Paul. November 24th 2017

Afternoon all, time for update number 2. So this week was the final bout of chemo for this round, 5 rounds left to go if all goes well.
It all started very much the same as usual, we got to Cherrybrook ward 20 minutes early and enjoyed reading the plethora of magazines dotted about the place. They'd had quite a few emergencies come in which had put us back about an hour or so but that was fine, Jo had the ever present supply of sugary refreshment which helped pass the time nicely.
Got in and settled in my usual bed for about 1pm or thereabouts, just in time for a free egg roll and biscuits, marvellous. I was then duly hooked up to the pump and the concoction of pre-meds was pushed through my PICC line and I looked forward to the usual extreme drowsiness which follows being given IV piriton...
So, with drowsiness well and truly set in the chemo bag was rigged up and so commenced week 3 of chemo. So far so normal. A nice doze for an hour while you're pumped full of super-aggressive drugs, lovely. Trouble, was, after 15 minutes or so I went bright red, my kidneys felt like they were desperately trying to make a break for it, hot flush doesn't even begin to cover that side of things and it felt like I was having one massive stomach cramp... apparently a pretty common reaction (with classic symptoms). The pump was stopped and I was assured that in a minute or two it'll disappear just as quickly as it turned up. Which it did. Took me a while to come back to planet earth however! Once the heat and aches had decided that they'd had enough we started again at 50% flow and everything was grand, the fatigue kicked in and sleep rocked up in a very timely manner to see me through to the close of play.
Apart from that there was nothing else of note, felt fine leaving and the next day I even drove the car for the first time in about 6 weeks! A nice walk was had at Topsham, Boaz had his first Maccy D's and a nice nap took up the rest of the day.
Then came Thursday. Or rather, didn't come. I woke at some point needing anti sickness pills rather urgently, which were duly delivered (along with the other members of the current conglomerate of drugs that is due at that time of day) and a very brief breakfast was eaten. That's all I remember until some point in the afternoon when I vaguely recall a tomato soup appearing with buttered bread - lovely! Trouble was I was no further than 1/4 of the way through the soup when the taste buds decided that hey, this wasn't soup, it was used engine oil. Metallic and bitty. Delightful. The day disappeared again after that only to make a slightly more than fleeting appearance at Boaz' bath time (7ish) where a delightful little man laughed a great deal (which really rather made what little of my day I'd seen) and was followed by chicken and chips with some veg thrown in. Very lovely. Struggling to stay awake, bed was calling and sure enough the day drifted off again.
That was my first proper "chemo day". I'd heard about it, my dad had told me about it, the nurses had talked about it, but the first time you go through it it's a big of a shock. Everything felt utterly exhausted from my fingers to my deepest organs. Really, really odd. Even the smallest objectives (rolling over in bed for instance) took not a small amount of planning, consideration and a whole load of "psyching up". The effort involved to get up to see Boaz was beyond anything I'd had to do at all in the last 6 weeks and that by a considerable margin.
Now, here were are on Friday and, apart from a little brain delay (it's still catching up poor thing) everything is largely normal again.
All in all a very strange week. And to know that chemo is cumulative and there are another 15 infusions to go, delightful...
Although we're only a day on, I'm struck by the thing that i remember most, the thing about yesterday that has stuck in my mind way above and beyond anything else... was seeing and hearing Boaz laugh in the bath. It's funny how when God puts you through trials, difficult days, there is always something delightful to focus on. Sometimes it takes a bit of looking, other times it's staring you straight in the face and you can't possibly miss it. To be frank, I'm not particularly looking forward to more chemo days like yesterday. But, knowing that God is running my life, that he's doing what's best and that his promises hold true no matter what happens is a massive comfort. Especially when they include promises like:
"Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you, he will neither fail or abandon you" --Deuteronomy 31:8
So, the one who made me, who keeps me, who does what's best for me, who went through hell itself for me will be there in the middle of whatever I'm going to go through. He'll never leave me, never fail me. That's pretty encouraging, no?