Back on track

After three white cell injections and a week long course of antibiotics, my neutrophils (white cells - medical speak!) rallied and I was able to have my second cycle of the Red Devil. I was pleased to get back on track because it means that I am getting closer to my appointment with the Proff and for finding out if the new treatment is working.

I feel so much better and when I found out that I had a neutrophil count of 7.5, rather than last week's -0.5, I proudly pointed this out to the nurse. 'It's the injections,' she responded (not unkindly, honest). That put in my place. Even so, I was thrilled that even if it took three injections, my cells were finally responding to something. At last!

The medical day unit where I have the chemo is an emotionally draining place to spend time. I don't know if it's the nature of having cancer and enduring long treatments, but everyone seems too willing to share war stories. I was speaking yesterday to an older woman who has been receiving treatment on and off since 1993. Can you believe that? She's so experienced that she's gives feedback to young doctors who practise their bedside manner on her as trainees (her feedback is rarely good - ha!). These days she only has a quarter of a lung and her voice is so slight and wheezy that people often hang up on her when she uses the telephone because they think she's drunk. I could tell you a lot more about her, but I won't. She was anxious about her new treatment and she couldn't stop talking. I really understood her inability to shut-up, I've been like that myself, but after half an hour (including a toilet break and two water refills, all on my part) I felt like inducing myself into a coma. Meanwhile, B had returned a chair and passed by a young couple who were weeping, sobbing, together. Even if a group laugh, one of them will be plugged into a machine. It's such an intense place to be. We catch the tube there and back because there's no parking and the relief of walking into the tube station after my treatment, of being in a place where nobody cares about me at all, is such a relief.

Cancer, learning about cancer, talking about cancer, telling people I have cancer, making appointments to talk to people about my cancer... it can get very consuming. I've been using Jack Reacher (the books will run out soon), other detective novels and biscuits to relieve the stress. In fact, I've gone back to my teenage stress busters of going to the library, browsing in charity shops and baking. It not only shows you what a conservative teen I was, but what a conservative woman I'm turning into.

It's not really good enough, is it? I've been finding myself telling others that I can't watch the news or listen to the news on the radio because it makes me anxious, which is true. But maybe I'm anxious because I feel disconnected, as well as having cancer? Then I read Zoe Williams' article about not reading fiction and it made me think. In order to be less stressed and to feel less anxious, maybe I need to engage more, not less, with the world. Maybe I do need to read Whoops! 

Hmmm. Contemporary non-fiction as neutrophils, must be worth a shot.