February Stars Bring February Scars

This week has seen a new month veer its head, and to be honest I've not had the best of starts to February. Treatment has been utterly brutal these past few days, and even though I am cycling through a notoriously bad stage of the chemotherapy gauntlet, it's been very hard to keep on with a positive attitude through all the hardships and drastic changes that my body has had to endure. Now of course I never expected treatment to be akin to elementary bread making, but nothing can fully prepare you for what can only described as the horror. THE HORROR. But being that as it may, I am still fighting. I will win. I will get better. The road just looks long as hell from here.

Not the most uplifting first paragraph to this post. For that I'm sorry. I'll try and lighten the mood a bit with a gleeful run down of all the super chemicals that they give me and their wonderful side effects. First on the bill is Vincristine. Ooooh Vincristine. You and me buddy. We've been through much already have the pair of us. This lovely stuff is a drip that only lasts for 5 minutes, once a week, but my God, its the worst of the bloody lot. What's its main side effect? Constipation. THAT'S WHAT. And my God don't you know about it. Stomach cramps, sensations of being stabbed by a samurai over and over again and a general lack of motivation to even acknowledge existence makes Vincrisitine the big bad man of chemotherapy. Three more doses of this bastard coming up. I can hardly wait.

Next on the list, Daunorubicin, commonly known as Captain destroyer of all things hairstyles. Now even though I'm yet to actually lose any hair from my head (you may recall I shaved it off myself), it is worth pointing out that Daunorubicin is a patient player. Much like the careful Warlord, or the perfectionist painter, he'll pick his moment only when he feels it's time to do so, therefore completely bamboozling you and leaving you feeling cheated and enraged to the point that you can only fall to your knees and bellow to the Gods WHHHHYYYYYY. So naturally I don't look forward to this. I'm actually growing to like my short hair, and as it's growing so fast I'm pleased to see that in perhaps two weeks time I could actually style the bloody thing. Two weeks seems just about the right time for Senor Dauno to cast his killing curse on these brown locks and commit them to their foregone end. Devastation shall sweep the lands. And I will be sullen.

Oh yeah, Daunorubicin also makes you tired as hell, so I won't even have the energy to shave my hair again. That's just nice.

Peg L-asparaginase. Not so much a monster one this. Just the process. Injections, in the buttocks. Both buttocks. Flanked my two nurses, pants pulled down, my dignity is vanquished. Gotta laugh I suppose.

And finally, the steriods. No, not the steroids that give you roid rage, rather the ones that make you hungry and long for food that you once could enjoy but now can't because of the limitations of the hospital menu. Over the last two or so weeks I have dreamed or thought about: steak, curry, Sunday roast, Nandos, McDonald's, fish and chips w/ saveloy, TGI Fridays, Pizza Hut, more streak, sorbet, roast pork baguettes, Thai food, KFC, shepherd's pie and Northern Sole, plus more. This appetite I've created is driving me mental, all because of little steroids. How does that work? All I know is, after leaving hospital, me and Ellise are going out eating for one week armed to the teeth in discount codes and tip money and eating the most food that I have ever consumed. That's only fair.

Next time I'll fill you in on some other awesome characters that I've encountered in the ward. Some are Doctors, some are Nurses, others I really couldn't tell you. I'll try and make the aliases good.

Love,

Ryan.