Spring has sprung and the end of the journey is in sight

The days are getting longer, the air is full of birdsong and the tulip bulbs I planted so hopefully back in the dark winter days have burst into bloom, giving the patio quite a carnival atmosphere.  Like my hair – which is sprouting back – buds are beginning to appear on the trees and shrubs.

I have been picturing this moment for ages, knowing that when the first signs of summer appear the end of my treatment is in sight.  Just four more chemo sessions to go.

That said, I really feel that the chemo is wearing me down now. Although the side effects are not severe, they seem to have become an intrinsic part of me.  Almost as if they are in my DNA.

For a start I have a permanent low-grade nosebleed.  At first I feared the cancer had spread to my nose or my brain but apparently its just another effect of chemicals on my platelets.

Regular Neupogen injections, which are remarkably efficient in boosting my blood cell count, have the counter effect of making my muscles and bones ache, leaving me feeling like a very elderly person who has done a very long work out at the gym.  

With blood pressure that registers on the lower end of the scale its tendency to drop these days makes me feel woozy a lot of the time and while it’s very much business as usual, I am finding social occasions a bit wearing and I seem to spend a lot of time seeking sanctuary in the relative peace and coolness of the ladies loos. 

Mindful that my husband has a life too we are still dining out and I love meeting up with friends, but my lack of concentration and tiredness hardly make me a party animal. Wine seems to turn to acid after a couple of sips.  and I am not good at watching everyone else getting merry while I am nursing an empty glass. At least I am storing up lots of Brownie points as the designated driver!

I yearn to get to bed and yet I am wide awake in the early hours.  My Friday night treat after chemo is a sleeping tablet, wary of taking them more regularly as they come with strict warnings about dependency. 

But less of my moaning!  This is all small stuff. The end is in sight and I can’t wait to get there. I have visions of enjoying a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc at a pavement café, tucking into moule and frites at the local Belgo (mussels not allowed at the moment) and rounding of a meal with Camembert and Port (no unpasteurised cheese right now and Port tastes like petrol).

So much to do and places to go. It will be magical to slip back into my old carefree life again.  Only problem is, how will I ever find the time to wash my hair again?

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