Your Generosity gives hope.


I feel like I’m in a cage

I feel like I’m in a cage. A cage with no key. There is no escape. I will always feel the bars.

My sister visited. She is perhaps the only one who acknowledges that the odds aren’t good.

Everyone else is buoyed with optimism. “You will beat it”,

“The odds aren’t good” I say. “I’m frightened.”

“Yes” she says. “But we can hope for the best.”

I feel those cage bars close in. ……

Tomorrow is my last chemotherapy.

The last of sixteen.

They’ve been horrible.

Not the aftermath, to be honest, but the process of sticking me with needles and the nausea.

Oh, and the whole reminder of cancer thing.

But fortunately, I’ve only been to hospital twice as a result. Once for the septic arthritis (9 days) and just one overnight for a cold.

My eye lashes are gone. My public hair is gone. Leg and arm hair too. Eyebrows faint. My head hair is coming out.

What remains is thin, lank and fuzzy over the top.

My eyes are dry. I cannot wear contacts. My sleep is often poor.

I’ve had constant viruses manifesting as sore throats and coughing for the last six weeks since starting doxorubicin and chlorambucil.

I just get over one and it’s time to poison me again. Chemotherapy finishes after tomorrow.

Then a very brief respite to recover then surgery.

Surgery appointment 22nd.

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