Walking through fire

Last week was tough. I was tired. My legs had gone wobbly. The soles of my feet, the tips of my fingers and my lips were numb. And my mouth felt like it had been rinsed with bleach.  And of course it was cold and wet. (see my last blog) And the fact that I am going to die sooner rather than later felt very real. The thought of going through three more cycles of chemo felt like a mountain too high to climb. I phoned and spoke to Alex, the Macmillan nurse, and she helped me think through the options. I decided to postpone this week's chemo to give myself some more recovery time.  Then on Monday I had a phone call with the oncologist and talked it through with him. He explained that the numbness in my hands and feet is likely to be due to the oxaliplatin. I haven't actually been given any of this since mid March, but it can cause peripheral nerve damage and then the stress of the other chemo drugs (the 'insult to the body' as he put it) can make it worse. (The numbness in

Today is 12 May - six months since D for Diagnosis Day, 12 November 2020. Six months which seem both an age and an eye blink. And a moment to look back and share a few thoughts on this cancer journey so far. So - in traditional blog list format - here are Five Things I've Learned. 1. Everyone is nice to you when you've got cancer It's true, and I've said it before, so many people - both good friends and others I don't know as well - have just been so fantastically supportive. That has really made a difference these last months.  But here I'm thinking about something else which happens with people I don't know at all.  There have been a few situations when I've had to mention that I have cancer to complete strangers - for example, people on the other end of the phone in a call centre. And the moment I do, there's a change in the tone of voice. An inflection, a sympathy overlay. Probably people do it without realising. It's really noticeable an