Night Fever!

It's 72 hours after chemo 5 and I'm lying quietly in bed. 
January 1st 2012.
I don't need a party, or a drink (OK - I still haven't got over last years celebrations!!).
I have a ready-made drug induced hangover.
Lily has been out for New Years Eve for a party/sleepover with some fab friends of ours.
I know - she's only six - and is having a far superior social life than her parents! 
She arrives home and thinks I need cheering up.
Excitedly she goes off and returns with something.
"Close your eyes Mummy"
I duly oblige.
"Now...Open!"
She has rigged up her revolving multi-coloured disco ball...and turned off the lights....
I am now transported to a world of Night Fever, flashing lights, twirling round and round, a spectacular feeling of end-of-night out drunkeness, where you wished you hadn't had that last Black Russian and wonder why the bed won't stop spinning.
"How lovely my darling - what a wonderful surprise!"
I think I may be sick..... 
Happy New Year Lily!


Getting through days 3, 4 and 5 have been tough this time. Challenging, one might say. A combination of having 80% of the chemo drugs inside me now, and having the Gang of Three, unusually, at home. Normally I can crawl through the treacle alone with the assistance of Mum & Dad, while Gary & Lily are in the comfortable oblivion of work/school. They were both at home on day 4 and constantly worried about the amount of time I spent lying down. And, due to bad planning on my part, I had Lily alone on day 5 morning - day 5 being the very worst in the chemo cycle. Unable to function, I could've thrown in the towel or sat and bawled my eyes out or both. Poor Lily couldn't understand why Mummy was incapable of even putting one foot in front of the other, let alone look for Baby Born's pink silk riding outfit, that absolutely had to be found.
I felt terrible for her. 
And terrible for me. 
Then the cavalry arrived. 
And I was rescued.
Thank goodness.
Thank you x


Today, unusually for day 6 - I had to venture out. 'So what?', you might think. Well - I'm still drunk, giddy, got 'cold turkey' shakes & struggle for sensible meaningful conversation. We had an appointment with 'Dr One-sheet' the next oncologist on my list, who is organising the radiotherapy. It was easy though, once we got to the hospital, and I had managed not to throw up in the car. A chat and an examination. A discussion on the treatment itself. Apparently My Surgeon has left markers inside the boob, so the radiotherapy team know exactly where to aim and fire. Clever eh? 
A bit of sun-burn and fatigue, is all to expect. And, oh, with it being my left side, we need to be careful of my  heart...oooooh - there's always something! 
Four weeks treatment - starting, conditionally, on Feb 20th.
Every day at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital.
Only an hours drive away.
And back again....
But in comparison to the chemo...sounds like a doddle!
Dr One-sheet reminds me that he will do his best, because as I'm triple-negative, chemo & radio are my only treatment options. Thanks for the reminder chuck.
And I sign the form, which genuinely says that I agree to radiotherapy 'to prolong my life'.
It's hard seeing it in black and white.
The truth hurts.
I sign vigorously.


I'm still agonising over the bone scan. The request has been made & the nice folks at the RD&E Nuclear Medicine dept (yes I've been there before!) tell me the appointment will be in the next 2 weeks. I realise that every pain/twinge/ache will be scrutinised from now on in, and I have no complaints about that - it's just such a shock to be thinking of secondaries so early on in the game. 
But. 
Whatever it is - there's nowt I can do about it now - so I'll stare it in the face and deal with it. 
Or, of course, get free physio.
And a rub down.
That'll do nicely - thanks!