I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive.
Hello there. I would like to say that the reason I have not written a blog for so long is because I am so well that there is simply no need for me to off load my thoughts into the ether to prevent me from having a psychological breakdown, but alas, that would be a lie. And I am all about the truth. The truth is simple. I have been too tired. Tiredness sounds like a weak excuse, but it is not. I have been experiencing a tiredness that is so overpowering, I can spend a good two hours staring into space before I have realised that this is not a good use of my time and then when I do realise, there is not a damn thing I can do about it.
To be absolutely clear, this tiredness is quite different to a steroid crash. I do not feel ill when I am tired, which is a bonus. Unfortunately, whilst I do not feel sick, the tiredness just creeps in and completely takes over every other part of my being, so that the only thing I am capable of doing is lying down by myself with nothing but blankness from my brain for company. My TV may be on, but I am not watching it. I may even be able to produce some words to Housemate, like, “night”, but essentially, I feel like my brain has shut down. Blankness is the best way to describe it. If you could see me, and I could gesture to show what it is like, I would produce a confused look on my face, with my mouth open and make a constant dull moan. Let us add a metaphorical ringing in my ears, for luck. I see it as a form of stupor. At times, I worry that I am catatonic. The tiredness by the way, to ensure that we are all on the same page, is not about sleeping or my need for more sleep. I find that sleep and tiredness do not necessarily go together like a horse and carriage. Is this enough? Is the incapability explained?
As my last treatment cycle drew to a close, which by the way, was last week, it became increasingly clear to me that the tiredness was getting worse and thus my ability to do normal things was reducing. I found myself longing for my steroid crash (a ridiculous notion), because it would allow me to spend time in bed. I do not think others would judge me for spending more time in bed, but I would judge myself. I have said previously and it is my desire, that I want to live as normal a life as possible. During my cycles, after the crash, I try to do this, I try to be normal. I make plans, I go to work, I see people or at least I try to see people and at the start of VDT/VTD this was fine. I could achieve everything I wanted to achieve. Now? I cannot achieve or do everything I want to achieve with my time. By the time I get into my bed, which is key blog writing time, everything has been spent. I am done and the ringing commences. My body is in the middle of a war with my brain and the body is winning. I am essentially stuck in a stinking, dirty trench.
I believe an example would help hammer home my point. Two weeks ago, I had a day where I had three things planned. Treatment, a trip to Tunbidge Wells and then a show in the evening; I was very much looking forward to the latter. By the time I had completed the first two, my body was so exhausted and I felt so incapable of doing anything, I cried. I cried on my bed like a big old baby because I could not see how it would be humanly possible for me to get my body out of my flat, on a bus to the Southbank and back. The thought of it made me panic. Panic because I did not know whether I could last another four hours, and if I couldn’t, predicting when my body was going to breakdown. Was it going to breakdown at the theatre, were my friends going to see? Were they going to realise that there are times when I cannot make conversation because my brain shuts down or are they just going to think I am a rude self indulgent bitch incapable of holding a conversation? Which option is better? Breaking down at the theatre was my preferred option to doing in on the bus, because at least then, I could hop in a taxi home. But what if it happened on the bus? That 30 minute journey would be excruciating and then, would I even have the energy to walk home when I reached my stop? Then I panicked because I did not want to fail. I wanted to go out and defeat was not an option, well, it was, but I believe if I had allowed my brain to lose, I would have spiralled into a pit of depression. In the end, I went, I ate some food and that gave me some energy for four hours, but it was a struggle. I subsequently spent much of the next day in bed. Well, until the evening when I went on a hen do.
That was the day I realised that the tiredness was not run of the mill and I was officially drowning in it.
The wicked truth is that I have been taking thalidomide every day for the last 91 days without a break, and it is taking it’s toll of my body. The Medically Trained People told me to expect my side effects to worsen as I got deeper into my treatment, and my, were they correct. The main side effect for me, is not the neuropathy, it’s the fatigue. I have three weeks left of this treatment and I know that I am not going to be capable of having multiple plans in a day. At the moment, if I do have multiple plans, I worry about when I can squeeze in rest and if I cannot, whether I am going to be able to do it. Everything in Myelomaville is a balancing act, and unfortunately for me, I am just going to have to give more weight to my bed. Perhaps I need to conduct my life solely from my flat again, because I am finding that even a solitary plan can be exhausting. Knowing that I have to walk from a to b, or get somewhere, or speak to people, makes me tired before I have even done anything. Again, sadly, I find, this means that I see less people because I cannot make the effort to be sociable. It can be lonely. It is also frustrating.
I had planned to write this blog eight days ago, but My Myeloma had other plans. To be more specific, my side effects had other plans. I am just coming out from my monthly steroid crash, which last week proved to be the worst yet. I can say, hands down, that I have felt the worst I have felt since the autumn. Maybe since I was in hospital. The side effects will get worse as you go through your treatment. It’s been a delight. I do not want to dwell on it, but in short, I had to stay at Mamma Jones’ house because I was incapable of looking after myself. I even tried to postpone my treatment, but I had no luck there. As many people know, I am glass half full, so I just saw it as training for my transplant. I definitely did not cry a lot.
Here is an aside for you. I realised that a sign that things were improving was when I put a bra on. The support meant that I was planning to not spend the entire day horizontally. Also, wearing something that did not have an elastic acted waist. Needless to say, at its worst, I looked H.O.T. Hot.
So, there it is. The reason I have not been blogging or maintaining as much contact as I would like. Tiredness. It really is not fair. It sucks all the funny out of my mind and I am not used to that. I need to laugh.
As with everything, I am just going to plough on through and hope that I can get to the end of this cycle in one piece, without plunging into a cesspit of depression. In order to ensure that the latter does not happen, I will keep blogging. Self preservation and all that. Plus, some really exciting shit is about to happen.
P.S. I thank you for your concern. It warmed my womb.