The next week is really very odd. It's a lovely long Easter weekend, which is gorgeous, but hanging over us is the fact that chemo starts on Tuesday, which is a bit of a sword of Damocles and as such, a bit of a dampener.
Added to which Tiny Tim is now in a wheelchair, rather than her crutches - which means that many of the fun things to do in Singapore are closed to her. Even swimming is sore.
But we have a fun time, and the kids go back to school - and J and I have a fantastic time on Easter Monday pretending to be millionaires at the top of Marina Bay Sands. It feels like the prisoners last cigarette.... Definitely a case of let's really enjoy this while we can.
Waiting for chemo is a bit like waiting for labour to begin. You know it's going to hurt, but you don't know how much; you know it's going to be messy (ditto); you know all the mechanics and the theory, but until it happens to you, you have no idea how it's going to feel. Everyone's experience of the side effects is different (and thanks to Dr Crippen, we are only too aware of all the lovely possible options), but we have no idea which ones are going to hit me.
And like childbirth, everyone lies (or is evasive) about what it's really like.
Oh, and there's a screaming bald thing at the end of it all.
So - chemo day arrives - and it's like having a badly timed return flight from holiday. J and I wander around not knowing quite what to do with ourselves before the appointment time - there isn't enough time to do anything properly, but rather too much time to do nothing with.
We turn up and are shown into what looks like a modern opium den - lots of cozy little cubbyholes with curtains across them, all containing an EZ-boy chair. Rushing around are several people in smurf outfits (ok, no hats, but everything else) carrying various implements of drug administration and hooking people up.
A smurf with triangular hair comes to look after us - her name is Yeti - you couldn't make this stuff up! She is shows us into our den and is sweet and explains what each of the million drugs they are going to give me will do and then she starts the process.
It takes ages, and each drug has it's own peculiar feeling - one makes me feel as if my earphones are going to pop out with a bizarre ear pressure session, one makes me feel like I've eaten Wasabi, one makes my bits tingle (but not in a nice way), one makes my ear feel as though it's melting. I get green spots at one point (that feeling you get just before you faint) and J holds my hand until it passes. I'm slightly spaced out throughout - they've given me some Benadryl in there somewhere too - which means I sadly can't focus on the Heroes Season 2 that I've downloaded for the occasion. Shame. I generously offer it to J but he's too busy holding my hand. I'm sure there will be time to watch it later.
Then its over and we drive home through the Singapore rain and I start to feel a bit car-sick. This may be related to J's anti taxi manoevering but who knows. I kiss the kids hello and go upstairs for a nice cup of tea and a biscuit. Meanwhile, J borrows a wheelbarrow to bring in all the pills I've been given on a "just in case" basis. Thank goodness BUPA is covering the bills.
So far so good. I feel as though I've lit a fuse somewhere and we are just waiting for the bomb to explode...... We wait and see.
As zen-like and serene as ever, J xx
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