Chemo #37 – dusted

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Do I hear a hip-hip-hooray?  Yep.  Finally, I got my next fix of cytotoxic chemicals!

I don’t think there’s anyone – hyperchondriacal or otherwise – who ever looks forward to injecting poison into their system.  Drug addicts aim for some altered state to escape life (or whatever).  Victims of venomous snake bites look forward to, well… an escape from imminent death.

I can’t think of anyone who looks forward to these fixes when all they’ll receive are horrid side effects which dissipate after a few days only to be hit with the stuff again – for an extended period.  And then we get upset when we can’t get more because our bodies are too weak.  Only chemo patients.  We’re a special kind of nuts to do this!

In a warped way, it gives one the sense of achievement you get only from delayed gratification.  I can think of a myriad of other ways to reach that, mind you.

What the weird happiness means is one more under the belt.  One more tick off the treatment list.  One step closer to the end.

And so I’ve started my penultimate round of chemo.  I’m quietly excited as I wait to see how my body reacts to the news.

5 to go.  I can see the finish line…

I case it’s useful:
It’s not ideal to have treatment on a Monday if you work.  Duh.  Unfortunately, I had to yield to the chemo suite’s busy schedule and so I returned to work today – the day after chemo.  I’d had enough by lunch time.  If I didn’t have a skeleton, I’d have been a puddle of organs under my desk.  Yes, I get the irony that that’d be the case for any human being but perhaps a healthier me would’ve found the muscle strength at least to not slump over the paperwork.

The tiredness isn’t a got-to-bed-late kind of tired – although my brain did shut down and that’s the first sign I was on my way out.  It’s similar to that lethargy you feel when the flu’s coming on.  Forget about walking around; that’s too much effort – I’ll do that tomorrow and somebody bring me cutlery so I can eat my fruit snack.  There’s no second wind and no position comfortable unless it’s in your own bed.  By the time I bit my boss’s head off, I was packing up to leave.  And a deep 2-hour recovery sleep saw my Dr Jekyll come back:-)

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