This cycle coincides with half term week, so the weekend runs as usual with interruptions for chemo bottle removal and Neulasta jabs. As an aside, I found out this week that my Zoladex jab costs the NHS £225 ish (excluding the anaesthetic cream that I now regard as a "must") a pop and the Neulasta around £800 a go. Suddenly the NHS budget issue makes sense.
Anyway, half term week means different activities including a long planned trip to London with TN and the children. Monday presents a dilemma: do I go or not? I really, really want to go. The weather is glorious and everyone is excited. I tell DH I will be fine and I am coming. He tells me, bluntly, I am not. He will spend the whole day worrying about me and that's not fair on anyone else. The bravado goes out of me instantly - he's right, it's not fair. I can get out of bed and do basic stuff like washing, but a day traipsing round London is beyond me. Part of the problem is the feeling has gone in my heels completely now and I'm not sure how far I can walk. Time to stop lying to myself and being selfish. They leave, without me, and I go back to bed. The rest of the day is spent doing small stuff, watching The Killing 2 (can't be done with kids in the house) and wishing I was outside with them. When they get home they've all had a lovely time, which makes me feel better and worse.