19 February 2021 – Chemo, ROUND 7

As usual, my parents came up the night before and I told them about Sophie’s Choice. They agreed with my decision or at least supported me, I know they realise how gruelling this is for me and that they’d so anything to take the pain away.

The last chemo in the cosy love shack of the hospital waiting area opened my eyes to how other patients (in a pre-Covid world) have chemo. They brought in drinks and nibbles. So I got brave. My Mum (love her), prepared some snacks for me and I took them in like a child in nursery, set up my little cosy den area with my phone and headphones and settled in to the oh-so-fun routine of pills, cannulas and chemo.

Honestly, I felt I had this in the bag – what an omen. I was all jovial – penultimate chemo – if I could high five and chest bump with the staff and patients I would.

So I settled in, had a little snackaroo and sandwich, nestled in to my Lorezepam daze and had my oramorph ready for when the pain started in the arm.

When I was discharged, I settled into the car and I felt rough, I mean I started to go downhill quickly, so had another shot of Oramorph. When I got home, the usual PJ routine and WHAM, the vomiting started eurgh – I am now even off both red meat and bread!

I just went to bed, I gave up, tomorrow would be better right? WRONG – for some epic reason, bar the snacking, this session has wiped me out completely. The sweats are worse, the chills are evil, the hands are constantly fizzing and I feel weak.

My parents were awesome, trying to bolster me through, but they can see I’m over this now. They stayed an extra night partly because of me and partly because my dad had another funny health turn (they happen and hopefully we can see a solution soon to help him out).

So to cheer me up, I text the pupsters owner, to see if Bertie had been born and I had pictures come through of these beautiful little puplets- golden and black. Bertie to my mind was going to be a boy dog, but fate had other ideas. There was one black dog and several golden bitches – and I wept. I mean ugly crying… I felt like a child that had their sandwiches cut in to circles when I expressly said I wanted them in squares.

My Dad saw me at this point and the despair I had in making a decision – you could see the flashback in his eyes of me as a child – I felt like an idiot HA! Anyway, there was no decision, I had always pictured Bertie as golden, and so she would be Beatrice ‘Bertie’ – my little girl!  I’m going to be a momma to my very own furbaby!

So although thanks to Covid everyday drags, I am one day closer to ending chemo (and the bastard is punishing me for that right now) and one day closer to bringing my little girl home.

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