Update to everyone - first chemo complete - 8th April 2023
First chemo: complete!
Well, it’s been about three weeks since I last darkened your inboxes and thought I’d best let everyone know how things are going. No better place from which to compose my latest update than the salubrious admissions ward of the Royal Marsden. I’ve completed my first cycle of chemo and am enjoying/enduring a tad of respite before commencing cycle two (of four). I can’t say I’d recommend chemo, but needs must.
I always begin these things by saying I’ll try to keep things brief. The truth
is, I don’t try, and I certainly don’t keep things brief. I’m a patsy for any
opportunity to soliloquise, the only thing having stopped me from blogging in
the past being a lack of both audience and content, and here I find myself
spoiled with both. So, allow me this semi-regular indulgence and I promise to
restrict it to an almost-monthly basis.
House rules: as always, no subject is taboo and nothing here is privy; ask me
what you like, and share with whomever you deem necessary. I just ask that you
continue to apply tact and caution when breaking this to others for the first
time - it’s probably not a revelation that needs to come after pint eight, nor
when passing in a corridor and you only have time to communicate the great big
tumour in the room but none of the context.
Finally, please forgive my poor communications with you on an individual basis.
I’m incredibly fortunate to have 80+ of you on this distro list, and as
expected most of you diligently and compassionately check in on me. As much as
I’d love to reply individually, I often don’t have time (or more recently,
energy) and I can’t bring myself to peddle copy+paste messages masquerading as
bespoke responses; instead, I’d rather hit you en masse with a salvo of
information so unashamedly indiscriminate and unwanted that it renders most
lines of questioning redundant, and neutralises any misgivings about my ability
to maintain 80+ individual open dualogues. Aaron Sorkin, I am not. So,
headlines:
1. I’ve been accepted onto an accelerated trial programme; it seemed like a
good opportunity to simultaneously increase discomfort and minimise my burden
upon the NHS. Instead of having 2 weeks’ respite between sessions I’m down to
one (albeit with a day session in my “down week”). On the bright side this gets
my inpatient sessions done much sooner, meaning I’ll be a full-blown outpatient
and able to focus on other activities by mid-May. The sooner I can finish
chemo, the sooner we can scan, plan surgery and get onto a rehab programme.
Side note: I’m on the same programme Lance Armstrong started on (dosage and
schedule), so even though mine is slightly compressed it’s reassuring to know the
path I tread isn’t new.
2. I managed to get an ultrasound scan prior to treatment and am delighted to
announce that I’m keeping my chaps. Too soon to say whether they’ll be of any
functional use, but I’m squeamish as hell and a stickler for aesthetics so
they’re sticking with me for the journey.
3. Possibly an overshare but I managed a partial attempt at sperm banking,
which constitutes a partial weight off my mind. I should’ve completed two
sessions but the second was frankly too painful, so I left feeling pretty
dejected. The good news is that my first session proved very successful, and my
concentration of swimmers is probably sufficient to achieve IVF through a
heartfelt hug, so should chemo render me infertile the hopes of continuing the
bloodline is not yet a foregone conclusion.
4. My pain management is under control like never before. Those who have been
in close proximity will know how debilitating my chronic pain had become:
collapsing in corridors, physically throwing up with pain, being reduced to
tears in front of friends and colleagues, and struggling on 2-3 hours’ sleep a
night. Just two days before starting chemo I had an episode at work that caused
me to pass out one evening and I had to ask a friend to watch over me for the
night. I’m not sure whether it’s increased dosages of my old meds catching up,
new meds taking quick effect (thank you, fentanyl) or chemo attacking the
tumour - ultimately I don’t care, because for the first time since December I
slept for 6 unbroken hours on Saturday, and have done every night since. Game
changing. Sleep is everything.
5. Chemo itself is pretty dull. I sit there for hours on end watching a bag of
toxins the nurses have prepared nervously through gloved hands before pumping
it directly into my veins. The first dose was so rapid that I nearly passed out
and we had to take a 5-min breather, but I got a grip of myself and we now
regularly chug along at max chat. I was lucky with side effects during cycle
one - mainly nausea and tiredness - but the effects are cumulative, so I remain
braced for worse. I will take every “easy” day until then as a bonus, but I
have to say I’m starting feeling the hit as the days pass. My constitution is
certainly geared better for pain than nausea, so I’m confused whether to feel
grateful or hard done by. Either way, it’s proof that something is happening,
and whatever havoc the toxins are wreaking upon me they’re likey doing worse to
my tumours.
6. I’m underway with a physio programme at the hospital gym. Having been unable
to train for 5 months, just getting onto some resistance band work has been a
relief, and one I plan to make the most of whilst I can. I won’t be back to
CrossFit anytime soon, but the physio has said I bear the characteristic
stubbornness he’d expect of a soldier; I’m glad cancer hasn’t quite robbed me
of my identity, even if it has my energy.
7. Finally, for the fans of my bouffant, I still have my hair. I promise to
send a comedy photo when I finally succumb to baldness. It’s funny that the
most superficial things are those which I fear most, but I suppose this whole
battle (early days, though they may be) highlights the importance on preserving
normality where possible. I’d be lying if I said losing my untameable,
un-greyed mane was trivial to me. It’s something that results in me giving my
glorious scalp a short, sharp tug every few hours just to assess the current
status quo. That being said, the nurses have reassured me it grows back “baby
soft”, so I’m cautiously optimistic for a summer as either reborn Bruno Mars or
tanned Jason Statham. #silverlinings
So, as promised, not brief but hopefully informative. I’ve had to cater for a
variety of interests and sensibilities, so apologies if it’s been overly
detailed for some, but you can rest assured you have a few weeks’ respite
before the next download. As always, big love x
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