Saturday, June 7, 2008

pills




I am sitting in our lounge room while Archie Roach Croons on the cd player. It is saturday night and I had planned to embrace the cold, the possible awkward conversations and alot of pissed people to go to a friends party in North Carlton. I used to be so comfortable wrapped in the arms of a large party, flitting between groups of people or possessing the dance floor. I now sit watching the clock unsure as to the state of my nausea and whether I am feeling confident and comfortable in my own skin to feel those same arms around me.

Last night I had the heart racing sensation that I seem to get after chemo for a few days. It is like a constant sense of panic in the heart and a tightening of the chest. It leads to extended periods of not sleeping, nor really having the clarity to read or watch a dvd. This is accompanied with the ongoing tussle I have with night hot flushes and shivers. Hot flushes invariable lead to the dramatic removal of all of my bedclothes and sometimes my clothes in a fevered rush like a horny teenager, to then be absolutely freezing and intently grappling for the bedclothes, as I do sleep.

I awoke and my lover who said he would come over last night around 11am was standing at my window, it was 8am. His eyes revealed a night of debauchery, drug taking and possible hooliganism. It was at this point unwrapping my body from my comfort blanket and spewing the contents of my bed including my thermometer, empty antibiotic wrappings and the discharge of clothing that I saw the absolute disparity between our realities. We ate porridge and in his MDM haze he giggled and reflected on the downers he would pop and possible home tattoo jobs that might be born from this mental liberty. I sipped my green tea, pulled my dark green woolly jumper tightly over my hips and got into my car to make a trip to the naturopath.

The naturopath commended me on my hair (yes it is still persisting against all odds) and the color in my cheeks that now eclipse the ashen color of the last couple of days. He thinks I am doing really well, and have a lot less symptoms then a)possible or b)expected. To this I felt some sense of achievement. Fuck yeah, I have been coating my wheat free breakfasts in rice bran and LSA, I have been concocting cocktails of vegetables in the juicer to 'enliven' my digestive tract and support my spleen. I have been popping pills to protect and nourish my lungs, suppress my urge to purge and generally nurture the very much wounded immune system that is taking a bashing for the team.

So ultimately I feel a great sense of pride in my slightly thinning but still present hair, my pink cheeks and the ability to still partake in the majority of activities I aspire to.

Four treatments down, a few track marks and a lingering sour taste of chemicals in my mouth. If this is all your gonna throw at me, we're laughing.

now maybe I should go attend this party......is it too cold for short shorts?