Shave for the Brave!

Oh yes. I've  finally managed to shave off my hair! It was looking so horrible and dry so I decided it was time to let bygones be bygones and get rid of what was left.

Baby, I'll Be Fine!

A few quiet weeks on the blogging front. Everything is running smoothly. I remember the nurse's words right at the beginning of this madness. She said: I know it seems like a long process, and it is, it is, but once you hop on this train, you'll find out that in no time you'll have reached your final destination. She was right, and surprisingly metaphorical for a healthcare worker.

If everything goes well - and here I have to curb my enthusiasm a tad since it's not hundred percent sure – I'll have only three more chemos to get through. THREE! Can you believe it?! I can't. 2nd December would officially be the V-day. That's in one month's time!

Hugs and kisses! Thank you for all your support. You're wonderful.

Lau.

Happiness Is:

when your doctor FINALLY prescribes you some anti-nausea tablets that ACTUALLY work.Good morning Granisetron and Temesta!

To be perfectly honest, Temesta isn't actually for nauseas. It's an anxiety drug like Prozac (and you wouldn't believe how much its street price is. Not that I'm selling.). It tranquilizes the brain. It cuts the vicious cycle of various mental images and associations to the unconfortable chemoroom that leads some people to feeling physically sick. According to the nurse, it's a drug that is prescribed mainly to young women. It would be curious to know why. All your theories and suggestions will be kindly received. 

Enough Is Enough

So, this is what happened. On Friday morning at 7.30 my brother drove me to the hospital for another blood test and chemo session. I'd been eating shiitake mushrooms like it was going out of fashion all through Thursday evening (I had read somewhere that they raise leukocytes – hey, whatever works, I'm willing to give it a shot!), in the hope for better blood results.

The hard work paid off. I was seated as usual on the hospital bed and hooked on the machine. This time the nurse had great difficulties in finding a vein that would work and had to pinch me several times. It really hurt. She said my veins were becoming hard and cloggy. No shit, Sherlock!

The smell of the plastic got the better of me this time. Halfway through the treatment, I started to feel sick. I hurried to the toilet, dragging the intravenous machine behind me with the plastic tube hanging from my arm. While sitting on the bathroom floor - the tubes entangled, the fucking machine going crazy and beeping, me vomiting my guts out, tears and snot falling all over my face - only one thought came to my mind:

”Laura, if you were to think about your life and the worst thing that has ever happened to you, THIS would be it. It can't get any worse than this. Now, you've really hit rock bottom.”

And however silly it may sound, thinking that gave me comfort. There I was, alone, locked inside of a hospital toilet, laughing and looking at myself, contemplating the sorry state I was in, and repeating, "if I can get through this, I can get through anything".

F is for Failure

Bad News

My bone marrow has stopped collaborating. The nurse from the cancer clinic called and told me that due to my extremely low white blood cell count, it would impossible for them to give me the treatment tomorrow. Doctor's orders. In addition, she kindly explained that from now on, I'd have to start taking Neupogen, a medicine (needle in the stomach) which helps raise the leucocytes. Nice. Now I have two syringes per day. I also asked about the lump that had reappeared above my clavicle and was told that it was most likely swollen because of the cold I had last week, but that it needed to be looked into anyway. On 11th October, hence, they're going to carry out a CT scan.

I can't believe this is happening. Everything was going so great so far.

Worries

Remember that little lump that started all of this craziness? Well, it's back. Yes, you read correctly. It reappeared above my clavicle again a couple of days ago, and stares at me defiantly every time I look into the mirror. Why why why?! What does this mean? I'm tempted to look at Wikipedia, but at the same time too scared to do so.