I didnít sleep much at all last night again, even though I am so tired. The damn steroids are at fault, I just know they are. I tossed and turned most of the night, because of my hyperactive head buzz around at a thousand miles an hour, rushing from one place to another. And then if it wasnít the hyperactive brain it was the hot flushes keeping me awake or waking me; which is even more annoying after spending hours and hours trying to get to sleep in the first place. The towels that Lee has been neatly placing in the bed would work, if they would stay in place. Theyíre moving around the bed so much itís as though they are trying to run away from me, moving from one side to the other, scrunching up in a ball right in the centre of my back just too purposely annoy me, before long Iíll be chasing them across the bloody landing and fetching them back from their new found hiding place in the other bedroom or some other place in the house. I have come to the conclusion that the steroids and sleeping tablets donít work together. My body feels more tired with taken the sleeping pills but I do need to get my brain to shut down so I can have a good sleep. Maybe I should ask Lee to hit me over the head with a ten ton sledge hammer or something, that should knock me out for a few minutes; then again the way my mind is I would probably sit up start jigging around and laughing like the clown at the entrance of Blackpool Funfair. Anyway not to worry, itís Sunday and I have all day to get my rest ready for the week ahead.
For breakfast I had a slice of toast with more steroids, anti-nausea pills and a cup of coffee. The coffee doesnít taste that good now and is actually making me feel a bit iffy with every sip. And before you start jumping to conclusions and thinking that I am getting sick from the chemo, Stop right there because itís not the chemo, Itís the taste of the coffee that I am not liking, which is just like you feeling a little iffy when you was a small child after tasting brussel sprouts or cabbage for the first time. The toast isnít that good either, my mouth is that dry it feels like Iím eating sandpaper and even though I had a good smothering of Jam, it had no more taste than if I was actually eating sandpaper. Maybe I should eat sandpaper instead? That way I wouldnít keep piling on the pounds. My mum was sat on the sofa opposite and I could feel her watching my every move, watching for any side effects from the chemo and or watching me because of my Pob Cheeks, which were still a huge part of me today. Maybe she was expecting them to explode or something at any second, well theyíre that puffed up they looked like they would. Lee still thinks my cheeks are funny and in a space of an hour as called me Pob and laughed just short of a hundred times. Seeing me struggle with the toast he asked if I wanted another drink and not wanting to admit that I felt iffy from the coffee I asked for water to wash the sandpaper down. As soon as I had finished my last mouthful of toast my mum had taken my plate and had the pots washed, dried and put away before Iíd chance to get up off the sofa. I suppose itís her motherly way of wanting to look after me, especially with me looking more ill to her with my red face and humongous ĎPobí cheeks than I actually felt. I feel so much for Lee and my mum, sitting there watching me, changing in front of their eyes. Just 3 months ago I had long blonde hair, had a slim face, had a glowing tan, weighed 8 stone and was full of energy., and now Iím bald have humongous cheeks, have a permanent red glow and look horrendously burnt rather than tanned, and I now weigh 9 stone and have no energy. I wonder what is going through their minds. I know they are constantly asking how I am and my mum constantly asks how Lee is due to his side effects that heís getting, which is I still find quite hilarious. I am always asking Lee how he is but he always replyís by saying he is Ok but heís more concerned about how Iím feeling. I know I am the one with cancer but he is going through this too, my mum is, all my family and Leeís family are, they are the oneís seeing me change from day to day. They are the ones who have to look at me as where I can avoid the mirror if I wish. My mum does tell me that she is hurting, hurting because I am her little girl and doesnít want me to go through this, she still says it should have been her with the breast cancer and not me. I couldnít cope with that and I truly am glad that it is me going through the breast cancer and the treatment rather than her. I know everyone didnít think that I was strong enough to go through this, but my mum defiantly isnít strong enough, she is way more inpatient than I am or have ever been.
