Bottoms up

Oh readers. I feel the need to share, even just to sense your empathy from across the interweb. I absolutely know you’ve experienced what I’m about to talk about, regardless of whether or not you’ve had, or are having, chemotherapy.

It’s a bit sooner than I planned to post again, so apols for that. It’s just I’ve been laughing my head off allllll day (again). What am I like, LOL! (FB sub-menu, the easy one).

When you’re having chemo, very quickly, you no longer think of days as dates or actual names of days of the week [as usual, I must stress, this is only medically accurate for me]. So, the day of your first infusion (when you first go ‘in’ to have ‘it’) is called Cycle 1 (C1), day 1 (D1). I have six cycles to do (pretty interesting – I hate bikes), and the cycle (bloody bike again) is 21 days. So – one day in, 20 days to get over it, then back I go for C2, and we re-set the clock to C2, D1. You with me?

Let’s step back. Prior to C1, D1, I went in to see my Consultant Oncologist (can we say CO from now?) It is called the prescribing appointment, and you (well, I) have to do it two days in advance of going ‘in’ and having ‘it’ – every time. So there we are, 2 days BC. (I’m saying Before Chemo; sorry if me and the carer are offending a pretty major religion, of which I’m a part, but I’m on an acronym frenzy or I’ll get RSI and you’ll get very bored.)

CO, who is totally brilliant, is talking to us about my prescription ( – the FEC which is to come).  I, or my carer, have to sign a consent form. He reads out the list of things, by law, he needs to warn me of.

“I need to make you aware that your chemotherapy prescription puts you at risk of:  heart attack, pulmonary embolism, paralysis, total hair loss, heart failure, DVT, pleurisy (had that Prof, boom!), stroke and death. 17 years doing it, and I’ve only lost two so far.”

Well, it’s all I can do to restrain myself – I’m all for launching myself prostrate across his desk, grabbing his Bic and saying, ‘sign me up now Doc!!!’. Soon to be carer holds me back. There’s more. I can barely wait.

“You will either get constipation or diarrhoea. It’s most likely to be the former, So even though we haven’t started yet, I’m going to add Movicol… orrrrr…hahahahahhaha…..ha ha, ha, ha……HA HA HA HA!!!…as I like to call it….”  He’s warming so far to his clearly very well-practised theme, I am can feel direct heat radiating from him; he’s bloody apoplectic. I feel like buzzing for Marion and her hot towel and whale music – where the hell is she at 8pm on a Monday?

This is all building up to…

”Move-it-All!!!! – haha haha haha haha haha haha haha haha”

 

…………….Tumbleweed……………….

[feel the whistle of the wind]

 

I sign the form and we go home. God knows where he ended up.

So we get to C1 D2 (or maybe D3, 4, 5, 6 – that bit was and is still, very foggy). I’m taking the comedy laxative among the other bits I have to take, but other stuff (the stuff you hear about with us Chemoids) is happening so we (me and him) don’t really bother about it too much. But for the record, CO was spot on.

I’m so, so lucky to have my number 1 bestie, who is abroad just now, and great girlfriends – all of whom support me (especially the one in another country) every single day. I cannot imagine doing this without them.

On D7 (two days after [literally] bleedin’ PICC drama – see last post), I feel ready for a light walk.  Off I go, with two of the girls, for a quick 20 mins. I’m tempted to do more (even though I have to sit down mid-way and frankly, I look like I passed away several weeks ago) – but I opt for the sensible and walk home with just one of them.

We’re nearly home, chattering away, and then, out of me, with no warning whatsoever, comes a very distinctive:

Parp

There’s a silence

I wonder if she heard it says a voice inside me. Can I pass it off as something else? I look downwards, and slyly sideways,  to see if she’s noticed. She did, but was being polite, think I. I have to fess up.

 

“Oh gosh, I am so sorry!” I bluster; “I can’t help it, it’s the bloody laxatives!” We collapse into giggles, and all is well. So, I can Lady Puff in front of my friends: this is good.

Not quite so good as the Ds go on – but as always, there’s a funny side.

One of the sides, what with me taking laxatives and all, is that things can get a bit uncomfortable in the South. Plus, drinking a minimum of 3L of water a day makes me jolly glad we got our bathroom done pre-FEC (albeit just post surgery/recovery from aforesaid, which was not the best timing ever). So, readers, add up intensive laxatives + FEC’s resistance to allow all things to pass, plus needing to pee every 30 mins or so.  We’re talking baked beans, and not of Heinz’ original 57, popping out from secret places.

Ever cheery, I realise I need to get this sorted. Off I trot to our local WonderDrug (other high street chemist-type shops are available). It’s quite quiet, so I pick up some random items on special to try to appear normal (face wipes – 99p; cotton make up remover pads – 99p; they’re straight in the basket). Off I go to find the THING that I need.

Well FEC me – I’m searching high and low for it in exactly where I think it should be – in with the old digestive, IBS, Immodium type stuff. Can I find it? Needle, haystack – you know the story.

A friendly assistant is nearby. As, so it seems, suddenly, is the entire population of our very small community (word must have spread about the face wipe offer).

“Ooooh baaaybes! You looks [this is the dialect in WonderDrug] a bit lost! Can I help you ?”

“I was looking for the …..some……you know….Hhhhhhnnn-you-THol…”

“What baaaybes?”

“ Hhhhhhnnn-you-Thol.  I’th not for me, it’th for….” (wondering who I could assign the ailment to).

“You want ANUSOL?”, she shouts.

I’m busy burying myself in the promo L’Oreal Elvive stand because the whole shop has come to a standstill, taking a minute’s silence for my poor, sore arse.

As she reaches for it from the place she’s obviously hidden it FROM PUBLIC VIEW, ON PURPOSE, she smiles “Of course baaaaybes. Here you go”.  All that, with a fake, benevolent smile. I wanted to punch the face off her. I didn’t. I just parped my way home, proud at every puff.

I must tell CO on Monday, at my next prescribing appointment, two days in advance of C2, D1.

I don’t think he goes to WonderDrug. They don’t do Move-It-All there.

Pip pip for now.