I had good intentions to carry on a video blog at least once a week to keep people updated on my treatment progress, as it turns out, having cancer is bloody time consuming. Travelling everyday for treatment, trying to keep working, trying to maintain a somewhat normal homestead, it’s all that you do.
But Sunday came and instead of having a relaxing movie day with my boys to set me up for the week, I was smack bang in the middle of an anxiety ridden steroid rage (still can’t decide which it was).
It was the most horrendous feeling ever. Even the unnaturally calm emotion I had at being told I had cancer was nothing compared to this.
I was literally climbing walls, punching walls, talking to fucking walls. Too much energy in my head which was atop a very weary body.
I ball of frantic lava in my stomach making me simultaneously starving but unable to eat.
A heart desperate to get out of my chest, beating as fast as a spaniels tail, yet it felt like aforementioned spaniel was sitting on my chest.
The worst part was not being able to hold James. My listless, restlessness was unbearable. For the first time, in his tiny life, he witnessed his mother go crazy.
I will never forget that sad pout at me not being able to pick him up. It’s what is keeping me up tonight.
Sunday, I could take no more. I called the chemo nurses as I was sure it was some kind of reaction to the steroid or anti-emetics. They were pretty sure it wasn’t and alluded that it was maybe more anxiety and that if I could get hold of some Diazepam then maybe I should, even if it was to get some sleep (at this point I should mention I hadn’t slept since Friday afternoon and this was Sunday evening)
As a previous user of anti-depressants I know there is no shame in asking for help and asking for it is actually the very first step in knowing you need assistance. I knew something was up and that I needed someone to step in.
Enter, possibly the best GP I have ever had. I know she will appreciate this as she reads this blog (Hi!).
I literally couldn’t wait to see her on Monday morning. I already felt a tiny bit better knowing she would be able to help me. Dr.S described steroid rage to me (its a real thing, people) and promptly prescribed diazepam and citalopram, to build me up to deal with this shit storm that’s building up.
Monday was possibly the worst day. I don’t actually know how I made it to treatment. I certainly wasn’t with it. I don’t actually know if I was even coherent.
I burst into tears on the radiotherapy table, knickers to my knees being hugged by the radiotherapist.
They were amazing. They made sure I was seen the next day by a nurse just to have a cry with her.
Monday I did my cry for help. I text my sister and said I was struggling. Big time. She was round in bed with me, kissing my forehead telling me all the lovely things we’ve got to look forward to.
She also told me something that really stuck with me.
Someone she knows had cervical cancer but for one thing and another (details are not to be disclosed) she wasn’t told the type of side effects she would encounter. And you know what she didn’t have a single side effect. No nausea, no loose bowels, no psychotic fucking rage. She is now in remission.
I really do think ignorance is bliss.
We live in a world where we can get information in milliseconds and its there if we want it or not. I’m an over-sharer (have you guessed?) and although awareness is key and we do need to be informed, but maybe knowing too much does us more harm than good.
I need to be more relaxed now and I need to focus on me. A step back from work and worrying about the washing, can wait for the next 8 or so weeks.
Relapses are not a good look.
I know James is being well looked after and I can weight on Pete once I’m fighting fit. I need to let some of this guilt go. James needs his Mum Mum around for a long, long time and Pete needs me nagging him until the end of time.
So really these next few weeks of upheaval are nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Now, to get my head to co-operate with my heart.