Non-functioning body

Running on fumes

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I’ve been quiet for a while. Not because I haven’t had any words, but it’s been too hard a struggle.

Going through cancer treatment sucks, but it’s nothing compared to the void after.

You’re not cancer-free. You’ll never be cancer-free. Your body is shit and will never work properly again.

Your mind is fucked-up and if you’re lucky – it may start working again in a few months. Or a decade. Or never. It’s called chemo brain and there’s nothing that can be done to fix it.

So your life sucks. And your friends are gone, cos who wants to hang with a cancer patient. The few good ones stay – cos they’ll always be there – but most of them are gone. And maybe you got some new ones, or revitalised old friendships, cos hey – some people actually are there for you when shit happens.

I see you. I know who’s been there. You know who you are. You’ve kept me alive.

So you walk out the other side of cancer treatment with a couple of new friends and you’ve lost many more. And maybe you realise that family and blood and shit – it’s just a goddamned lie. They can talk about blood all they want but fuck it – I have scars that prove the opposite.

So thank you to those who actually care and keep me alive. The rest can just go to hell. I’m too tired to be polite any more. I have so many battle scars I’m not sure how I stay upright.

Oh yeah, I know.

There are so many people who would dance on my grave, and fuck it if I’ll get them that satisfaction. I’ll be their guilty conscience.

I just wish I had a bit of energy, but fuck it, I’ve been running on fumes for so long that who gives a fuck. I will survive cos FUCK YOU. I have worth. I am a fucking awesome person. I used to be interesting but these days you’ll be lucky if I know which month it is.

And I have music. Thank you Trent Reznor for being the psychotherapist every crazy-ass person needs. Thanks to Al Jourgenson for noize. Thanks to Gary Numan for suddenly being there and being my soundtrack.

So – going to London in June to see NIN at the Royal Albert Hall cos fuck it, I need something good to look forward to. And Gary Numan at Rockefeller in December. Certainly can’t afford NIN but my mind needs it.

And the irony of it all? I don’t think any of my blood relatives actually can be fucked to read this blog.

My name is ruin, my name is vengeance
My name is no one, no one is calling
My name is ruin, my name is heartbreak
My name is loving, but sorrows and darkness
My name is ruin, my name is evil
My name’s a war song, I sing you a new one

When science brain says BOLLOCKS (except it doesn’t)

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I think I’ve said it before. Actually, I know I have, but it can’t be said too often. I have the bestest two sisters in the world and I am most sad that there are massive amounts of water between us. Luckily for me, they always sorta stay near each other.

This arrived in the post today. It’s a ‘fing’ of sugilite, stars, pink and love. It’s a love stone. For me. From my sistah. And I love it! Oh, and yes, it is as heavy and gorgeous as it looks. Very nice purple. My kinda purple. And hers. *squeals with joy*

And science brain is being very quiet (although neuropathic fingers are kinda screaming) cos the truth is, science wouldn’t be of much help if I were alone in this. If I didn’t have a tribe watching my back, keeping me company, keeping me sane, holding my hand, making sure that I am moving forward.

Science ain’t much help if you’re in this fight alone, cos it’s a hard and rocky road and there are precipices all along the really narrow path and it would be so much easier to just give up and give in and admit defeat.

So science brain is being as quiet as a mouse, thinking that I am so grateful to all the people (and cats) out there who keep me on that path and keep me as well and happy as can be, and who make my life worth getting up for even on the days when I would have much rather stayed beneath the covers.

I even have an English rabbit (proper one, not a Derbyshire Rarebit-rabbit) boiling on the stove right now. How’s that for coincidence?

F(l)atigue

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I have no idea which silly person decided that the way I’m feeling now, can be described as “fatigue”. You don’t feel fat, you feel FLAT. So FLATIGUE is a much more appropriate word.

And it’s hitting me earlier. For the first three rounds of Taxotere, I had three high-energy (everything’s relative, right?) days and then three flat days. This time, flatigue hit on day three and the first two days weren’t exactly brimming with energy. But  four rounds in means I am at least half-way on my journey with yew. And they keep showing up – I think I may have to plant one or two, to remember this year, lest chemo brain sets in so badly I forget.

That was a joke. A crap one at that.

