At the very start of treatment, my biggest fear was *looking* like a chemotherapy patient. Of course, there is no shame in looking like that, it’s a borderline badge of honour for your body in fronting up to the poison that is being pumped around your body… but mannn, I really didn’t want to look like a chemo patient.
So now, 141 days since the barrage of ABVD first began winging its way around my body, I look pretty chemo-y.
Subconsciously, I’m doing my best to avoid mirrors. I sometimes manage it only brushing my teeth at the bookends of the day, giving myself a pat on the back in the process. But saying that, between those visits to the bathroom, I’m exclusively in two rooms - the kitchen/office and the lounge so it’s no great shakes. Although Teams is a pain, but somehow the light and angle can do me a favour - or I just pull my hat down and pop my collar up!
(I won’t be one of those no camera dweebs though, even with chemoface).
We took a photo of my hair the other day to record the baby chick fluff that has been doing it’s best to grow. It’s genuinely crazy to look at it up close and marvel at the effect of it all. Since the most grim drug was removed, it has stopped falling out… but the chemohair is there for all to see.
Whilst taking this, I thought it would be interesting to do a before/after comparison from front on and boyyy did I not like what I saw. I think a photo is somehow worse than a glance in the mirror. A photo records it in time, as it literally is with no favours added. My face has changed shape - be it through the steroids retaining a ton of fluid, my complete inability to sleep these days or the sheer lack of eyebrows and whatever facial hair I could muster no longer framing my face.
I felt like a blob of flesh and bone and for an hour or two and I was quite upset to no longer recognise myself - probably for the first time in this whole debacle.
I was determined to post the comparison on Instagram because a) I wanted something to remind me of the lowest moments when I look back with my re-chiseled face (lol) in months to come and b) to show the effect of chemo despite me being ‘fine’… (I know, I know).
I wrote a very negative, scathing, fuck the world caption and was about to post it but I couldn’t. I gradually, again subconsciously, was pulled out of the mire and rewrote it.
“Cancer is the fucking pits. I’ve just reeled off a load of crap for this caption about my *extremely* depressing chemoface, how many days in I am, how shit everything is blah blah BLAH. But what’s the point? There’s THREE weeks to go. I just need to suck it up for 21 more days (and avoid all mirrors) and it’s done. Thought it was mildly interesting to see under my woolly hat for once at my little baby chick hair before I buzzcut the shit out of it again later. To the hair gods, I’ll never moan about having thick, fast growing hair ever again I swear. And in true Encanto style, we do not talk about eyebrows. So still, stilllllll, somehow, it’s time to fucking keep going.”
Better? I thought so. And much more in keeping with my approach throughout this nightmare. I said at the start of all this I wasn’t going to give the cancer the pleasure of bringing me down to it’s level, never mind beating me. I’m sure as hell not going to give in this close to the end.
LFG.
Today - or at least it feels like today because STEROIDSSSS and 3am, you know the story - I had round 11. Round 11! That means one to go. That is in-sane. I am literally a couple of hours away from being done. I don’t even know how to begin to process that.
I asked the nurse what the plan was for the last session - mainly around the removal of my PICC line and ringing the bell. Apparently they can remove the line on the day of the last treatment, I just need to get Lala to sign off on it the day before.
I’m tempted to pull together an in-depth PowerPoint as to why would be nice. I just want to have a normal shower please doc being the main motivator, but HELLO NORMALITY is a pretty big old driver too. AND it speeds up my return to running as I’ll no longer need to worry about getting sweaty and golf too as my arm will be free for out of control movements. Hallelujah!
Then ringing the bell - I was worried covid might have reduced it down or I might have to caress the stone of life or whatever it is up there as an alternative. But nope, ring that bell BQ - it is your moment and turns out the nurses love it.
(This is the stone of life, I guess for slightly more introverted people who don't want to make a scene...)
If I'm honest, I've been thinking about learning the Blinding Lights dance to include in my bell ringing moment but then I reluctantly accepted it might not be that appropriate for a chemo ward…
What it did prompt was an idea for the charity event in September that has had us laughing for most of the night soooo see you there.
So, get through the next few tough days and nights and we’ll truly be on the home straight. Life can begin again.
Thank you for all the support on the JustGiving by the way (especially the anonymous donations who I haven't been able to thank personally) - we passed £3,000 the other day which is ludicrous to be quite honest seen as all I’ve done of note since September is turn York City in to a dominant force on Football Manager. You just wait till Captain Chemo runs 26 miles of Chicago after a world first couch to marathon in 6 months programme…!
Don’t forget to email lymphomacharitynight@gmail.com to get your tickets booked for the big party too!
We're nearly there kids - lets fucking go!
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