The road to recovery....

Well, as mentioned, it's been another tough few weeks since the last dose of chemotherapy. And, of course, it wouldn't be right if a member of the family didn't get ill (as they have done for the last few treatments)... This time it was Tilly, who decided to come down with croup a few days after treatment. So, into isolation again for me – which has actually been one of the toughest things because, as a Mother, you naturally want to be with your child when they are ill.  Anyhow, thankfully I was spared that virus - phew!

Unfortunately, this last dose fell on half term - grrrreat. It just makes it harder with two children at home. And hard it was. Me in bed, two kids and a frustrated husband trying to cope with a poorly, demanding 6-year old and a spritely baby. Not the most ideal environment for recovery. Joy of joys!

Whilst my sister was down, it was the calm before the storm and then… as expected, it knocked me sideways. Boohoo! Aching bones to the point where it hurt to even lie my head on the pillow - pain all through the jaw, cheeks and head. Horrendous nightmares coupled with night sweats and generally poor, fitful sleep for days. Pain all over the body, including teeth, eyeballs, spine - crippling at times and uncomfortable to even lie in bed. Not to mention the emotional tornado sweeping through me - irritable, tearful, angry and generally all over the place! This time round it literally took me to the brink of despair...  I wondered if I'd ever feel normal again!

Now three weeks on, I still feel pretty battered and bruised. The stuffing has been well and truly knocked out of me - physically, mentally, emotionally (yet again I'm not in control of the tears!) and spiritually. My body basically feels like it’s been run over by a juggernaut. Muscles are still hurting at the slightest movement and I’m unable to climb stairs without becoming breathless. However, we plod on and I only have to look around at other peoples situations and feel thankful I'm still here, on the road to recovery.

One of the hardest things to cope with now is the realisation of what I've actually been through – it’s hit me hard since finishing this treatment.  Mainly, I think, because they sweep you up at diagnosis time and you are then on this fast treadmill of appointment after appointment and it all feels so surreal. Now I've had time to stand still, breathe and soak up what has happened... and it feels very real, shocking and scary - thinking about actually having C and the future. And, of course, anxiety about the next step - radiotherapy. Back to fear of the unknown. Plus, I'm ready for my hair to come back now! I'm so fed up with having none and catching sight of myself in the mirror!

I also have an added worry about being symptomatic for the menopause. Well, hot flushes and mood swings, which could also be the chemotherapy - but the doctors have informed me that, due to my age, I'm bang on the line (50/50) as to whether my body will kick start into it. Jeeeez! I guess worse things could happen but please, body, if you're listening, maybe not just quite yet. I'm really not digging the night sweats that much!

Then, would you believe it (quite clearly luck is not on our side at the moment!), I spent the afternoon in A&E on Sunday with little Lilabelle after five days of fevers = a sleep pattern like a newborn = broken parents......again!! Thankfully, it’s all resolving itself now after we detected a urine infection. So, she be on the mend - Hoorah!

Naively, at the time of diagnosis you just think: ‘ok, big deal, I've been diagnosed so I'll just have the treatment and I'll be fine.’ I honestly had no idea what was in store. Chemotherapy (with two young children) has caused so much havoc in our lives – it’s made the simplest things stressful and has turned me into a completely different person, stripped of patience and day to day coping abilities. Not to mention the pressure on our marriage - arguments, misunderstandings and irrational behaviours. All because we have been so sleep deprived and blinded by the enormity of the C world. Humph! I have realised that people will never truly understand what the journey is like unless they have lived it themselves. How could they? (especially when people ask how I am, most of the time I reply 'doing ok' so as not to bore them with a list of ailments again). For that reason, I now know why, when I told my friend who has been through a similar journey about my diagnosis, she burst into tears and said: 'I just don't want anyone I know to have to go through this experience.’

So now, as I thankfully turn my back on the chemotherapy chapter of my life, I came across this quote. I have seen it several times and it has never really touched me but this time it has real meaning in my life. I feel like I'm falling apart... and it’s now time for me to focus on the rebuilding... step by step, brick by brick... which feels like it could be a long process, especially emotionally and physically. But, hey... I've got the time. Time to put plans in place, decide how to shape the future and think about what, if any, changes I want to make. Time to find my spirit again, my path in life and a balance between mother and wife whilst giving myself time to heal from this awful experience. First though, it’s on to the radiotherapy chapter, which I'm praying is nowhere near as ghastly as the trials and tribulations of chemotherapy.