ratty and scatty

Wow. How unbelievably snappy have I been? Honestly, for a couple of days back then, I could have ripped your head off your shoulders for dare asking me to do something. Not good.

I did a bit of reading about this new miracle drug I've been taking 'Lorazepam', the drug that's made the last chemo session the best yet, the drug that's made more sleep better than ever and the drug that made the nausea just about on the right side of bearable.

The following statements jumped out at me

• lorazepam's principal use has been in treating the symptom of anxiety.
• Among benzodiazepines, lorazepam has a relatively high addictive potential
• Lorazepam has relatively potent anxiolytic effects and its best known indication is the short-term management of severe chronic anxiety, though in fact the FDA advises against this usage
• Lorazepam has strong sedative/hypnotic effects
• Withdrawal symptoms, including rebound insomnia and rebound anxiety, may occur after only 7 days' administration of lorazepam.
• It is sometimes used in chemotherapy as an adjunct to antiemetics for treating anticipatory nausea and vomiting

Serious shit, then. Not to be messed with. No wonder I liked it so much.

I only get 5 days supply at a time - to get me over the chemo treatment - and I take them about 10pm. I have to confess, I was actually looking forward to taking them by day 3. Mainly because it mean 'outtahere' for 10 hours. I didn't get up to be sick, go to the toilet or have a drink. This is a miracle - normally during chemo, I am very restless during the night - sweating, or thinking, or drinking, or itching, or pissing like a racehorse or staring vacantly into a fridge at 3:00am wondering, expressed as a percentage, exactly how much of the contents of the 'fruit and vegetable' compartment is now over 3 weeks past its sell by date.

So during the 5 days of hell, everyone is happy. Sickness down, sleep patterns up. But then the Twilight Zone starts.

I would actually say, in many ways, that the two days following the 5 days of chemo are the worst. When you're sick, you're sick. You sit in your pants, you watch shite TV, you do what to can to get through the day. You're sick. Everyone gets it.

But then you're kind of well again. Except your not. You're on a bloody different planet. Everyones says you 'look well' (this is very important, apparently) but your brain is hanging around in limbo. The body might still doing weird things, like aching or not doing things, like pooing but you can deal with that. It's the head stuff that's quite hard.

Memory is terrible, confusing A for B, making mistakes in emails - all that kind of thing is common - frustrating but again, bearable. However, this time, walking back out in the world, meeting people and seeing crowds and life was a lot more of a shocker. I suspect the side-effects of the Lorazepam at work.

For example, my good friend took me for a meal on the first 'good evening' ... I walked into the resturant and nearly had a panic attack. Slight paranoia and anxiety kicked in. It passes after a while but it's not a feeling I relish as it's an old, old feeling that I once knew very, very well ... and one that I haven't felt for a very long time ...

You see, I used to have this little drink problem. And from the age of 17, to compound things, I was stuck on various 'tablets' - right up until 31, when I got sober. The drink and those 'tablets' mixed to cause many years of anxiety and mental issues ... which I'm not going to rattle on about here, but I suddenly find myself having flashes of that old, familiar - and certainly not welcome - feelings.

So, I shall be very wary on my new little helping hand. For those tablets come at a cost. Sedate tonight, over-alert tomorrow. There are no highs without a low. I know this.

I guess this explains why I was so snappy on those two days ... so angry, so quickly. So snappy. Boiling inside with unfounded resentments ... for no reason. Except, I guess ... coming off those little blue pills.

My next treatment is due this Thursday ... if I have enough white blood cells - we shall see.

chemo session 3

I've had enough of chemo. I hate it. With a passion.

It's Tuesday morning. 06:30. I want to go to work, but I still feel sick and I ache. The background sickness is still more foreground than background and frankly, I've had enough.

It was a tough session. A session that I'm going to find it hard to write about without making myself feel sicker but my lack of blogging is playing on my mind, like some unfinished homework.

The session was pretty much the same as before, but the last drug, the one that causes me all the "vein pain" (dacarbazine), was twice as painful as before. I can't describe why or what was different, but I felt something wasn't right. One two occasions I demanded the treatment was stopped and in fact, due to time constraints (they are not allowed to administer drugs after 5:00pm, as there are no doctors help in the event of a reaction), I only managed to get 50% of this drug in me. I was hoping this would result in 50% less sickness, but that was not to be.

