Half Life – 55 – side effects
November 19th, 2021
Side effects has an innocuous sound to it; it suggests a mild rash or feeling a little sick for a while. Reading the carefully folded bits of paper in every medicine we skip over the inevitable long list of things that might happen, but probably won’t. Chemo takes a different approach. It’s a medicine that makes you ill in the short term, rather than making you better, and then relies on you recovering faster than the cancer. Then it makes you ill all over again. Had it not been tested and proved to work, chemotherapy would be up there with Trump promoting drinking bleach as a way of dealing with Covid. Bleach does kill Covid, it just kills you at the same time.
Hair falling out, although unpleasant, is not hard to deal with. The deposits scattered on pillows and clogging up the drains are a reminder that the destructive chemicals injected into me are at least doing what they are meant to be doing. The creeping sense of nausea, making each mouthful a concern, can be dealt with by eating bland food very slowly. Even mild spice sets the stomach churning in opposition. The vomit didn’t happen this round of chemo, but the carefully placed bucket by the bed was there just in case. If it chooses to turn up, there’s no time to make it to another room.
However, when it comes to soul destroying, eye-watering, late night, side-effects, diarrhoea wins hands down. Sitting on the loo at half one in the morning, knowing you will be back there in two or three hours, mixes the pain in the bottom of your guts with a gnawing, sleep-deprived, headache. Even when relieved for an hour or two, sleep is shallow as you wait for the next rumble. It may be only a few yards from the bed, but time it wrong and the consequences are messy, revolting and take ages to clean up. The long-suffering Wife, loyally refusing to migrate to the spare room, can’t avoid being caught up in the drama as every dash needs the lights on, as well as hearing the sounds of misery filtering through the silence of the night and helping me back into bed.
It was the third and fourth days which were the worst. A sense that it might never end; an existence forever lived within hobbling distance of a toilet, using endless toilet roll, and reluctantly forcing down water to keep hydrated. Despair, driven by exhaustion, started to set in just as the first signs of relief emerged. Rumble free periods extended to five then to six hours, finally allowing nearly a whole day to pass. By the time the sixth day arrived, although frightened to fart, a corner had been turned, food and liquid went through normally, and the mild panic of the past week subsided. More importantly sleep, both for me and The Wife, started to return and with it a level of happiness.
Narcolepsy is one of the rudest side-effects chemo brings, and lack of sleep only makes it worse. Exhaustion hits so hard and fast that dropping off mid-conversation happens unexpectantly, often on the phone. Unable to fight off the tiredness, it tests the patience of even the most tolerant of people. However good the excuse may be, it’s very rude, but completely unavoidable when it strikes. The Wife has become used to waiting for me to wake up to find out the rest of a discussion we’ve been having, sometimes nearly an hour later, although I am sure it is worth the wait. The Boys, spotting an opportunity, time their requests to extend their time on the PlayStation just as I drop off, knowing the chances of my remembering what I said, or being awake by the time they should be finishing, are slender. Many extra hours of Fortnite and Minecraft are played as I snore in a chair downstairs.
Climbing out of the danger week, when my immune system is at its lowest, the various impacts of chemo wear off and a few days of feeling close to normal come at last. Provided the painkillers keep the backaches at bay, it is possible to have hours when the discomfort is low enough to ignore. Food returns to being enjoyable, although spicy food still remains off the menu, and even the first thoughts of having a glass of wine or a beer start to emerge. Waiting to pounce, sitting quietly in the diary for next week, are the appointments which will herald in the next dive downwards into chemo-world. It will be the third of a planned ten cycles; with an end so far away in June next year is feels nearly impossible as a target. Come Monday, frequently perforated arms will be stuck again with needles, vials of blood drawn and tested, and the shift to the preparatory drugs will start shortly afterwards. On Thursday, provided the blood tests allow, it starts all over again, and I wait what the Russian Roulette of side-effects will produce this time. At least there is no shortage of toilet paper these days.
Sending much much love to you all.
Xxx
Bless you, that sounds absolutely awful. Sending love. xx