I’m cashing in on those ‘if you ever need anything’ offers. Julia is coming Friday so we can go to the Quiz and Curry night at the school – it’s one of their fund-raising events. If I’m not well enough, Rhodri will go and I’ll stay here with Julia. I just don’t want to be left with the children on my own. Kate is coming over Tuesday when Rhodri is at the footie.
This HAS to be a new beginning for me. I think part of my desperation to get started on the chemo is so that it signals a turning point in my life. But only I can do that, it’s got to come from me. Not just temporarily because I feel too shit, pumped with toxic chemicals. I have been given a second chance. I can fight this, I can beat this, and I will not let it get the better of me.
I told Elis that the medicine I had to take to make me better, might make my hair fall out and Mummy might have to wear a wig. I don’t want to freak him out, so I’ve mentioned it in passing a few times so he gets used to the idea. He said ‘Oh,’ fleetingly, then changed the subject immediately to something about Lego Star Wars – his complete obsession. He asked me in the car on the way back from the garage if we could go swimming next week. I said it would be difficult for me to go swimming now as I had to think about my hair falling out.
He said, ‘Well, you could sit on the side and watch.’ I said I thought it was better if his daddy took him. He said, ‘Well, what if he was sat on the side reading a book,’ which he wouldn’t be, but I didn’t interrupt, ‘and you had to jump in and save me. Would you be worried about your hair then?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘but that wouldn’t happen as Daddy would get a kick up the arse if he took his eyes off you for a minute.’
‘But what if he did and he couldn’t see me and you were there and you wouldn’t jump in in case your hair fell out and you had to wear a wig?’
‘Well, Elis,’ I said, ‘under those circumstances I would then jump in and save you.’
‘Good,’ he said, ‘because your child is more important than your hair and it wouldn’t matter then if you wore a wig because you had saved your child.’
‘That’s right,’ I replied, smiling. ‘My child is more important than my hair.’ I looked in the rear-view mirror and he was nodding sagely. Actually, as I write that I think what a powerful metaphor that is from the mouth of a six year old – if only he knew. Why am I stressing about my bloody hair? I should be bloody grateful I will be alive in ten years to be with my beautiful, clever, happy children.
October 11, Wednesday
Chemo Day number one. It has been eight hours since I had the chemo. We spent over six hours in the hospital today; I had two meals there, seeing various people and waiting around for two hours for the prescription; apparently it will not take as long next time. I was in the canteen and I almost started crying. There was a young boy in there, he was about sixteen, maybe a bit older, I’d seen him having treatment when I was in one of the rooms earlier. I said to Rhodri, ‘That little boy is having chemo,’ and I started to cry. I said, ‘It’s OK for me but not for him, it’s not fair.’ Even if something happens to me, at least I’ve had forty years of life and given birth to two children, but that young lad had his whole life to live and I pray that he does.
I have not had any side-effects to report so far; I’m still not quite sure what I thought might happen – possibly that I’d keel over on the spot and need an instant blood transfusion and be placed on a life-support machine. The chemo room has about ten people in it and you are sat in chairs. They put a saline drip into you to wash your veins out, then they put another needle into your hand with a tube on and they inject six tubes of the special stuff into your veins; it takes about half an hour.
Chemo is the opposite of childbirth. NO ONE dares tell you what childbirth is actually like, EVERYBODY has a story to tell about chemotherapy and they ALL mainly want to tell you how bad it is.
Ian P in work has a friend who, like me, has two children and had chemo, so I asked him about her. Apparently, she had to have a blood transfusion after her first chemo. Beth, who I met with Babs, can’t get out of bed afterwards, and two mothers from the school keep telling me how brave I am, as their fathers have had it. I don’t want to be brave.
Sandra, who had her op when I had my op, said that after chemo, she felt a bit groggy and was OK the next day, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed I will be like that. Groggy is good, groggy would be excellent. Not being able to move for four days – not so good.
On a positive note, I have had my hair hacked off in readiness for it falling out, for the sum of £11, and it’s rather grown on me (no pun intended). I actually quite like it, not that I would wear it in the street as I want people to think my wig is my hair. Rhodri says I look like a cross between Elvis and Sarah my sister. While I keep saying to anyone who will listen that the wig isn’t a big deal, the truth is, it is a big deal and I should stop pretending otherwise.
Beth was in the hospital on her final chemotherapy treatment. When I saw her she asked me if I am going to go without a wig – she is completely bald and does not wear anything. I said I was thinking about it, just getting used to the idea at the moment, when what I actually meant was, ‘No way on God’s earth am I going without a wig.’ I am completely vain. I think Beth is amazingly honest about the whole thing, plus she has the face to carry it off – petite, not a great big moon-faced owl like me.
Elis looked at my hair earlier and said, ‘Is that your hair now?’ indicating my new short hair, and I said, ‘Yes’ and he said, ‘Go and put your real hair on,’ and I said, ‘This is my real hair,’ which he wasn’t quite sure about. It must be very confusing in his six-year-old head when his mother changes her hair every time she answers the door or pops to the corner shop.
