Coping with Chemo

 

3/12/2024

So today is my first chemotherapy session: one down, 5 to go. It's been a long time coming so it feels like a bit of a milestone to finally be underway. So far it has all been much more straightforward and less frightening than I had expected - the brilliant staff at the chemo unit helped with that. I had also been on a bit of an impromptu visit to the unit last week with new chemo-buddy Kirsty who I met at a Skin and Make Up session last week. That had really helped to put me at ease for today so I knew what to expect.

Cancer is a very selfish disease. It consumes all of your waking thoughts. All I've been able to think about is what is happening to me. Cancer, and more particularly cancer treatment, affects nearly all aspects of your physical and mental health. It is all-consuming. That has meant that the long lead up to starting chemo (two and a half months after my lumpectomy) gave me far too much time to dwell on what was to come, to massively overthink each minute detail and possible side effect. It is mentally and physically draining. I have been most hung up on my hair - or the impending lack of it. This surprised me. I have never particularly liked my hair, or held it in much esteem. But the panic over it going, over eyelashes and eyebrows disappearing, has been intense. Hours agonising over whether to try cold capping (a fairly horrible treatment to try and retain some of your hair) or not. Crying over how stupid I look in hats. Freaking out about the thought of getting a short 'pre-chemo' cut. Following a lot of reassurance from my wonderful husband, we have decided together to embrace my inner-alien and just kiss goodbye to the hair for a while. I want to explore why I was so worried about losing my hair, and hopefully to come out of the other side realising that hair really isn't that important in the whole scheme of things. Cancer has a snowball effect. From my little lump, the snowball started rolling down a steeper and steeper hill...getting bigger and bigger.....lump, biopsy, cancer, operation, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, hormones..... I can't stop it. I have no control over what is happening. Just caught up in the forwards trajectory as it careers towards the next stage. One minute I was normal (ish), now suddenly here I am in a chemo ward having my first poisonous infusion. I've been through the stages of grief to get here: shock, denial, anger, depression. And then suddenly I found acceptance. I think it was the day I went for my wig-fitting - which was not as awful as I assumed it would be - and happened to be the same day I had my pre-chemo haircut. Thanks to my lovely friend Louise, what I had expected to be a traumatic occasion actually became quite pleasant and I loved the cut so much more than I could have imagined. From that point on I entered full preparation mode - drinking lots of water, building up my strength (by mainly eating naughty things!), moisturising like crazy, getting a manicure and a pedicure (dark nail polish can help to preserve your nails during chemo) and generally 'nesting'. That has given me some focus and distraction, and I hope will maximise my chances of getting through the treatment more easily.

It's all fairly awful. But there are some positive bits to all this. The hospital have been amazing - I've felt so well looked after, listened to and protected by them. And there is a simply fantastic community of breast cancer women all supporting each other. After my first oncology appointment, which was rather overwhelming and scary listening to long lists of drugs and side effects, the nurse gave me a box from a charity called Little Lifts (littlelifts.org.uk). Started by a lady who had been through Breast Cancer, the box is a gift of lots of things to help you get through chemotherapy. It was lovely - it felt like a hand had just reached out and held mine reassuringly, understanding. It meant a lot right at that moment. This journey has been peppered with moments like that. BC women are an amazing bunch and I know I will come out of this better having experienced that. Lizzie Wright