Out of the fog

Having been through two chemotherapies now it appears that there is a cycle (not an easy one) of a fog descending and then lifting from my body. A couple of days ago the fog lifted and only then is it when I can contemplate writing a blog again. Only then is it, too, that I return to reading without blurred vision, return to singing without the noise of my own voice and harmonium hurting my ears and return to doing more normal day-to-day things like chatting on the phone, emailing and watching things on my computer (yes, it’s true, watching dvds and doco’s is now something that I spend my time doing, like normal people. It turns out it’s the best distraction from feeling all the nasties that are going on with my body and I think will play a very important role in getting me through this process).

So despite how I like to perceive myself as doing things in life with ease, chemotherapy ain’t easy. In fact, it’s hard. It’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. So… so be it. As is the title of my blog – I trust the process of Life – so I trust this process.

The hardest part so far is that the doctors and nurses haven’t got the first 24 hours’ anti-sickness right for me yet so that first 24 hours after chemotherapy really has been tough. I can see from others that I’ve chatted to, who are going through chemo, that it’s totally possible not to feel rubbish, but different people need different concoctions, and it’s just a case of trial and error for each individual. I’ve got my fingers and toes crossed for Plan C of anti-sickness for my next chemo on the 9^th July.

The other main hard part is having that feeling of not firing on all cylinders. It’s part of the foggy feeling. It’s like a week-long hangover without any of the fun part of getting drunk. Wow, how I took for granted clarity of mind before. I guess we do – we don’t truly appreciate things until they’re not there anymore, when we can see the contrast of what it’s like not having that something any more. That’s what I see as my main blessings in this process – I’m getting to experience first hand how completely incredible these things in life are. And I’ll have these experiences forever more. Clarity of mind is something that I will treasure forever more.

I’ve thought a lot recently about just being thankful for waking up in the morning and being ‘with it’ and ‘alive’. We used to learn about the prayer in Judaism that you say when you wake up in the morning for exactly that reason. But how many people actually get to feel that gratitude sincerely from a deep place when they say it.

The other thing that I find hard is how my body’s reacting to food. First thing to note is that I’m extremely lucky in that so far I haven’t lost my appetite at all. I’m eating enough and my weight has stayed fairly consistent so that’s really good news. But the way my body is reacting to food is different to say the least. I seem to need to eat about seven times a day – no exaggeration. I can’t eat the hugest amount when I do eat (probably about half of what I normally eat at any one time) but to make up for it I need to eat regularly…very regularly. If I’m able to see if from the outside it’s quite comical I guess, but when I can’t it’s just plain annoying. It only lasts for the first week after chemotherapy, when my body’s generally acting a bit weird and trying hard to balance itself out. I generally wake up between 4 and 5 in the morning with hunger pains so severe that I have to get out of bed and have breakfast number one. Kate and I have now started to organise like a midnight-feast-type scenario (like we used to do when we were kids) the night before and put it next to my bed so that I can eat and go back to sleep. Then I have second breakfast at a more normal hour and third breakfast or early lunch late morning. The day continues a bit like this. But you can imagine what it’s like for Kate, given that in these early days after chemo I can’t do a huge amount for myself. She’s like this incredible kitchen machine, churning out one dish after the next, both of us trying to keep up with my body’s crazy reactions.

It’s not like normal hunger – it actually causes big problems if we don’t respond to it. It’s like a small child throwing uncontrollable tantrums. The hunger hurts and it actually makes me feel sick. Before I realised this was actually what was going on I was taking a second kind of anti-sickness pill. So when I realised through this chemo cycle that all I needed to do was eat all the time I didn’t need to take that other anti-sickness as much. It’s nuts. It just didn’t occur to me that hunger could do that. Well, I guess it doesn’t in a normal scenario. But this scenario ain’t normal. The good thing I guess is that my body is telling me what it needs and I’m able to hear it and respond. The hard part is the roller-coaster of a ride that it’s taking me on.

So, there it is. The fog’s lifted from Round 2. I’m a third of the way through my chemo’s. I’m petrified of Round 3 but… I trust…and so the journey continues.