Thursday was supposed to be hump day. Cycle 6 of 11 (we think - even the oncologist seems confused as to how many cycles following the changes to the regime), but halfway by everyone's calculations. New year, new start, new hope that there's a light at the end of the tunnel.
Except it was a "no go". My neutrophils are way up at 172 and my platelets are way down at 50; both readings are outside the chemo protocol. The neutrophils are easily explained as I have the tail end of this virus that both children have had, although it didn't seem to cause a problem with the 27 December cycle and I had it then, too. Platelets? Who knows?
The oncologist has given up trying to convince me that my apparent sensitivity to the drugs is a good thing. Now she is talking about withdrawing the Oxaliplatin altogether because lowering the dose much more takes it beyond the effective point. I really don't want that to happen, I want to get this evil stuff into me and killing off the last of these cancer cells, wherever they are hiding. I'm quite happy to put myself through more to achieve that as I seem to have got off relatively lightly on the side effect front since cycle 2, but I can't do anything (seemingly) about these wretched bloods. Rest, rest and more rest seems to be the only prescription but I'm pretty sure if I do any less I will atrophy completely. And having little treats of days out, or spending a bit of time with my children that's not the frenzied beginning/end of day, these are the things that get me through. Maybe I just have to suck up sitting on my behind for three more months? It's not long in the scheme of things, is it?
So, back again on Thursday. I rearrange my diary (haircut and lunch, dahling, so very yummy mummy!) and call off the district nursing team. DH has the perfect way to deal with my disappointment: the trip to Cornwall we were planning for next weekend will simply happen this weekend. So once home we chuck stuff in the suitcase, notify school that the date of DD's unauthorised absence has changed, load the car, give TN the Friday off, pop the children in pyjamas and head west. I'm a West Country girl by birth and somehow the sight of the A 303 lifts my spirits. I'm going home.