To confirm my suspicions that something wasn't right, my vein continues to hurt even today. Not all the time, but very periodically ... a sharp pain that shoots into my hand and up my wrist... whilst in itself the pain is not unbearable, it brings with it the sense, the feeling, the taste and the sickness of the treatment ... it's like I'm still having the drug administered into the vein. Hence, five days later and I'm still feeling horrible.

I blame my brain. It's started making all kinds of connections to feeling sick. From now on, Ready Salted Crisps are off my diet list, as are 'egg on brown' sandwiches. Why? I was eating them during my last treatment and had to stop half way through, as I felt horrible. Now, the thought of those crisps actually brings on a very strong feeling of nausea. I guess this is no different from drinking a litre bottle spirits as a kid and spending the next three days feeling like death - just the thought or smell of it will turn your stomach.

The problem I face is that it's getting worse every trip. I actually fear the place now. I'm internally fighting against going back. The most depressing thought I have is that I still have not managed to do a "every two weeks" stint - as each time I have been delayed by my low white blood cells. The thought that by the time I'm back on my feet, it will be a mere 7 days before I return is crushing.

Speaking of the "every two weeks" thing, I have been given a solution to my low white-cell count problem. As of this coming Friday, Saturday and Sunday, I am supposed to impale a 3 inch needle in my gut and push the plunger - to give myself a bone marrow boost.

This is not going to happen.

What is going to happen, is that I will spent 45 minutes standing naked in front of a mirror, shouting at myself for being such a pathetically unmanly human being as I stand poised to plunge the needle but unable to move my arm, before finally getting dressed and crawling on my hands and knees to a nurse in my treatment centre, begging her to put my out of my pathetic misery. It will take her 5 seconds.

Be sure to come back Friday for that blog of frustration.

Since I started this miserable blog, I've had to open a window to suck down some fresh air and drink some lemon and ginger tea. Because I feel sick.

Christ, I'm sick of chemo.

Absolutely sick of it.

chemo session 2

I find it hard to write a blog after chemo without feeling sick - odd thing, but whenever I think about 'those bags' that go into my arm, it brings on my nausea. So I've just eaten some toast and am trying to bang this one out. It won't be a very entertaining blog, I'm afraid.

The chemo session was looooooong. I arrived at 10am and didn't leave until 5:30pm. Crickey. As usual, finding a vein was a headache - four attempts in one arm, two in the other. I think we got through eleven needels (one batch was blunt!). I do not like needles at all and this was a pretty traumatic 30 minutes.

Once the vein was found and my tube was in, there was a lot of waiting. I had my PSP with me, so watched most of a movie. Pre-med didn't start until 1:00pm - I was given a lot of antihistamines to stop the shaking I had last time. Administration of the drugs was pretty quick, until that last dreaded bag which gives me so much "vein pain" as it goes in - they turn the drip-speed down and that's where the time went.

My dear ol' dad turned up, despite all the warnings I could give him, ridiculously early. So he sat there and ranted aimlessly for hours. He's not 'old'-old but he's managed to bugger-up one ear and should have a hearing aid, but he 'forgets' it, so half of what I say and what the nurses say is completely lost on him and he's always behind the flow of the conversation. I want to kill him after 30 mins.

The meds went in OK, but as we reached the end, that familiar feeling of nausea set it. Horrible, However, I have been given extra anti-sickness drugs as the nurses were fully aware of my problem with nausea.

I was sick once that night and again the next morning, but apart from that, I've felt 'fine'. The nausea comes in waves - it's always there in the background and then suddenly it ramps up ... and then fades. The less I think about it, the better (writing this blog is actually bloody horrible, as all I'm thinking about is how sick I feel).

But the good news is that apart from that, so far, no other side effects. I've slept well, possibly better than I have done for a while. I am not ghostly white, which is good. My ol' man, who has stayed at my flat since Thursday night, has described the difference as 'amazing'. And I guess it is.

So, I wonder why the difference - well, three things are in my favour. Before the my first session, I had not long had an operation with general anaesthetic, which does hang around in the body and make you feel pretty flaky. I had also had that horrible bone-marrow scrape and on top of the whirlwind of news, I remember I was looking and feeling pretty hellish before the treatment. Also, this time I've had three weeks of recovery time (which won't happen again, sadly) and was feeling strong before the treatment. Finally, perhaps my body has not had such a shock this time around. I have a history of being able to adapt to drugs fairly quickly, although normally the drugs I took didn't makes me feel like death for six days - well, maybe they did, but not before making me feel like a golden God for a night.

