Down the Rabbithole: Kea's Adventures in Chemoland Begin

Yes, I did just see Alice in Wonderland and I liked it. I’m not sure why the reviews have all been so bad. It’s possible that I was distracted from flaws in the plot/script by all of the shiny colours/Alice’s pretty clothes/Johnny Depp’s frequently changing accent, but I was entertained.

So, I’m coming to you live from Westmead Cancer Care Centre. Well, it’s not actually live to tell you the truth, because the CCC is located in the bowels of the hospital, somewhere between the incinerator and the dungeon, so there’s no internet access down here. But I did bring my laptop in so I can type this up and post it later. Okay, that’s also a lie. I was too lazy to drag my laptop in here when it wasn’t to watch Twilight (more about this obvious lapse in good judgement/taste in a later post) or How I Met Your Mother DVDs. So today I’m doing things the old school way and scribbling in a notebook propped up on my makeshift pillow-desk. I have recently become aware that in the wider world, pillows are being used for many functions unrelated to sleeping, such as stylish headwear, creepy celebrity obsessions or even life partnership. Increased interest in pillows is a possible side-effect of the extra time spent in bed due to surgery/chemo. I should research this. Or better yet, convince one of my friends already in the medical field to go back to uni and do it as a Phd thesis. Guaranteed Nobel prize right there.

As you can see from the above, chemo has already started turning my brain mushy.

The past week in Chemoland has had more than its usual ups and downs. The extra bumps don’t really help with the nausea. I guess I’m a bit more aware of things with this first cycle as well because I’m comparing all of the similarities and differences between this lot of chemo and the last one. Some of the differences are good e.g. not having to spend as much time in the CCC, not having a chemo pump attached to me for two weeks at a time, and the fact that these chemo side-effects feel more like what I imagine a hangover would be like and less like being drowned in a vat of poison.

Despite being told by several medical professionals that things would be better this time around, and spending weeks repeating this assertion to myself and everyone around me, when the morning of my first dose came, I got so anxious about starting the whole process again that I threw up in my grandma’s car about ten minutes into the drive to Sydney (apparently now I’m an anxious vomiter, so that’s new). Unfortunately she didn’t have any plastic bags in the car, so I had to tip her bag of lollies out into the glovebox so I could throw up into it. I promptly realised that the bag was leaking and had to stuff it with tissues until we reached the rest area where I attempted to clean myself up in a blue-lit unisex toilet that reeked of urine and trucker sweat. Omi, my awesome grandma, decided that a better option was to stop off at the shops and buy me a new T-shirt. She’s a smart lady.

Once we finally made it here things went very uneventfully. I didn’t feel too bad the day after the treatment. Clearly this was chemo’s sneaky plan to lull me into a false sense of security because the second day hit a bit harder, preventing me from consuming anything that wasn’t juice or mashed potatoes. But still, things weren’t going too badly until I woke up on Saturday morning and realised that I couldn’t walk from my bedroom to the kitchen without sounding like I was having an asthma attack, so I had to go to the hospital and have another three litres of fluid drained out of my chest so I could breathe again. Hospitals are slow places at the best of times, but because it was Saturday, this process took about 30 hours, so that was how I spent my weekend. It’s my own fault really, because I’d planned to meet some friends for dinner and whenever I make such plans I end up hospitalised. Last year when I tried to go to my friend Nat’s housewarming and to the Mexican film festival with Gab, I missed both events because I got trapped in Wyong Hospital with a blood clot. This time I’ve learned my lesson: I am clearly not supposed to have a social life, but should confine myself to my house, keep myself company with hundreds of cats and venture forth only for doctors’ appointments and to hurl my cats at passing schoolchildren.