As I’m writing this I’m sitting in a recliner having my last chemo drip into my veins. There really should be someone here doing a drum roll at this point and I don’t understand why the NHS can’t employ someone to do that, although I can imagine the headlines in the Daily Hate Mail if they did (does that rag ever say anything positive about our NHS?).
Originally there was talk of me having either six or ten cycles of chemo. I’m relieved it’s stopped at six because it’s a bugger and messes with your body and your head in lots of unwanted ways but I’d be a lot worse off without it and would have had ten if that’s what I’d needed. It’s done me a lot of good and has brought my PSA level right down (which as of yesterday was 0.096, another record low!) and I feel extremely lucky to have had it, which might seem a weird thing to say but there are places in the world where not everyone with cancer has access to the treatments they need.
I cannot yet truly say “I’ve finished chemo” because there are all the other things that go with it, not least having to continue to take various extra pills for a while and having a very weakened immune system, but now I can look forward to moving on and getting my life back. I’ve had a brief taster of near normality during the extra week I’ve had between the last cycle and this one (see previous post) when my body had a bit more time to recover and I’ve been reminded what it’s like to have some energy, which has been most welcome, as has food tasting like food, tea tasting like tea and coffee like coffee, instead of all tasting like cow dung.
Since starting chemo my physical appearance has changed even more from all the steroids and other drugs that have been pumped into me. I’d really like to look like a bloke again although the hormone therapy that I’m staying on will ruin my plans for the return of a hairy chest, but I’m hopeful my facial hair follicles will spring back into action within a couple of months and, if they do, I promise I’m never ever going to moan about shaving again. Well, not straightaway. I’m also optimistically anticipating a full head of thick, dark, lustrous hair, but I’ll settle for the stuff I had before if that’s all I can get. Beggars can’t be choosers.
It’s not just my hair, or lack of it, that has been a visible change, my face is now rounder than it’s been since I was a chubby rosy-red cheeked 6 year old and the rest of me is a lot rounder, too. I feel like I’ve ballooned so the plan is to start getting myself back into shape, but I’ll get Christmas out of the way first. After all, it’s important to get your priorities right and I figure booze and Belgian chocolates should get a look in before the gym does. Bottoms up.