Page 158 - She's One Crazy Lady!

It was stressf“
quite common. I could also feel the drugs going through this time which wasn’t too pleasant. However, I got myself home and hoped I’d feel the same as I did on number one, with little or no further side-effects. Not this time. This time round the drugs decided to mess me about and I ended up with shingles around my head with sore spots, blisters and shooting pains. This entailed me going back to the chemo suite, where I had to sit in isolation and be seen by an eye specialist as the spots and blisters were very close to my eyes and were ‘travelling’. They were thinking they would have to admit me but thankfully said they had seen me quickly enough and prescribed more drugs to stop it getting worse. (I was so glad I had taken out a season ticket for any prescriptions!) I found myself feeling miserable and irritable. Having shingles meant I couldn’t be in close proximity of people, so even more solitary days at home. Towards the end of the three-week period the rashes and spots had gone so I was allowed to mingle again and even went back to school – the first time since July but sadly, that had its consequences too, which I will explain in the next chapter. It was hard and this was only No. 2. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to No. 3.
Round Three
I admit to feeling apprehensive about this one and felt very self-con- scious going to the chemo suite having to wear the dreaded wig, which I had grown to detest even more, for it kept slipping and moving. I only wore it because I felt I should make the effort to look, at least, a little bit smarter. True to her word, Lynne kindly put the clippers all over and got rid of the stubborn little tufts that were annoying me. Earlier that week, Marilyn and I were in a clothes shop in town when she asked me to go and look in the mirror – she was laughing. With caution I stood in front of the mirror and to my horror, ‘hamster’ sat on my head like a soldier’s busby, almost ready to ping off. I laughed too but, in my mind, decided that I would only wear it on such occasions where a baseball cap just didn’t seem appropriate. At this time I had to go and see Dr Lawrence to have my sick note extended but nothing was said about my hair and on my return home that day I’d had a delivery of a beautiful bouquet from the staff at Whitefriars to ‘celebrate your hair-raising experience!’ This was so unexpected and really lifted my spirits. Life went on.
Again, my veins were not co-operating and the pain of trying to get a cannula in was, I have to say, excruciating despite them slapping heat pads on my arms and soaking them in warm water. All I could think of was that there were another five sessions to go. It was stressful, which was sad, because I’d prided myself on being in control by always saying I was ‘fine’. Everything wasn’t fine this time round – I couldn’t hide my pain and discomfort. After some deliberations, the medical team, having got the cannula in and the drugs pumped through, suggested that, because my veins had collapsed, I may have to have a line fitted to prevent me having to be punctured and prodded about so much,
ul, which was sad, because I’d prided myself on being in control by always saying I was ‘fine’. Everything wasn’t fine this time round – I couldn’t hide my pain and
discomfo”
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