This is Lurven. If he were a human, he’d be a bit thick, with a beer gut and he would defo be your favourite uncle. IRL he loves stealing voles from the other cats cos they’re yummy (although he is a fierce hunter himself), he’s fiercely protective of his siblings and he just lurves his hoomins. He gets really worried when I’m ill, so yesterday I spent the first four hours of the day in bed with him on my shoulder, purring away as if to keep me safe.

Four hours is how long it took for me to actually scrape up enough energy to think about getting up, actually getting my body out of bed, putting on sweats, and going into the kitchen.

After eating some ‘food’ (with the fungal infection in my mouth, nothing tastes of anything so it’s more a case of finding something I can swallow) I went back to bed and he threw himself onto the duvet, found my shoulder and snuggled back in.

Nice, hard, steady purring. Nice massage. Too f(l)atigued to fall asleep, but at least I could focus on his purring and after another three hours I nodded off.

Today neuropathy set in as well. If you think three is a lucky number – sorry mate.

Or. Depends. I see Karjala is waiting for me to crawl under the bed covers again. Gussi is also skulking around the bedroom. Three cats, one for each symptom. See y’all when flatigue turns into fatigue…

The flat blog (cos flatlining would be over the top)

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I tend to blog when I have energy. But now that I’m on chemo, there are more flat days and they take more space than before – so here’s the flat blog. Just in case you think I’m happy and energetic and out doing fun stuff all the time!

Second bout of chemo and it’s developing as expected. I spent most of treatment day in bed (cos going to the hospital and spending hours there fatigues me). Thursday and Friday weren’t bad – I’m thinking that the meds don’t really hit the system until day three.

Yesterday I was flat. Not Runaway pancake flat, just flat. No energy. No strength. No inspiration. But this was as expected (after the first bout) so I’d been smart and made arrangements to go mushroom hunting with a friend. Not because I expected to be re-energized, but because I wanted to see how far I could push my body even if I was flat!

We ended up with a really nice, three hour walk. Hunting means straying from the path more often than not so we walked about 2 km and I ended up with 8 kg mushrooms, she probably got twice that. That’s not a big haul in my world. When I was at my fittest I could pick 30-50 kg per trip, but that’s a few years ago – and I am most grateful to have dear friends who will accompany me on foraging trips and pick the foods I don’t have the energy to pick & clean!

Probably one of the smartest things I’ve bought this year. Pink, fluffy, soft, gigantic socks.

Got home and collapsed – slept for five hours. Watched a silly movie and slept for ten hours. Woke up and was void of energy. I’ve noted ‘flat’ in my calendar for the first weekend after chemo. I’ve tried to clean the mushrooms but only managed ten-fifteen minutes at a time. I’ve slept – and slept – and slept – and my feet are in pain. Neuropathic pain in the feet is expected, normal, and quite debilitating – it feels as if I’ve danced for a couple of weeks in flimsy high heels.

I’ve been wearing these fluffy pink socks to try to alleviate some of the pain. At least walking is slightly less painful but I’ve tried to keep my feet off the floor most of the day. And tomorrow will be worse. I asked the oncologist about my disco ball of pain and she told me “That’s a common side effect from the Neulasta, here, have some pain killers“. Preparing myself for pain day – I might actually take a sleeping pill to get through the day.

In the mean time I’m going to dream about my new, favourite boots from Demonia – wow! I’m in luuurrrrrrve!!! Wish list, people. Wish list. You know you want to see me in those.

From heaven to hell (we are now entering phase II)

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Magical purple willow lantern

In 12 hours I will be waiting for my first dose of Taxotere. Taxotere is an anti-cancer (“antineoplastic” or “cytotoxic”) chemotherapy drug and is classified as a “plant alkaloid,” a “taxane” and an “antimicrotubule agent”.

Worst case scenario: chronic neuropathy, myalgia and arthralgia; chronic hair loss and acute nail loss; nausea, diarrhoea and vomiting; fatigue, weakness and fluid retention; anemia; fever and insomnia.

Yay.

Went to the hospital for a new biopsy today. On the way home, a semi had blown a wheel (or something) so we were all stuck in a tunnel for a long time. Long enough for P6 Rock to play both Road to Hell and Highway to Hell. Not sure if it’s a sign of sorts. Happy that DAB radio worked in that tunnel.

Some have asked me why I’m getting chemo before the operation instead of after.