I will wash my wig soon to see if it falls apart. I Googled chemo side-effects and found more or less the same as the hospital says, except not everyone has side-effects. I am hoping to be that someone, so watch this space. For now I have the sickness tablets they gave me at the hospital. I also have ginger biscuits and water by my bed and my new book from Amazon, The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. I have only read chapter one, but so far it is very promising, especially the bit that says, How sad it is that most of us only begin to appreciate our life when we are on the point of death. Yes, it is sad, and I am going to change all that, I know.
October 12, Thursday
Second day after chemo. Still can’t believe I feel relatively normal. I got up and got the children’s breakfast and moved some stuff up to the attic and went to lunch with Joanne. I feel a bit nauseous but nothing major. Joanne thought I would be in bed and she would be bringing me soup, and to be honest so did I, but I feel OK. Gill Donovan from Cancer Care Cymru at Velindre rang me. I really can’t fault their service. She has called me twice now; I’ve told her I am fine and she says if I haven’t been sick by now, the chances are I’m not going to be.
I am still taking my anti-sickness tablets and steroids. The nurse who did my chemotherapy at the hospital asked me how I felt about taking steroids and I said I was a bit sceptical but, as they were injecting toxic chemicals into me, steroids were paling into insignificance at the moment so I would take them. I do think they are keeping the nausea under control.
Had a few hours’ sleep this afternoon. Gill says Friday is when I might feel a bit flat. Flat is good; not being able to get out of bed would be bad. I have bought Red Bull to stop that flat feeling.
October 13, Friday
Oooh Friday the thirteenth, spooky. Feeling good in myself again today but had a rubbish night’s sleep. I think sleeping in the afternoon is not a good idea but I also went to bed at nine so will try to stretch the evening out today. There is a fund-raising Quiz and Curry at the school and I will be going with Rhodri as I feel well enough to attend. I can always leave early.
Julia is looking after the children; she babysat last year when we went and Osh didn’t go to bed until 10.30, so I’m hoping it will be better this time, to give her some peace. I am in bed wri
ting this, trying to sleep as I am a bit fuzzy-headed. I’m good otherwise. I am beginning to think that healthy eating (conveniently forgetting my momentary lapses where alcohol is concerned), plus the supplements and acupuncture must be having positive effects on me, as it can’t just be a coincidence that I feel so well. I am not stupid enough to think I will escape without some illness, as the little darlings are sure to give me something before the winter is over. I am wearing disposable ‘glubs’, as Osh calls my gloves, to change his nappies and empty Elis’s sick bowls to minimise my contact with their germs, but I will try not to become too paranoid.
Went to my Welsh class, all carrying on as normal. I have to carry a card around with me which says I am a chemotherapy patient on it in big letters: in case of an accident, it tells whoever finds me slumped in a street what to do and what not to do. Mind you, by the time they have gone through my bottomless pit of a handbag past the Tesco and IKEA receipts, lollipops, dummies, dangerous items taken off children for safekeeping, I would have snuffed it. I will endeavour to give my handbag a clear out in order to save my life.
October 14, Saturday
Rhodri took the boys out this morning and I stayed in bed. When they came back I lay there and I heard them all downstairs chattering away, and I thought, That would be them, if I didn’t exist any more, if I died. They would be noisy and happy and eating their breakfast and watching television, and although I’d like to think they would miss their mummy, they would survive and they would be happy without me despite that.
As I was thinking this, Osh poked his beautiful head round the door, smiled and said, ‘Mummy,’ and climbed onto my lap with a Winnie the Pooh book. And I thanked cancer for giving me a second chance in life, for humbling me and for making me realise that life is not a rehearsal – and as clichéd as that may be, it is a lesson for us all.
October 16, Monday
Elis wants to be a footballer or a spy when he grows up. I have tried to channel his enthusiasms into a ‘proper’ job, but if he fails at the first two, he’s going to play cricket for England – and who am I to suggest otherwise? I did tell him it is possible to be a spy. I said, ‘You could go to college and learn languages and go and live in other countries and be a spy.’ He now thinks you go to college, learn Russian, live in Russia and when the Russians aren’t looking you sneak up on them – all of which I find very amusing. The Russians won’t know what’s hit them! Last night, when I was tucking him up in bed, he asked if African people can play football: they are doing ‘poor people’ in Africa at school at the moment.
Elis says people in Africa should play football because you can earn a lot of money that way. ‘You know, football is a very good job, Mum.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘Well, didn’t you ever think about it?’
I assumed he meant as a career option. ‘Not, really,’ I replied. ‘I wasn’t that good a football player.’
‘But you went to college, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I said
‘Well, didn’t you ever think to take football?’
So he thinks that you can go to university and be taught how to play like David Beckham, ah, the naivety of youth. I am secretly hoping he will be a builder so he can make a nice little earner thank you very much, like every tradesman that ever darkens these doors. He can do all my DIY in my old age – in my Tenby retirement flat. See? There you go, I do think I might live long enough to retire now, hurrah!
