First day after first chemotherapy I feel ok. A little weary but ok. We go to a cafe, then lunch out. My son attends his circus class. We head Home when my aching breasts demand release. I have to pump my contaminated milk out and tip it down the sink. My confused, sad and angry toddler tugs at my shirt asking for a feed. My breasts ache to feed him. The tears fall from both of us. I cannot hold him as he struggles, and claws at my clothes, knocking my painful boobs.
Sunday the fatigue sets in earlier. And constipation. I call my partner to return urgently from dropping his parents at the airport. For complicated reasons I won’t go into, I know there is a microlax enema in the nappy bag. He returns and this helps a little.
That afternoon I sleep and sleep but my dreams are muted. I startle awake instead of drifting off when I think about breast feeding and the tears come again.
My toddler accepts a bottle of cows milk in my arms. I cry.
That night I have difficulty sleeping and my bones ache. I imagine this is my bone marrow dying.
Breasts still full and aching but easing somewhat.
It is 6 am and I am awake.
My job now is surviving.