My mum stayed for the rest of the morning and after getting her things together we hugged, said our farewells and the I love youís before she was in the car heading off for home. I was relieved but miserable at the same time of the aspect of her leaving. I love my mum being here but at the same time I donít feel like I can rest while she is here. All the time we sat there and chatted all I wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and go to sleep, but once she was gone I desperately wanted her to be back with me and because of the 50 plus miles between us I know I wonít see her again for a few weeks. Our relationships is now back to being over the telephone which isnít the same as seeing her or being able to put my arms around her, hug her and tell her that I love her face to face. Sometimes I wish I did live closer to her because if I did I would get to see her everyday even if it was just for an hour each time. I am lucky in aspect; the hospital for me treatment is a lot closer for me rather than having to travel an hour to the oncology I only have a 15 minute drive, but that doesnít take away the fact that I am miles away from my mum and family.
After my mum was gone Lee told me that I looked tired and should get my head down for an hour. Itís easier said than done when youíre on steroids but I agreed to try after Iíd taken my next dose along with my anti-nausea pills. We both got laid on the sofa together and cuddled while we settled to watch the afternoon film of which I canít even remember seeing all the starting credits cos Iíd drifted so quickly into a long awaited deep sleep.
White walls with dirty smudge marks all over. Black ugly marks all over what should be a lovely white wall. Where had all these black marks come from? Big ones and small ones splattered and smudged everywhere. I need to get the walls clean, get them pristine white again. Rummaging around in the cupboard I take out the washing up liquid. That should do the trick I thought mixing it with some nice hot water from the tap, making lovely white foaming bubbles. I started to scrub at one of the black marks but it wouldnít budge. Why? What are these black marks and where have they come from? I scrubbed some more but still it wouldnít budge. Needing something stronger I go back to the cupboard to find something. Bleach! That should do the trick. Pouring quite an amount of bleach into my bowl I started to scrub at the spot again. It faded slightly but still wouldnít come clean. I keep scrubbing and scrubbing the spot and when I stand back to take in how well itís cleaned I realised that itís not made the slightest bit of difference. I sit back sighing with disappointment; all that hard work for nothing. Why wonít it come off? Itís only dirt for goodness sake. I started to cry. Why am I crying over a dirty wall? Sniveling like a little baby, now this is pathetic. Come on Karen get a grip itís a dirty wall for goodness sake, itís not that important. But for some reason this dirty wall meant the world to me. There is only one thing for it; I will have to paint the wall. I put on my shoes and walked out of the house to the garage to find the emulsion and a paint brush. Stupid garage door; why does it always jam?ďLeeĒ I shouted.ďLeeĒ The garage door suddenly swung open with a right almighty big bang.
I jumped with the intensity of the bang and very quickly realized that the bang was the sound coming from the TV. I opened my eyes and glanced round at the clock and was surprised at the time that it was saying, It was half past six which meant that I had been sleeping for over three hours and Lee had at some point decided to join me. The strange thing though is that I didnít feel like Iíd been asleep at all. What was that dream all about. Bit by bit the dream came back to me. White walls and Black marks; what did it mean why did I dream that and why couldnít I get it clean?
I looked around again at Lee; he was in a real deep sleep snoring his head off. I turned the volume down on the TV and feeling quite comfortable where I was, I snuggled into Lee a little more, closed my eyes again and drifted back to sleep. The next thing I remember was being woken up by Lee who was telling me to go to bed. It took me a while to comprehend what was happening. Was I dreaming, Did I dream? Puzzled and still feeling very tired, I looked at the clock again. The time it was 9.30pm, Iíd been asleep for another 3 hours and yet I was still so tired. After taking my last anti-nausea pills and sleeping tablets, I did what I was instructed and trotted off or should I say crawled like a snail up to bed.
I donít know if itís down to the chemo or the sleeping tablets, the steroids or the combination of all of the drugs that my body is now getting that Iím having such weird dreams. Dreams of zombies and stupid dirty walls, yes, I have had some nice oneís of floating and being in lovely sunny places, but it seems to be that every time that I do fall asleep, even if just for an hour, I am bloody dreaming, and theyíre making me feel more exhausted .