I feel like shit. Total, utter, abjectly miserable shit. Just to set the context, in case it doesn't leap off the page as you read this cheery pile of old cobblers.
My skin hurts. It feels like someone has injected a thick layer of poison right under it, such that even a pat on the shoulder is like being punched. My emotions are through the floor. It took me till lunch today to even crawl out of bed – and the same yesterday. Where on the Scotty who has 10 chores nailed by 10am and can 'get shit done' both on the way up the stairs as well as down them?
Things started going downhill on Friday – I realised that I was sitting in bed reading my iPad and my breathing was totally buggered – as if I'd just run up and down the stairs, but all I was doing was lying in bed. That's not a great start and its bloody terrifying when you realise how bad things have got, and just how much fitness and normality has been lost. In the afternoon, we went to Battersea Art Fair and it was all I could do to drag my sorry arse round the room – definitely not in the mood for art purchasing, just staying alive felt a bit more of a priority and its a bit of a clash of two rather different worlds when there are art nobs boffing on about 'what the artist has in their mind' and you just want to shout 'fuck off have you ever tried chemo, you shallow twat?' right back at them.
Then we had what would have been an important meeting with a new consultant, Nina Sagarwal, whose job it is to try and link everything that's wrong with me – except it was already a 6.10pm appointment on a Fri eve and she appeared at 6.50pm. Not perhaps the right moment to go back all the way to 2008 and try and put together why my world has ended up like this. Seemed a nice woman although perhaps needs a lesson in personal space, as she practically straddled my thighs sitting opposite me. Good job she had at least 40 denier tights on or I'd have felt even more bloody violated. Had to put her off till this Thurs so she can read my notes – but this is another long week of waiting and hoping that someone, someone can put this together and drag me out of this bloody hellish world.
Made it to Mikey's 50th that night, although had to sit on a chair all evening, very red of face, hugely swollen of glands and also feeling like I have more facial hair than a fucking billy goat. Where did that come from? Thanks steroids, you over-generous bastards.
And much as I love lots of people in the party room, it is SO hard to feel 100%%%%%%% different to everyone else, asking about work, what fun things they are up to – when I feel like a bag of shit and then spent the entire night awake and miserable, sweating in bed, anxious about staggering to the loo and just away with the bloody fairies. Thanks to K for the lift each way – that did make the evening a lot easier, cheers lovely.
I didn't even make it out of bed till 1pm on Saturday – that's something that never ever happens in my world. Had to get dressed to go watch Fulham vs Bristol City at Craven Cottage – tickets we've had for months with J&R so we could see a footy game at this old pitch,, playing H's old team from the west country. Had a Craven Cottage pie to mark the event – that was a highlight! But also struggled like shit to even get to my seat – deep steps up are just too bloody much right now. It was sunny and there were three goals so overall a good thing to try – then we were back chez Capon to watch the rugby (me, from behind my closed eyelids as ever). Sent a big 'happy Bat Mitzvah' to India Warshaw – another celebration we've missed as I can't cope with much right now.
Today has been utter bollocks. I was meant to meet an old school friend but realised that even getting to a coffee shop in Kingston is about as likely as me climbing the bloody Eiger right now. Not. A. Flaming. Chance. Finally got showered at lunch again with H's help = it makes you feel so pathetic and utterly broken, and even warm water on my skin is sore and nasty right now. Goddamn fucking chemo.
I'm now trying to think of a way to get off treatment – I can't bear the thought of months more of this, when every 10 minutes is a massive effort to get through. One more for the list for Prof this Thurs – there have to be some options that I can cope with, because at the moment I am not coping in the slightest.
Pam – bless you for ringing with details of a hockey game for me to come and watch today – if I could have left the house, I would have come, and it's little things like that that are kind and make me wish I'd been in slightly better nick, and able to come out.
Tomorrow I have to get to see the jugular vein slicing man at 8.45am – at this point, can't quite see how I'll get there considering getting out of bed is a challenge but maybe 12 hours will make a difference (or I'll somehow pull my sorry self together again). And then it's Cycle 2, session 3 of chemo from 10.30am tomorrow. Not got a chemo chum with me tomorrow as I feel too crap to even inflict myself on someone – so only volunteer if you read this and truly want to be noble for a few hours mañana!
Here's hoping whatever medical horrors are running through my system – or are 'missing' from my system till tomorrow, fall back into place and that I re-find a bit of Scotty soon. Hate not being able to move. Hate the pain. Hate the huge fear that all this has brought into our house. Hate not even leaving the house today, it looked a glorious day and there's no place for me in it at the moment. Hate that I don't know if this is going to work out for me. Hate being unable to breathe.
Sorry for the doom and gloom – a faceful of steroids in the morning will hopefully 'do their thing' and drag me out of this mire. If not, god help the poor sod at 8.45am and everyone who follows him!
x