October 18, Wednesday
I had acupuncture with Rosie today. It’s been two weeks since our last meeting. She had a week off because she was teaching and then she doesn’t do it during the chemo week because the chemo is making enough demands on my body. I had a mini-therapy session with her and said I felt very calm within myself. She said I was different. I explained that I was wearing my new wig (which she thought was my hair – big acupuncture brownie points there), but she said, no, it wasn’t the hair, I was simply different. I told her I felt that I was in a different place and that I had changed, and I just wanted to make sure that when I went back to work, this new calm me remained. Also, I told her I was reading The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying which she said was a very good book to be reading. I added that Rhodri had said I didn’t shout as much, and he too thought I had changed – I AM CHANGED THEN.
So then Rosie did the needles thing. I always forget I actually have to have the needles until she starts doing it. I see it as a little trip to the therapist, then I think, Oh yeah, shit, she’s going to stick needles in me. She sticks them in and asks me if I can feel them. I have such a high pain threshold that she really does have to go quite deeply and usually I say in a slightly high-pitched voice. ‘Yes, I can feel that!’
I asked her what the needles were hitting and she says they are not actually connecting with bones or sinew but space where the chi is. All very profound, but they certainly connect with something. I told her that I thought the acupuncture was definitely helping and I did feel less paranoid.
I also told her that the last time I came to see her I said I felt I was becoming blasé about having cancer but the trip to Velindre put paid to all that. I was feeling lucky that I was going to come out of that hospital alive and well, and there were many people there who were not as fortunate as me.
Kerry came over with baby Daisy who is sooo cute with little toes in pink sparkly tights – think I will definitely need to have a little dog sometime in the future called Hugo as a baby substitute (hands up who wants a dog – meeee!) I was on the computer after Kerry left, imagining what my invisible dog Hugo would be doing if he were in the room right at that moment. He would lie adoringly at my feet – my loyal companion. I realise I have made Hugo a he – which is interesting as I already have a house of hes and not entirely certain I need another – although this he would be mine, for me and those other hes would have to keep their hands off him – and he would love and adore me, never answer me back or call me a ‘stupid cow’ as Elis has done on occasion (and as Rhodri probably thinks, but would never dare say) and Hugo would not be singing, ‘And it’s Cardiff City, Cardiff City FC’ from the age of two – although if he did any of those things he would actually be a very valuable dog and would have to appear on That’s Life, or whatever the equivalent is these days.
Kerry was giving out to Richard C on the phone and I told her I was going to rescue Richard C – although I didn’t actually mean it as I would have to look after four men then – as well as my invisible dog. I was feeling very smug because I was so calm and connected to my inner being. Rhodri was very late with Osh and I phoned just to make sure he did actually have him and Osh wasn’t in the crèche crying because each one of us thought the other one was picking him up. Rhodri had taken him to his office.
Then Kerry left and by this time it was late and Elis was behaving in a manner that I can only describe as ‘little fucker’ mode. He was being so naughty and I slapped him on the arse – and then was pissed off with myself for not counting to karma ten.
When Rhodri got back, he said he had been speaking to someone in work, a woman we both know, and had thought, Oh God, she’s going to talk to me about Michelle and it will be a nightmare – but, in fact, he said she was really lovely and understanding, and it was funny that the people who you thought wouldn’t be any help, were.
So I said, ‘Well, remember she was going through her divorce and I think we connected.’ Then he started going on in this really obnoxious manner that that had nothing to do with what he was talking about, saying that he had known her for thirteen years and I didn’t know her at all – like any of this mattered one bit – and I just felt so overwhelmingly angry about him speaking to me like that, that I threw my glass of sparkling water over him, right in his face, and walked away. I thought, Fuck where did that come from? He just doesn’t listen, he’s so fucking wrapped up in what he has to say that what I am trying to say means nothing to him.
Anyway, he was very quiet and I came back and wiped up
the water off the floor and didn’t say a thing. I was really pissed off that I’d spent the entire day at one with my karma and then in two minutes all the good of the day was undone. He said, ‘Sorry,’ though as per bloody usual he obviously wasn’t sure what he was sorry for.
I then apologised for throwing the water ONLY because I thought it was humiliating for Rhodri, and then he started going on about what I was saying.
I said, ‘Look, I’m apologising for throwing the water because it’s not a nice thing to do, and it’s not good karma, but you were a complete twat so that conversation is not up for further discussion.’
So we ate our food and I decided he could put the footie on. As Elis rightly says, I AM the boss of the house. Overcome with guilt about the sparkling water and the karma thing I apologised again. ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘about the water.’
‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘It really turns me on when you get like that.’
Ho hum – is there a moral in there somewhere?
October 20, Friday
Me, Osh and Elis are staying with Joanne this weekend as we are having new windows put in and I cannot stand being in the mess or trying to keep Osh from running outside while the men come back and forth. I have left Rhodri to guard the windowless castle while we are away.
October 23, Monday
Had a nice weekend of eating and drinking at Joanne’s. Came back this morning and the men were putting finishing touches to the house. The windows look very nice and make the place so much warmer and quieter. So I set to work painting around the sills and the walls around the windows. I started in the downstairs living room and realised the whole thing needed painting so just continued with it.
My Mummy Wears a Wig - Does Yours? A true and heart warming account of a journey through breast cancer Page 9
