Have been feeling rather yuk these last few days! Surprise, surprise...(sung in a Liverpudlian Cilla Black voice..being true to my roots!Precious few of those left , on the head at least!) I knew it would happen, but ever the optimist, was harbouring a secret hope that IT would not be quite as bad second time around. Hey-ho...I am here to report that the side-effects ARE back in a big ,fat, nasty, evil bastard way. Those two-faced steroids gave me false hope again, so here we are ,back at square one!
Mornings are the worst. I wake up (having not actually slept for more than minutes at a time..that's how it seems!) I get up in the way an octogenarian probably does, in slow, painfully unattractive movements until both legs are outside the bed.....hoist myself to upright and courageously don the lovely fluffy old lady dressing-gown, I have grown quite fond of, of late, as its unseasonably cold in Greece at the moment!
The next hurdle is getting through the living room, where the dogs will greet me, so I get a welcome sit-down and good old-fashioned face ,and lately, bald pate-licking!!! That's if I'm not sporting the sexy night-cap I wear in bed or the woollen beanie-hat on especially cold mid-mornings! (Don't imagine any of this is going on before 10am..I .mean it takes me half-an-hour to even open my eyes these mornings !)
Next leg of this daily marathon is opening the shutters to let said dogs out, which, of course is a waste of precious effort, since they aren't ", going out in that weather, not at the crack of dawn, Mum! NO WAY!" But my dogs are my support system, my replacement children and they NEED me, as R is at work all day. They give me the reason to make this huge, gargantuan journey from bedroom to kitchen every morning. They never judge me, nor pour scorn on my baldness and pale-faced ugliness.Nor do they make ANY allowances for my poorliness...To them I am just MUM, as I've always been and they need to eat. This is the relationship, after all, that all dog-lovers have with their wards,but it is thrown into sharper perpective, when that symbiotic union is sometimes what keeps you sane and (you'll think I'm kidding, in the face of all this) HAPPY!
Final leg: the kitchen. Kettle on, dog-food in bowls ( only 2 now, because we lost our beautiful Layla a few months ago to the same shitty disease.SHE was my hero because she never gave up, even when the vet was administering the injection that would finally bring her peace..she struggled and fought to the bitter end! That's my girl!)
Next my cereal and milk in my bowl, tea-bag (green,of course!)in cup with hot water......sit down, then ...back to bed!!
I am somewhat improved , movement-wise by the afternoon, so I DO look after my husband's needs, and he gets a meal every night, plus shirts ready etc. etc. during this "bad week", and I catch up on the real daily grind in the "medium bad and feeling much perkier last weeks". All in the planning!! I should have it down to a fine art by now after all these chemo sessions, and I reckon I have!!
DAILY GRIND? DAILY DODDLE, more like!!
,
Mornings are the worst. I wake up (having not actually slept for more than minutes at a time..that's how it seems!) I get up in the way an octogenarian probably does, in slow, painfully unattractive movements until both legs are outside the bed.....hoist myself to upright and courageously don the lovely fluffy old lady dressing-gown, I have grown quite fond of, of late, as its unseasonably cold in Greece at the moment!
The next hurdle is getting through the living room, where the dogs will greet me, so I get a welcome sit-down and good old-fashioned face ,and lately, bald pate-licking!!! That's if I'm not sporting the sexy night-cap I wear in bed or the woollen beanie-hat on especially cold mid-mornings! (Don't imagine any of this is going on before 10am..I .mean it takes me half-an-hour to even open my eyes these mornings !)
Next leg of this daily marathon is opening the shutters to let said dogs out, which, of course is a waste of precious effort, since they aren't ", going out in that weather, not at the crack of dawn, Mum! NO WAY!" But my dogs are my support system, my replacement children and they NEED me, as R is at work all day. They give me the reason to make this huge, gargantuan journey from bedroom to kitchen every morning. They never judge me, nor pour scorn on my baldness and pale-faced ugliness.Nor do they make ANY allowances for my poorliness...To them I am just MUM, as I've always been and they need to eat. This is the relationship, after all, that all dog-lovers have with their wards,but it is thrown into sharper perpective, when that symbiotic union is sometimes what keeps you sane and (you'll think I'm kidding, in the face of all this) HAPPY!
Final leg: the kitchen. Kettle on, dog-food in bowls ( only 2 now, because we lost our beautiful Layla a few months ago to the same shitty disease.SHE was my hero because she never gave up, even when the vet was administering the injection that would finally bring her peace..she struggled and fought to the bitter end! That's my girl!)
Next my cereal and milk in my bowl, tea-bag (green,of course!)in cup with hot water......sit down, then ...back to bed!!
I am somewhat improved , movement-wise by the afternoon, so I DO look after my husband's needs, and he gets a meal every night, plus shirts ready etc. etc. during this "bad week", and I catch up on the real daily grind in the "medium bad and feeling much perkier last weeks". All in the planning!! I should have it down to a fine art by now after all these chemo sessions, and I reckon I have!!
DAILY GRIND? DAILY DODDLE, more like!!