So, the last day and a half has been spent on the sofa watching films with my dad, with the volume on 95/100 whilst he still struggles to hear the dialog. I took my dad to the pub, sorted him out with somewhere to smoke and basically looked after him ... hang on a minute. What's wrong with this picture?

Today, Saturday, I've woken again to 'just nausea', so I've released my father of his parental responsibilities this morning, which I suspect he was relieved about, but not before we fed the ducks. The flat is my own my again. And exhale.

So, I'm home alone - wondering if this is the extent on the side-effects I'll get. I'll be lucky ... I'm fully expecting an attack on the immune system that will drain me, but so far, so good ... oh yes, I can't work out if I need a haircut or my hair has started to fall out ... it's breaking a lot in a shower and the bathroom seems to have a lot of hair hanging around. Might be time to have a chat with my hair dresser.

Right, i'm not writing anymore because it just makes me feel ill and 'the football' is on ... my day plan is to watch the two Premiership games on TV, plus Man Utd on the internet. Feel free to join me, call me, come over this weekend ... and thanks again for all the txts etc. Very kind.

Love you all.

a drag

Some of you know that I used to write a blog about my journey through recovery from alcoholism - the first few years of AA. I used to pour out a shedload of emotions and thoughts, as my 'new life' emerged from my old.

Blogging seemed easier then, as when I was inspired I could jump to my keyboard and let the inspiration flow forth. Or the utter drivel, depending of your viewpoint.

The problem I have with this blog, is that I've discovered that cancer - on the whole - is rarely inspirational. It does not drive me to write huge reams of heartfelt emotion and witty banter. It is, frankly, a drag.

Everything is a drag. Hard work. Taking a shower required planning, going to the shops required stamina building, going to bed brings on dread, eating is a considered task. And writing a blog, really is a total fucking drag.

However, as I fall upon my sword for my fellow reader, an update.


28/12/2009
-------------

I'm not sure where you left me - and it's too much of a drag to go back and check - but I did manage to venture out into the world on the 28th, in the evening. I had pre-booked tickets to see Avatar in 3D, at the iMax in London ("The UK's Biggest Screen!") and had been praying all along that I would be able to make this experience.

We took the train and although I was sick on the way up, I did manage to eat some M&S salad and get to the cinema, clutching a small carrier bag - just in case. I was worried that the reported feelings of nausea that some people had from watching the film in 3D, may have mixed with my general feelings of nausea and had me projectile vomiting over seat 21, row N, but despite feeling a bit rough for the first hour, I'm pleased to report that it settled down.

This is not a film review site - but Avatar blew me away. However, if you want to see it, you must see it in 3D and if you can, book ahead at the iMax and wait. It is stunning. A real work of art and a fantastic 'archetypal' fairy tale to book. Don't expect 'The Usual Suspects' in terms of plot but behold a new era in film making. A "Star Wars" of our time.

By the time I got home I was exhausted, cold/hot (more later) and tearful. A burst of emotion and to bed. I'm so glad I made it and want to thank my good friend for putting up with my 2mph walking and general patheticness.

29/12/2009
------------

Yesterday, saw my same tireless friend pick me up from home at 9:30am and get my to the hospital for a 'quick' check-up. We were there 2 hours at least. Some blood was taken, to see how I was getting on with my first dose of chemo and the results were, well, I dunno really ... I was told my white blood cell count was low but holding up but would probably crash really soon, that I wouldn't be able to maintain my body temperature and if I go above 38 degrees to go to A&E. Always with the happy happy, these nurses.

She gave me a prescription for yet more drugs, which couple with the script I had yet to cash in from the other day, cost £36 when I presented them at Sainsbury’s pharmacy some time later. Apparently the NHS is giving free 'scripts to all Cancer patients now (since April '09), but I need an exempt letter from my GP. I can claim back with the receipt. This is a dull story I know, but someone may find it useful to know in the future.

My life-saving friend, helped me shop for good things to eat and got me home, where I had to tackle the student squat that was my flat. I had a guest at 16:00 and somehow had to tidy up.

