. By the time I'm done with the last item on my list (if I even had the chance to do everything), it's time to pick up the children from school again.

The thing is, it's very true: a mother's work is never done. So, once I knew that I was going to be undergoing chemotherapy and was going to be indisposed for a couple of days each week (or nearly an entire week every three weeks at the beginning) I put on my organised mum hat and got everything ready for the days I was not able to do my thing. The last time I was this organised was when I had the twins - I had three children aged 17 months and below, all in nappies. And I had no help. So I had to get organised.

But now it's over. Suddenly, I have all this free time again. I don't spend Wednesdays and Thursdays non compos mentis. And I feel almost lost. I've been busy, yes, but I seem to find myself with more free time than I can remember. I've been to the gym nearly every day this week (would've been everyday, if not for a silly yappy dog that caused a half-hour traffic jam on the way to the gym) and I've done all the ironing. But yet, I'm still finding myself spending what surely is an unhealthy amount of time on Facebook. And going around the house looking for things to do. This can't be right.

Bald is beautiful? 2

It was agonisingly hot in the Philippines. This, coupled with the hot flushes that I seem to be getting with increasing regularity, made head coverings absolutely torturous (don't even mention the wig). So I learned to finally, FINALLY, embrace my bald self. I went out a couple of times with no head covering whatsoever. And I like to think that I rocked it. Admittedly, there are still days when I feel I look like Arnold Schwarzenegger's disguise in Total Recall, but they are becoming fewer and far between.

PS.

Have found out that I do have hair after all, but it's WHITE. And as I'm not allowed to colour it for an ENTIRE year, I will just have to channel the granny look. Woe is me.