As you may recall, the tumour shrunk dramatically the first couple of weeks. I’ve now been on Tamoxifen/Zoladex for 6 months and it stopped shrinking a couple of months ago. Although it’s still shriveled and deflated, it’s still almost the same diameter as the first time I had an ultrasound (ca 5 cm) so instead of calling it quits with my status as guinea pig (let’s face it, not much use in checking effect of meds after the mastectomy) The Powers That Be want to see if chemo after tam/zol will reduce the tumour more or if it’s as small as it will get.

So we’re entering phase II instead of just testing tam/zol. Hooray! I get to be a guinea pig for at least 8 more weeks! And I can now blame “chemo brain” for everything I forget.

When cancer isn’t the worst possible diagnosis

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I had my second appointment with my new physical therapist (LB) yesterday. The first time I went to see her, she asked about my medical records. When I started telling her about all the tests I’ve had over the years, and all the different specialists I’ve been to see, and the mountains of paperwork now acquired, she agreed that it was easier that I just tell her. And as I have a gazillion test results and know quite well what they have (and haven’t found), she could start on the physical examination yesterday.

Good news: I’m still really flexible (she was quite impressed). She even laughed when I made my default joke – that I would be more flexible if all the stupid fat wasn’t in the way – and she agrees that the f*ckwit endocrinologist I went to who claimed that gaining 40 kg in 5 years is normal was an *sshole. She’s also rather impressed that my muscles are as pliable as they are and agrees that if they hadn’t been, I would probably have been in a lot more pain.

Ever since my backpain started, I’ve tested quite a lot of treatments. I’ve had physical therapy (of various sorts), I’ve done belly-dancing, yoga, pilates, hot water exercise, walked for miles in the forest, worked out in the gym. I’ve tried easy workouts and brutal ones. I’ve tried ignoring the pain and working through it. I’ve tested all sorts of drugs – anti-inflammatory (ketaprofen, celecoxib, diclofenac with sodium and potassium, naproxen), analgetics (paracetamol, phenazone, ibruprofen) and opiates (codeine).

I’m open for treatment suggestions if anyone knows of anything I haven’t yet tried.

I had a great neurologist who (after a dozen various tests) ended up with “unspecified myalgia” as official diagnosis, “There seems to be a chronic inflammation in your lumbar region but I have no idea what causes it nor how to treat it” as the unofficial. There were a lot of test results but none of them gave a clear diagnosis. My mitochondria have stopped working properly, I have fatty deposits where there aren’t supposed to be any, and I have muscular dystrophy.

Six years on, I’ve still not found any treatment that alleviates my back pain. I can go for a walk in the forest but that’s it. If I do anything during this walk (ie pick mushrooms or berries, get on my knees to take macro shots of interesting plants or insects) it triggers the inflammation. If I take any drugs, best case there’s no effect, worst case my pain flares up.

There have been a number of signs that my body is worn out from heavy physical work over many years. Torn rotator cuff, chronic latent shin splints, jumper’s knee and tendonitis in both arms, and this sudden switch from fully functioning muscles to mitochondrial disorders and dystrophy. The additional inflammations and uncharacteristic pain when I had the double neck prolapse last year. And yes, the bod stopped functioning overnight, when one day of visiting a number of galleries and exhibitions in London left me in so much pain I was unable to walk after sitting down.

Back to LB. After examining me thoroughly, she gave me the news no-one really wants. The most probable cause of my back pain is that my lumbar column is worn out. The good(-ish) news is that I now have a couple of pretty clear diagnoses to hunt – facet syndrome/facet joint problems, lumbar spine osteoarthritis, sacroiliac joint dysfunction, lumbar spinal stenosis – the bad news is that regardless of diagnosis, my back is f*cked. There are no good treatment options. Between skeletal and muscular issues, I will never have a functioning body again.

I also explained that my neck/shoulder/headache issues aren’t something she needs worry about. I explained how the main problem is that my neck stiffens if I don’t get a good night’s sleep, which causes pain travelling down into my shoulders and up into my head. She seems to agree with this and we decided that unless I get another prolapse we won’t bother too much. I already have the tools and know what to (not) do.

Our goal has therefore become finding tools for me to prevent triggering lower back pain flares and/or manage to deal with them (at the moment, my only option when they flare up is to lie down). I’ll have to make an appointment with my GP so we can start applying for full disability.