Ring That Bell.

Two weeks ago today – after four and a half months of trials, tribulations and transfusions – I had my final round of chemo.

But before I talk about that, let me go back a bit…

As you all know, cycle number four was very problematic, so I had a lower (read: normal) dose of chemo for the last two cycles. My side effects were not as harsh as they were before – I still suffered from muscle and joint pain, but at least my nerves did not feel like they were on fire every minute.

The day of my final chemo session was quite eventful. On that morning I was told that my neutrophil (white blood cell count) was too low for me to have chemo, so I had a blood test to see if there was any change in my results – if not, then my chemo would be postponed for a week. I was in two minds about this. I’d pretty much written off having chemo that day because I thought there would be no considerable change in my blood count to give me the go ahead; but I also wanted to have chemo on that day and ring the bell to signal that I’d finished. I saw so many other cancer sufferers have the pleasure of ringing the brass bell outside the chemo suite and I often imagined the day that it would be my turn. So when my nurse called back couple of hours later and said my neutrophil had increased to an appropriate level and it was all systems go, I was pleasantly surprised (well, not pleasantly because chemo isn’t pleasant).

So off I went back to the hospital and several hours later I. Rang. That. Bell (and got a round of applause).

Reaching the last chemo cycle is like being on a long-haul flight: you’ve been on the plane for hours, you’re fed up, cannot sleep properly and feel uncomfortable (probably because you haven’t got enough legroom). Then, the captain comes over the tannoy and says, ‘We are now making our descent towards our destination,’ and everyone is overjoyed before rushing to the toilet to freshen up.

When I finished, my main feelings were of happiness and relief. I still remember my consultant telling me last year that chemo would be for four-and-a-half months and thinking that it sounded an age away. But despite all the setbacks and sickness, the time went quite quickly. Each cycle had me settle into a routine where I felt like shit for the first week or two post-chemo, then slowly began to get better before knuckling down for another cycle and its rank side effects.

But that part of my treatment is now done and I’m very thankful.

Radiotherapy is up next, but I have to wait until my last chemo cycle is fully out of my system before I start. I’m fine about it and not nervous – unlike how I was before I started chemo. I’m feeling positive and hoping that helps see me through. Wish me luck!

Transfusions and Confusions.

So there I was in the chemo suite, undergoing my latest blood transfusion – my fourth in a month – and I have hit that point: the nurses had trouble finding a decent vein.

Chemo has blackened my veins, my cuticles, my soul (I’m joking), so it’s getting trickier finding a vein each time, whether for chemo or a transfusion. Oh dear.

They played music from the 80s on the radio, which was nice but it was mainly power ballads on repeat and well… let’s just say I’m glad I had my headphones. I couldn’t tell the amazing nurses that ‘I Wanna Know What Love Is’ is a rubbish song and I heard ‘The Power of Love’ three times already and can they put my Spotify playlist on instead? After all, it wasn’t only myself in the suite – plenty of other people were there, all in the same boat as me and I’m sure that most of them love power ballads.

Blood transfusions are usually quite straightforward, it is the waiting that I can’t stand. As I mentioned, it was my fourth transfusion in a month and, considering the week I had, things could be worse.

Sometimes it feels as if my body is trying to sabotage me. I’m getting over another period which came on two weeks after my last (lengthy) one finished and left me feeling fatigued, fed up and emotional, often at the same time. On top of that, I had horrendous stomach cramps that felt like someone reached inside my body and pressed my sides until I felt sick.

As much as this illness does not deserve any of my tears, I’m not ashamed to say that I have had some tearful moments. I cried a few times last week because of my situation. I get annoyed reading people saying that women they knew who suffer(ed) from cancer ‘never cried’. As if when you are going through something as life-changing as this, you are going to be ultra-positive and stoic all the time. One minute, women are deemed ‘too emotional’, then when something like this turns up on our doorstep we are expected to be tough to show how we are beating the shit out of cancer. Plus, as a black woman, there is a perception that we are always strong but this is obviously not true. We are all human and crying does not show weakness.

Do not feel ashamed of crying or feeling emotional when going through cancer. Cry when you want to, because there will be times when you feel like giving into your emotions and rage against the world. Just don’t let it cloud your everyday life.

