Well, it’s been a while hasn’t it? I had started writing this post 4 weeks ago, during my last chemo session, but for reasons I will go into below, life has been a bit busy since then!
So chemo is finished, done, completo. 12 sessions over 18 weeks during which I have felt worse than I ever have on a hangover, lost all my hair, and now, 4 weeks later, only have a total of three eyelashes hanging on by a thread!
All chemoed out…
It was a weird feeling being finished. In the UK, you ring a bell to signify the end; up at The Shining, I merely said goodbye until my follow-up appointment with the oncologist.
In many ways, strange as it sounds, it was a bit of an anti-climax. With the chemo, you know vaguely what you were doing, you had a routine. Now, I was to have three weeks off before beginning radiotherapy, so what on earth was I to do?
Chemo didn’t make me normal…
Any normal person would be relieved to have the break, to be able to take a breather from treatment, perhaps sleep all day, maybe take a little holiday. Yes, that is indeed what any normal person would do. I however, in the same way as I chose Malawi as my commonwealth country for a school project when I could have had it easy with Canada or Australia, chose not to do that. Nope. That would just be silly. Instead, two days after finishing chemotherapy, I found myself traipsing off to the dog’s home with small child in tow and coming home with this….
This, my dear readers, is Harry. Named by Max after both the Potter and the Prince. He is a 4 month old husky/Labrador cross (with what looks to be a bit of boxer/staff thrown in for good measure), and is the reason I have had no time whatsoever to myself to keep you updated with my goings on over the past few weeks.
He has been both a blessing and a curse in our household. The blessing is the joy and responsibility he has brought to a seven year old who has had it pretty tough over the past couple of years as far as his mother’s health is concerned. This whole cancer expedition has been very tough on him, given that he is of the age that he thinks he understands, but probably doesn’t really. Harry coming into his life has been fun (when he isn’t being eaten by him) and something new to talk about other than ‘mummy’s cancer’.
The curse is the poor mother who last weekend was up every 2 hours dealing with his diarrhoea-y bottom. I totally accept it was a completely mad thing to do, but if life was meant to be easy I would have bought myself a Stena stairlift….