7 NOVEMBER 2023

‘To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…. a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance’ Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 4.

The rollercoaster continues. I’d rather like to get off, just for five minutes. To walk freely, to spin around in the autumn sunshine; to tear about on the school run, relieving Isaac of his Games kit and flute and throwing them in the boot of the car. Little things that we all take for granted and don’t realise how precious they are.

Yesterday’s Up: passing Nurse Becca’s test with flying colours even though I didn’t get to execute my choreographed entrance into the room (we were shown in first- what a let down!). She was amazed at how well I looked in myself and gave the green light there and then, sharing that Count Oncologist would trust her judgement (still power dressing tomorrow though, just in case).

So, chemo awaits!  Wait, what’s this?  An hour of Becca reading down the list of possible side effects?  I thought you just felt tired and sick, right?  Becca confirmed that yes, I would feel extreme tiredness but that sickness is now largely a thing of the past due to powerful preventative drugs.  So far, so good… Next came the description of painful sensitivity to cold (no cold drinks, gloves needed when going into the fridge or freezer- solution: don’t go in the fridge or freezer).  Sounded harmless enough.  Until she got to the bit about getting cold air in your throat, which can make it seize up entirely.  And the bit about blood clots.  And the bit about risk of infection.  And the……..enough.

By the time Becca had reached the end of the list, Steve and I were mentally and emotionally exhausted.  ‘So are you ok with all of that?’ Becca asked.  She may well have said: ‘So would you like to take a trip on the Titanic, which by the way is going to sink?’  Slightly shell-shocked, we packed the thick wad of information into the plastic folder to join the multitude of leaflets there.  A lot of reading was on the cards tonight.  

It was so wonderful to spend time with a dear friend in the afternoon and my lovely brother in the evening: the constant stream of visitors bringing their love, support and a window into the outside world makes all the difference and is deeply appreciated. But later, clumsily crashing into my heart, came the Down: the combination of the onset of particularly intense pain with the realisation of all that chemo will entail. But SuperHubby Steve came to the rescue as always, lifting me up. We have a thing where we remind each other not to look at the water, which is deep and scary, but to look to Christ and we won’t sink. When I had another Sad Moment at 5 a.m., Steve decided it was time to initiate the Laughter Therapy- it is considered that laughing can be genuinely medically beneficial to cancer patients. He searched on You Tube for the guy that is supposed to be the funniest comedian in the world: a scarecrow-esque Finnish dude called Ismo. Well Ismo didn’t manage to extract more than a small titter from me so we are going to have to do better than that. Ideas welcome…

Today was a lovely quiet day, the calm before the storm. Two care workers appeared on the doorstep in the morning, unannounced, so we had a chat (well, not on the doorstep as I was in bed). We came to an arrangement whereby they will call me every morning to see if I need any help. That way I can be as active and independent as possible but have the reassurance that support is never far away. A call from Nurse Becca to finalise a few more things, then a wonderful visit from my oldest friend, Ali. From tiny girls with bunches in our hair to sixth form party animals, we were inseparable, and the happiest hours were spent today reminiscing over each other’s old photos, each set showing the very same things from only slightly different angles.

As soon as Isaac was home from school, his wonderful flute teacher appeared and I had the absolute joy of listening to beautiful Gluck duets- a true oasis.  But because this cancer business is a full time job, the evening was spent rounding up the 6 of us and sending everyone in the direction of the walk-in flu jab clinic, having been told earlier today that we will all need it in order to protect me once on chemo. I feel like a lot of trouble indeed… 

Our final efforts of the day involved getting everything ready for the big trip tomorrow.  Given my average get-out-of-bed time has been 11 am lately, the thought of joining the commuter rush on the 7.42 to King’s Cross with wheelchair is slightly daunting, but where there’s a will…

‘And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him’ Matthew 14:29-32