Anyway, on the plus side, I’m now halfway through my chemo: three sessions down, three to go. I’m also wearing rather fetching turbans to cement my fashionista status (this is a lie – I’m usually five years behind fashion-wise).

Blackstrap molasses have become a regular part of my diet, as they contain a high level of iron. I dilute one or two tablespoons in a small cup of hot water and drink it. If you are completely mad, you can try eating a tablespoon or two straight from the jar but it is even worse undiluted, with a wretched taste and a texture like gritty treacle.

This process has been challenging but, despite the setbacks, I’m getting through it. There is a weird routine to chemotherapy that you settle into quite quickly. Like most things in life, you have to breathe deeply and get on with it the best way that you can. Of course, there are moments when I wonder how the fuck did I get here, but on the whole I’m focused and absorbing all the positive vibes being sent my way.

The Wall.

Just had the worst week (and a half) of fatigue ever. Thanks to a combination of chemo and my period, I was a hot mess.

I had got over the worst of my post-chemo nausea and was beginning to feel better. I was not expecting my period to show up but ‘Aunt Flo’ rocked up like a gatecrasher at a party and sapped all my energy for the whole week.

Most days I felt so drained, like a pig in an abattoir. One day I went for a 30 minute walk and resembled an old woman trying to walk up Mount Everest. I was so tired that I had to hold onto my mum instead of the other way round. But I did it and it felt like an accomplishment.

I felt better the next day so I went to do a bit of shopping and ended up having to sit down a few times, as the wall of fatigue would hit me and I could barely walk. Fatigue is frustrating because it makes you feel like you are lazy and that you must fight through the tiredness barrier. But you can’t. The only way to fight fatigue is to not fight it, but that meant I had to go to bed when I got home – again. It can leave you with a sense of guilt but, when that wall hits you it knocks you out, so all you can do is sit down, throw a blanket over yourself and REST. Some days I couldn’t be arsed to cleanse my face properly because it felt like a chore, despite promising to pamper myself whenever I could.

To relieve my extreme tiredness, I took everything I could find to boost my energy levels: vitamins, tonic, the lot. It helped but only up to a point, as I then discovered that my blood count was very low – too low to have my next chemo session. As a result, I needed immediate blood and iron transfusions and had to stay in hospital overnight as a precautionary measure. The transfusions were ok, although there were a couple of issues. Finding a decent vein proved slightly problematic and the cannula was deemed too narrow for the blood to go through after it had been put in (typical!) and I was concerned that they would have to take it out and put in a new one… but they didn’t. Huzzah!

Since my transfusions I feel much better and more energised, but I know that – come chemo time – things will go downhill for a few days before I pick up again. After a couple of rounds of chemo, it becomes routine – although not the sort of routine you want to keep up forever. Just got to keep on keepin’ on.

Red Faced.

Had my second chemo session a week ago. I felt much more relaxed than the first one as I knew what to expect, but it was also slightly frustrating.

The week before, I felt more like myself bar some fatigue; I was going for walks, keeping relatively busy – I was even dancing (around my room – don’t worry, I wasn’t going out raving). But the next cycle was only a few days away and I knew that meant I would be back to square one, suffering the nausea that creeps up on you and knocking back anti-sickness tablets until it faded away.

My stomach churned all evening after the chemo session, threatening to bring up the bile I held within. Lo and behold, I projectile vomited for several minutes solid and yes, it was as horrendous as it sounds.

When I finished, my face was as red as a tomato. I’ve never seen anything like it – it was still red 24 hours later, though not as ferociously as before. On one hand I looked like the planet Mars; but on the other, I suddenly knew what it was like to have a natural rouge blush.

Since then, I have felt like nothing more than a bloated windbag. No matter how much ginger or mint tea I had to drink, my stomach has felt weird. Having to drink water all the time is boring. It’s drummed into you from the start and, as someone who likes water, even I’m tired of it. I’ve added lemon (not too often, because it’s acidic), fruit infusers and they help, but only up to a point.

