I am less belligerent this week because I feel better.
The 4th chemo knocked me sideways and forced me to agree with the many people who have told me that the effects of the treatment are, indeed, cumulative. Up until this cycle I’d been a little bit smug, certain it wouldn’t get me in the same way it gets other people, certain I was strong enough physically and mentally to forge through the awful days relatively unscathed. Certain I was different to everyone else who had had this treatment.
Ah, No. Reality check, Gibbo.
I do try to explain what it feels like but it’s pretty much impossible to understand unless you’ve been there. I’ve given lists of ailments to people but it all sounds insignificant and a little bit pathetic. I hate sounding pathetic; it’s just not me, dahling!
Despite this I’ve had to bow down to the superiority of the great chemo and am already preparing myself for the next cycle. I found a few more things that helped this time. I was prescribed the wonder drug Emend which stopped the nausea for three whole days before it ran out. If I ate lots of crisps the nausea stayed away at least while I was stuffing my face. Mint Gaviscon helped to make the unexpected and all too often acid burps less wretch inducing. The thing that really helped me turn a corner was getting out for a run. I pounded (plodded) the lanes in a personal grudge match with the poison – the further I ran the more I sweated out. By the time I got home I’d changed colour to raspberry pink and though knackered felt the best I’d felt for the 8 days since having the chemo.
For those of you who haven’t picked up on this yet (there probably aren’t many of you) I’m raising money for Cancer Research UK by doing the Pretty Muddy Run in Bristol on July 4th. But I’m not doing it on my own, the most wonderful team of women have pulled together to do this. 20 of us in total. We’re called Baldy’s Buddies.
Over the last couple of weeks I’ve been utterly overwhelmed by the support this group of women has provided me – many of them without even knowing it. The women come mostly from the village or have links to the village via the school. One of my great friends is hoofing over from Glastonbury and one of my dearest friends is even coming all the way from London to join us. The age group ranges from 23 to 76 and the ability ranges from those who exercise obsessively (you know who you are!) and those who never exercise at all. After some of us spent a lovely evening at a local hostelry on Friday it’s pretty safe to say, however, that most of us have a love of booze in common.
Primarily this meeting was in order for us to discuss t-shirt design. You see, we’ve decided that in order to link ourselves visibly we’re going to all wear the same top but of course we needed to decide what the top would look like. I’m not entirely sure how far we got with this discussion (because I was rather more friendly with the red wine than I should have been) but I do know we are lucky enough to have secured sponsorship from a wonderful, local, events and hospitality team – Thyme Chef – to pay for said t-shirts. Once the t-shirts are done I shall reveal their design on this page and continue to pester readers for sponsor money.
As a team we have also been lucky enough to pique the interest of Cancer Research UK and as such took part in a very exciting photo shoot yesterday. I’m not going to say anymore about it now though – watch this space!
So me and my buddies have seen quite a bit of each other in the last few days and while we’ve talked endlessly about how to raise more cash, how much training we are or aren’t doing and how the t-shirts really really need to be long enough to cover our bums, we’ve also talked abut the normal stuff that girls talk about too.
This has been my saving grace in the last few days. In a mental week including youngest’s 9th birthday and my parents nearly killing themselves on the continent (they’re fine and safely home now, thank god) I have needed more than ever to feel normal and in control and my lovely girls helped that happen. On Friday I went bald in public for the last hour of the night and it was really freeing. I didn’t notice if people were staring (probably on account of being so squiffy) but neither did I particularly care. In fact I’m caring less and less now about the baldy head and it’s funny because I actually look much more well and healthy without a scarf or a hat. Decent eyeliner helps, obviously.
The main thing about Friday was our laughing. I laughed more than I had in ages and I felt content. It’s not that I forgot about the cancer and the chemo, it was that it didn’t matter. My evening wasn’t affected by my diagnosis and it was brilliant. I laughed until I cried. The same thing happened on Sunday during the photo shoot. There we all were in our running gear and our Pretty Muddy t-shirts with our designer mud smears on our cheeks, primal screaming in the garden. We made a lot of noise and we looked like total idiots – it was hilarious. It was also one of the most heart warming, lovely moments of this stupid ‘cancer journey’. There is nothing like being in the bosom of your mates to make you feel normal.
Of course this was bound not to last because that’s what bloody cancer’s like. A couple of my chums hung around a bit longer than everyone else – the two chums I was supposed to be breakfasting with on Friday morning but had to cancel because of the mental week thing. The fatal mistake was made when I was asked how are you?
Cue floodgates. Cue honesty. Cue ranting. Cue moaning. Cue comedown. I won’t go into it; you’ve heard it all before. I talked, they listened, they neither offered advice nor platitudes and gradually everything became clearer. My tears stopped rolling and I could breathe again. My dear friends left and I sat on the sofa next to the youngest who had been there the whole time, gauging the situation, checking how I was and – multi tasking in a way that he’ll forget by the time he’s a fully grown man – also playing Minecraft.
Mostly I’ve managed to keep the emotional awfulness of all this away from the boys but sometimes they do see me upset. I’ve never been the perfect mum and I never will be, I’m more your warts and all type. I gave him a cuddle and said sorry for crying, he looked at me really seriously and said Mummy, I hate it when you cry, but not when you’re with your friends because I know you’ll be OK.