Like I said, cancer is a drag. And it makes everything a drag. Washing up is a drag. Cleaning is a drag. No energy. No desire. Yet, needs must and slowly, with lots of rest breaks, I tidied 70% of the flat. The other 30% now contains all the mess that that was previously distributed evenly throughout the other 70%.

My guest came and went - a real testimony to the kindness of relative strangers and also a chance for me to reflect on someone else’s pain for a while. Perhaps more on that one day.

That left me with a strange evening. My body has been itching a lot for the last few days, but it was now reaching unbearable heights. On top on this, I could not get warm. I was under a duvet with heaters full on, just shivering inside, feeling odd. .

My temperature had risen to 38.5 and I didn't feel great. I took some paracetomol (lowers temperature) and waited ... this seemed to help and before long I was burning up, too hot and itching so much that I wanted to take off two layers of skin. I finally managed to sleep, still itching my face, my skull and my hands in my sleep ... dreaming of itching.

Not for the first time, in my dreamstate, I was overwhelmed by that feeling of 'is this worth it?' - a recurrent theme I've had since Christmas Day. A feeling of desperation when faced with months and month of side effects, sickness and hospitals

A day at a time, I have to remind myself.

30/12/09
---------

Cancer is a fucking drag. If it's not one thing, it's another. The nausea has all but gone, my energy levels are a bit better. But I itch all over from head to foot. Probably a reaction to one of my drugs I am taking - at the last count, I was taking 9 - or perhaps a delayed reaction to one of the chemo drugs.

I have a tattoo on my arm that says Drug Free.

It is a lie.

moaning

First of all, this is not going to be my best work, in regard to writing. I don't apologise for this, because it has just taken about 1 hour to muster the energy to plug in the laptop and logon, so think yourself lucky you're not staring at the previous blog entry.

I am back at home now, after my dad dropped me off, showing off some pretty good parenting skills for someone without a great track record of this sort of thing.

So, back on the sofa, in front of my HD TV with Sky HD. If I die here, I will die happy. I would hate to die in front on a non-HD TV with no Sky. That would be the modern equalivent of being run down by a bus with dirty underpants on.

Right then - a run down of my moans. I'm not sure where we left off on Christmas Day, but I started being sick before dinner, which was less insulting than doing it afterwards. I did manage to eat my dads traditional Christmas Dinner of monkfish and scallops, with all the roast trimmings.

At this point, I wasn't actually too bad - but as the afternoon wore on the nausea increased and although I was only sick once more, the nausea didn't go away all day. Or night.

Boxing day was pretty much a repeat. Sick twice. Lots of heavy nausea. My dad did manage to take me to a pub, as that's exactly where any recovering alcoholic with chemotherapy sickness needs to be. However, the soda water did help and I think me ol' man deserved a pint or two, as it can't be a lot of fun waiting on a thinning, white, pasty looking, vomiting person on the sofa - unless it was Kate Moss. He'd probably like that.

I went to bed early - the nights are tough - I hate them. It goes something like this. Dose off. Wake up every 20 mins in a panic, with a mouth as dry the bottom of a parrot cage - gulp water, wake up every 45 minutes to go to the toilet. Repeat about 15 times a night.

Today, I woke up feeling a bit better. The nausea had gone from 8/10 to 6/10 and was a welcome relief. I did manage to get around to see my lovely nan, uncle and family members - all who are (somewhat embarrasingly) reading this blog. It was good to see them, although my contribution to the conversation was a bit limited.

Whilst all this was happening, I was introduced to a new side effect - a sore mouth.

I was warned about this ... it feels really strange - tastes metallic. The inside of my mouth feels sore, raw and eating is a challenge really.

Speaking of which, the appetite has taken a nose dive and I'm must not sure what I want to eat, if anything.

The nausea ramped up again later and ... Oh, Christ - I'm boring myself now. It's fair to say that I'm quite shocked at how RUBBISH I feel after one dose of this stuff and I must confess that I'm really not looking forward to the next few months.

I'm praying that tomorrow I can get out to see Avatar, which I have pre-booked tickets for at the London iMax. I've been looking forward to this for a while. I guess if I puke into a carrier bag whilst watching the film, people will just assume it's the 3D effect.

OK - that's enough of my pity pot. I'll let you go now ... come back soon to hear me moan some more.

Oh yeah, I still have all my hair.