Oh and my hair has taken quite a turn. Let me take you back: I decided to cut my hair a few days ago because I was fed up of seeing it fall out, so – with help from my dad – I opted for a no.3 (or was it 4?) haircut. It looked good and I was surprised that very little hair fell onto my pillow while I was asleep. Then the next day, I thought I’d give it a quick wash and go.

Holy. Cow.

What little hair was left on my head came tumbling down in clumps. As I’ve said before, I was expecting this and was ready to embrace it. But seeing my little Afro fall apart before my very eyes with literally no effort was rather unnerving. Now, my hair is uneven in parts so I have to shave it down because it’s only going to get worse with each cycle. It’s not ideal, especially as the weather is getting colder but that’s what hats are for.

Aaaaand It Begins…

Shit.

I noticed more hair than usual falling out when I washed it the other day, but it’s since gone up another level, hence the above photos. It was the easiest detangling session I’ve had since I went natural!

Despite this, I still have a lot of hair on my head – but for how long? I was expecting to lose it all and was not worried about it happening, but I was gobsmacked. It was really surreal seeing all that hair (my hair) fall in the bathroom sink. I was offered the chance to use a cold cap but I saw a woman wearing one when I had my first chemo session and oh. my. word. Picture a rugby player’s helmet mixed with a basketball, complete with very uncomfortable-looking straps… it looked hideous and so uncomfortable. Why would I want to put myself through that when I could just wear headscarves or a wig or rock my bald head (when it’s not too cold)?

My mindset is that I don’t mind losing my hair because it’s all about the bigger picture: getting through my treatment and getting better and being in remission (God willing). That is my priority, not my hair. I understand why some people want to keep their hair as hair is often associated with beauty and our hair is a part of us and I’ll admit, seeing it fall out is a bit unnerving. But it’s just hair – I’m sure it’ll grow back and I might look like a potato when I go bald but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Chemo: My Debut.

I was anxious before my first chemotherapy session. Although the pre-assessment nurse went through everything, I still was unsure regarding what to expect because it is like diving into the unknown. But when the drugs went into my veins I didn’t turn into a werewolf or howl at the moon, I was… fine.

Unfortunately, due to the TV screen being on the wall above me, I was forced to watch Loose Women. In an ironic twist (for me), they were discussing breast cancer, the statistics on how many are affected, talking about diet and how you can avoid getting it – not what I wanted to hear as I sat in my chair watching the chemo drugs go into my body.

When I finished, I felt ok but mildly nauseous. I thought all I needed was a cup of tea but I was wrong, because the nausea and the fatigue soon set in and made themselves at home. The vomiting and general shitty feeling lasted a few days but the nausea was much longer, coming and going in waves for two weeks. Honestly, it felt like it would never end.

My appetite disappeared for several days, so meals that I would practically inhale within minutes now took me half an hour to eat. Then, I would feel terrible again and bring it all up.

My diet now is like that of a pregnant woman. I have to avoid certain foods such as:

• Unpasteurised milk (meaning certain cheeses such as Brie and Stilton are a no-go. I love cheese but am not a fan of those kinds so I was ok with this but, to be on the safe side, I’m avoiding other cheeses such as Camembert, feta and mozzarella. These are classed as ok but I’d rather steer clear of them).

• Raw egg

• Raw fish

• Yogurt

• Live bacteria-based products

• Ice cream straight from the van – so no more Mr Whippy (just as well it’s Autumn, otherwise I’d be gutted).

Just when I thought I’d got over the worst of the fatigue during cycle one, it decided to play tricks on me. One morning (two weeks after my first session), I woke up feeling like I had a fight with Anthony Joshua. I was so ridiculously tired; my energy levels were non-existent and I felt rundown.

My body told me to go back to bed and even though I told myself not to fight the fatigue, I had only got up a few hours before, so I thought going back to sleep would not help. But I gave in and told myself I would have an hour-long nap. Well, one hour turned into three, but it did me the world of good and I felt more energetic afterwards.

Cycle one is almost done and I’m preparing for the second one. I’m guessing that this cycle has done its job and the next one will build on top of that, destroying any cancer cells potentially lurking within me, but it also means more of other things. More fatigue! More hair loss! More nausea! All I can do is wait and see.