Husband takes one look at my new bed-head look this morning after yesterday’s haircut and says in fake (I think) horror, “Oh my god, we’ve got a whole new chapter in ‘My hair’s a mess today’ opening up, haven’t we?”.
So the day of my first chemo session is finally here. I’ve been reading through the letter about my diagnosis and treatment plan that the oncologist has written to the surgeon. I am reassured to find that, on the basis of the answers I gave to the oncologist during our first meeting, she considers this “busy, 52 year old editor” to be “largely healthy”.
However, it appears I may have been economical with the truth during some of the questioning. Did I really say I had only gained a couple of kilos over the past few years? Who was I trying to kid? More like three or four… ok, maybe even five or six. (However, worry is great for weight loss – I’ve lost three kilos in two weeks!)
And, pre-diagnosis, did I really drink 3-4 units of alcohol most evenings? That really does not look good written down in black and white. In my defence, I really don’t think I drank that much, at least not most nights.
Moving swiftly on, playing tennis twice a week and the fact that I cycle is classed as “exercising well”. That’s good.
It’s also nice to read that it will be the oncologist’s “pleasure to guide Ms Kenny through her chemotherapy”. Finally, the oncologist hopes I won’t be “greatly troubled by toxicity”. As I prepare my “largely healthy” self for what’s to come later this morning, I can tell you she’s not the only one…