Woke up this morning––in your face again, mortality!––and for the second Monday in a row, I don’t feel good. But this is different. Today, I have a sore throat but no fever. Phoned Day Care at the Macmillan Centre: I’m to keep an eye on my temperature and call back if it goes up, or if I start to feel worse. I really don’t want to end up back in hospital this week. I just finished the antibiotic, which requires buckets of yogurt to counter the imbalance and discomfort it causes. Plus, I’ve got––well, had––plans this week.
Yeah, that sound you hear is God, laughing.
When you’re on chemo and you wake up like this, you can’t take paracetamol or anything else that would reduce your fever or make you more comfortable because it could mask the fact that you’re neutropenic. Which would be bad. You either have to get permission or get them while you’re in hospital.
Sliding down the V for sure. Looks like this week’s angle is precipitously sharp. No Dance Party today. I can deal. It’s not my favourite time but I can deal––but only because I have help.
This is one of the times that is hardest on a cancer patient’s carer. Chris will have to do just about everything for me today because I may not be able to do more than walk to and from the loo…and I’ll only be able to do that if I’m not carrying anything, not even a bottle of water. My upper body strength is non-existent. If I have to get dressed to go into hospital after all, Chris will practically have to dress me––he’ll even have to tie my shoes.
I’m lucky to have Chris. And later today or tomorrow, depending, Amanda our part-time lodger will be back. She always infuses the house with positive, upbeat energy anyway and we can count on her if we need an extra pair of hands. Amanda is our secret weapon––moral support for Chris as well as for me.
It’s not just important for a cancer patient to have a carer––it’s important for the carer to have back-up. A cancer patient is a heavy weight that needs to be distributed.