29 January 2024

‘Uphold me according unto thy word, that I may live: and let me not be ashamed of my hope’. (Psalm 119:116)

Today’s blog is brought to you from a hyperbaric oxygen chamber. Yes. Have I lost the plot? Probably.

I thought we’d finished adding to our arsenal but I kept hearing about oxygen therapy so I did some (more!) research and it looked very beneficial, particularly for supporting chemo. The air we breathe has 21 percent oxygen but 100 percent is given in the chamber, which is supposed to strengthen the immune system and increase oxygen concentration in the tissues. How could I refuse?

The hyperbaric chamber is a low structure that inflates to small-tent height as it is pressurised, which feels like a particularly intense descent in a plane. Once the treatment starts it is a bit of an anti-climax: I thought the oxygen would at least have a whiff of special expensive air about it but no… It was a wonderful experience though- the lovely lady running the session, who I shall call Ms. O2, said ‘think of it as Me Time’ and I certainly did, reading a book and dozing.

I asked Ms. O2 how often I should have oxygen therapy. ‘Ideally, twice a day,’ she revealed as my mouth dropped open, ‘but obviously that’s not possible for most people.’ My credit card nodded heartily to this, and was relieved when Ms. O2 suggested weekly sessions on Mondays. So in a chemo week, that means a blood test in Harpenden plus oxygen tent in Hatfield on Monday, hooked up in the Spire all day Tuesday, back to be unplugged on Thursday, IV Vit C in Hitchin and probably physio in Stevenage on Friday. Cancer is a full time job, and not one I’d dash to fill out an application for.

There was more to Ms. O2 than meets the eye, as is the case with many of these ‘alternative’ professionals. She was very knowledgeable, having had much to do with oncologists, and was entirely on the same page as us. Without even knowing about the diabetic medication I have been prescribed, she told me that I should be eating no sugar at all (tick) and monitoring insulin with a device to see what spikes it. Not sure if we will go that far but it is so interesting that she and so many others are convinced that cancer is a metabolic disease, whilst the NHS is still maintaining that sugar makes no difference at all, merrily handing out packets of biscuits with your chemotherapy cup of tea (don’t forget to add those little packs of sugar).

So, Ms. O2 can definitely join my team. She also suggested yet another supplement I should be taking, liquid Omega 3, so we will look into that too. (‘Really?’ Cries the credit card…)

30 January 2024

So here I am again at the Spire Spa, in a purple room (I think they’ve realised) which is feeling even more spa-like today as a natural skincare company had left a load of free samples for patients to try and I have been plied with little pots of very lovely products. So they will promote natural skincare for the outside but not natural food for the inside…

It’s been a wobbly few days. I woke up on Thursday with happy anticipation that I had reached the post-crash good days… and then tried to get out of bed. My legs were clearly not content to simply look like Bambi legs- they had to act like them too, struggling to support the rest of me as I tried to to stand. I also felt like I had been run over by a truck, so back to bed it was. Perhaps I had been doing too much; I am happiest being busy and rushing around, but maybe I had pushed it too far. Friday was no better, and saw the return of Bertha’s quiet litte voice saying ‘I’m still here!’ and giving me some unwelcome pains just to prove it. Nothing too bad, a mixture of low pain and random stabs, but combined with how I was feeling in general it made for a difficult weekend. However, I was more than glad to spend it in Dorset; even though I was laid up much of the time I was still able to enjoy the therapy of sea, scooter and goats…

So Steve and I somehow managed the 36-hour fast yesterday (there was no way I was watching him eat so took him down with me), but it is safe to say that we aren’t huge fans. I have already formulated a conclusion to the experiment : I don’t need to wait until chemo is over. The summary of my Scientific Conclusion is simply this: I Like Food. I will never say a bad word about anything green or Vegan again. The daytime wasn’t too bad if you ignored the gnawing, empty stomach, but you really notice the absence of actual mealtimes and the act of sitting down to eat. It definitely helped that over lunchtime I was chatting away with Marvellous Monday Judy and her lovely son who I taught through his childhood but had not seen in years.

By the evening we were counting the hours and minutes to bedtime oblivion, but whilst we got to sleep quickly we both woke at 4 am (well, I maintain that Steve woke me) with thirst and headache. This isn’t really recommending the process to anyone, is it? We did get back to sleep, but awoke feeling weaker than our Virgin wi-fi signal (if you live in Knebworth, you know…). My hands were sweating and my heart was racing. Food was required immediately (and it was flipin’ lovely, even the grey-green smoothie). I had originally toyed with the idea of fasting through the chemo, like the mice, but then again mice don’t have to drive themselves to the hospital or persuade the nurses that they are well enough to be treated…

The good news is that Bertha has mainly quietened down now and I’m feeling more comfortable. Maybe post-chemo will be easier this time. What we are doing is undoubtably making a difference: Ms. O2 assumed that today was to be my first chemo session, because I didn’t look like someone on their sixth cycle. I’ll take that, thank you, as I will take all the positives and try to focus on them. Onward!

Upward I lift mine eyes,
From God is all my aid;
The God that built the skies,
And earth and nature made:
God is the tower
To which I fly;
His grace is nigh
In every hour.

(Isaac Watts)