Thanks, girls. You rock.
https://www.justgiving.com/baldys-buddies
http://www.thymechef.co.uk
http://www.cancerresearchuk.org
The 4th chemo knocked me sideways and forced me to agree with the many people who have told me that the effects of the treatment are, indeed, cumulative. Up until this cycle I’d been a little bit smug, certain it wouldn’t get me in the same way it gets other people, certain I was strong enough physically and mentally to forge through the awful days relatively unscathed. Certain I was different to everyone else who had had this treatment.
Ah, No. Reality check, Gibbo.
I do try to explain what it feels like but it’s pretty much impossible to understand unless you’ve been there. I’ve given lists of ailments to people but it all sounds insignificant and a little bit pathetic. I hate sounding pathetic; it’s just not me, dahling!
Despite this I’ve had to bow down to the superiority of the great chemo and am already preparing myself for the next cycle. I found a few more things that helped this time. I was prescribed the wonder drug Emend which stopped the nausea for three whole days before it ran out. If I ate lots of crisps the nausea stayed away at least while I was stuffing my face. Mint Gaviscon helped to make the unexpected and all too often acid burps less wretch inducing. The thing that really helped me turn a corner was getting out for a run. I pounded (plodded) the lanes in a personal grudge match with the poison – the further I ran the more I sweated out. By the time I got home I’d changed colour to raspberry pink and though knackered felt the best I’d felt for the 8 days since having the chemo.
For those of you who haven’t picked up on this yet (there probably aren’t many of you) I’m raising money for Cancer Research UK by doing the Pretty Muddy Run in Bristol on July 4th. But I’m not doing it on my own, the most wonderful team of women have pulled together to do this. 20 of us in total. We’re called Baldy’s Buddies.
Over the last couple of weeks I’ve been utterly overwhelmed by the support this group of women has provided me – many of them without even knowing it. The women come mostly from the village or have links to the village via the school. One of my great friends is hoofing over from Glastonbury and one of my dearest friends is even coming all the way from London to join us. The age group ranges from 23 to 76 and the ability ranges from those who exercise obsessively (you know who you are!) and those who never exercise at all. After some of us spent a lovely evening at a local hostelry on Friday it’s pretty safe to say, however, that most of us have a love of booze in common.
Primarily this meeting was in order for us to discuss t-shirt design. You see, we’ve decided that in order to link ourselves visibly we’re going to all wear the same top but of course we needed to decide what the top would look like. I’m not entirely sure how far we got with this discussion (because I was rather more friendly with the red wine than I should have been) but I do know we are lucky enough to have secured sponsorship from a wonderful, local, events and hospitality team – Thyme Chef – to pay for said t-shirts. Once the t-shirts are done I shall reveal their design on this page and continue to pester readers for sponsor money.
As a team we have also been lucky enough to pique the interest of Cancer Research UK and as such took part in a very exciting photo shoot yesterday. I’m not going to say anymore about it now though – watch this space!
So me and my buddies have seen quite a bit of each other in the last few days and while we’ve talked endlessly about how to raise more cash, how much training we are or aren’t doing and how the t-shirts really really need to be long enough to cover our bums, we’ve also talked abut the normal stuff that girls talk about too.
This has been my saving grace in the last few days. In a mental week including youngest’s 9th birthday and my parents nearly killing themselves on the continent (they’re fine and safely home now, thank god) I have needed more than ever to feel normal and in control and my lovely girls helped that happen. On Friday I went bald in public for the last hour of the night and it was really freeing. I didn’t notice if people were staring (probably on account of being so squiffy) but neither did I particularly care. In fact I’m caring less and less now about the baldy head and it’s funny because I actually look much more well and healthy without a scarf or a hat. Decent eyeliner helps, obviously.
The main thing about Friday was our laughing. I laughed more than I had in ages and I felt content. It’s not that I forgot about the cancer and the chemo, it was that it didn’t matter. My evening wasn’t affected by my diagnosis and it was brilliant. I laughed until I cried. The same thing happened on Sunday during the photo shoot. There we all were in our running gear and our Pretty Muddy t-shirts with our designer mud smears on our cheeks, primal screaming in the garden. We made a lot of noise and we looked like total idiots – it was hilarious. It was also one of the most heart warming, lovely moments of this stupid ‘cancer journey’. There is nothing like being in the bosom of your mates to make you feel normal.
Of course this was bound not to last because that’s what bloody cancer’s like. A couple of my chums hung around a bit longer than everyone else – the two chums I was supposed to be breakfasting with on Friday morning but had to cancel because of the mental week thing. The fatal mistake was made when I was asked how are you?
Cue floodgates. Cue honesty. Cue ranting. Cue moaning. Cue comedown. I won’t go into it; you’ve heard it all before. I talked, they listened, they neither offered advice nor platitudes and gradually everything became clearer. My tears stopped rolling and I could breathe again. My dear friends left and I sat on the sofa next to the youngest who had been there the whole time, gauging the situation, checking how I was and – multi tasking in a way that he’ll forget by the time he’s a fully grown man – also playing Minecraft.
Mostly I’ve managed to keep the emotional awfulness of all this away from the boys but sometimes they do see me upset. I’ve never been the perfect mum and I never will be, I’m more your warts and all type. I gave him a cuddle and said sorry for crying, he looked at me really seriously and said Mummy, I hate it when you cry, but not when you’re with your friends because I know you’ll be OK.
Thanks, girls. You rock.
https://www.justgiving.com/baldys-buddies
http://www.thymechef.co.uk
http://www.cancerresearchuk.org