Lytha's Blog

Hm... interesting, but I think it's a bit too rich in fibres for my taste just yet. The diarrhea is behaving itself now, but I don't want to put too much strain onto it by assaulting it with a fibre-rich nutrition.

Milk and yoghurt should work now, yes, even though the logopedician told me to be a bit wary about them (they apparently increase the salivation, so I end up having to cough up more spit; that's already some issue at night now).

Nutella + vanilla icecream + cream... hmmm, this is starting to look interesting.

Bah, you are REALLY stuck at not being able to enjoy anything! Poor girl! No wonder pasta + soy sauce sounds like a treat to you!

I wonder how cake would taste if you'd mash it up to a drink!?
Meh, scratch that - I'd rather die than find out! Some things are just too horrid to even consider them!

Cake probably would taste quite yummy as a drink. Like a chocolate milkshake (if it's chocolate cake).

I mean, the bun with tomato+salad+mozarella+some dressing stuff tasted not too bad as a drink either. :)

Alright, I am off to have one of my exciting shower events. If the hole isn't at 6x6mm today, I'll cry though.


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"Exciting" because you never know if you won't get some water into the trachea, as like today again. (Don't press the fingers against a soggy plaster).

Anyway: 5.5x5.5mm!!!

Yes, I measure it every 2 days with a ruler.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, I demand some sympathy!
I was out and about, getting ready to pluck some plums and then I went and sprained my ankle! Now, of course people will say spraining one's ankle can not compare to cancer - but I ask you, what has the world turned to that we are able to neglect a person's suffering just because it's not as great as someone else's?!




And your confession that you measure it with a ruler just made me laugh out loud. I am telling you, if cancer had struck someone that isn't as charming as you are, this would be torture to read!
So I am guessing you want the hole to grow back together a bit, but not fully yet?

Ouch, a sprained ankle hurts really badly. Put some cooling onto it and put your leg up a bit. :)


No, I don't want the ****ing tracheotomy to remain there at all - tracheotomies have made it to the list of medical "life saving" procedures that I refuse to have done to me if in a life threatening situation. Yep, I'd rather die than to have this ever done to me again.

Sadly, there's nothing I can do about it right now. The MKGs refuse to do the surgery to shut it off immediately, because it'll still heal on its own (probably), and also another surgery so shortly before radiation + chemo would be ill-advised.

I am measuring its size now to see how slowly the healing progress continues. It's 1mm/2 days, so I try to hold onto the thought that the nightmare should be over in 10 more days.

Yeah, I am on crutches now. >.>
I am really clumsy, so I sprain my ankle a few times per year, and while I sprained them worse (ended with my ankle in a cast for a few weeks), I normally just step strangely, it hurts like **** and then I move on after a few minutes - but this one was somewhere in the middle, it's not bad enough for a cast, but worse than normal. It's much better today already though, so I won't exactly die from it or lose a foot - despite the drama I am making about it!

Ah so the hole served it's purpose already - I thought you might need it still. Well then, hopefully it will heal as fast as my ankle!

Do you play any GW now or is that still off limits for now?

Ouchies, hurting the foot like this several times per year must suck. :/


I have played some GW, but I'd really rather play the Witcher 2 now instead of doing more vanquishing. My copy from GOG doesn't seem to be patched very well though, so I'm fixing that right now.


I've eaten some pancakes, swedish style yesterday, and it worked. So, I seem to be relearning how to swallow quite rapidly by now. I'm still afraid of crunchy stuff though. Still troubled because of the weight issue, and by now extremely scared by the upcoming chemo + radiation + fear of recurrance of the cancer.

Also, my day/night rhythm is nuts. I slept 12 hours last night, for instance, starting at 20:00 and ending at 07:55. This is not normal behaviour for me.

My crutches are gone!
I am still a bit clumsy, but I can at least move my leg in my ankle allowing me to better move over stairs. I still look like a limping dog, but at least I don't feel like I need the crutch-support!

I wouldn't worry about having an unusual sleeping pattern. Because let's be honest, these aren't the most usual of time.
I imagine you need to rest, so just give the body what it needs and don't worry about it.

As for the fears of upcoming events, and I KNOW this is much easier said than done, but it's not in your hands. And that's not actually so bad - not only does it mean that you are in hands that are REALLY qualified to deal with this, your actions also can't screw this up. They will do the best that they can.
And the process will probably not be the most pleasant of all things, to put it mildly , but there's no alternative. You need to go through this and you need to get better.
And honestly, I don't see why you couldn't.

And to cheese it up:

Hang in there!

Wow, that was a fast recovery. Congrats, as I am sure that you won't look like a limping dog for much longer.


I am a bit disgusted by the PEG currently, because the tube has started to yellow a bit from the inside. Apparently, you should pour a whole 200ml cup of water through it per day, not just a 50ml syringe? And maybe suck the water back and forth a bit? You can't clean it with soap though, that's for sure. Toothpaste might work though....? Well, maybe the tube will be replaced every once in a while during the next year? Might be nice to have a clean tube instead of one that looks like the one of the extreme cancer granny who was my first roomie in the clinic.

Still annoyed by the suture threads in the tongue. I am chewing on some of them now, but they still won't go away.

The tongue itself felt horrible yesterday; I almost went for some paracetamol, but then it quieted down. You see, the left "root" part of the tongue realized yesterday what it had been through (not just some mad surgeons pulling it out as far as possible, but also them poking holes into it and fiddling parts of it through that hole), so it hurt. And the nerve edges are poking their noses into the new part of the tongue; or that one's nerves were poking out, I don't know. Today, it feels awkward, but I wouldn't call it "pain" anymore again. That's a relief.


So... the "you're in very capable hands" part of your comment is partially right. Capable as they might be, there's still no way to prevent the Cisplatin from somewhat deafening some of the patients. And capable as the radiooncologists are, the radiation therapy still will hurt the jawbone permanently and put the teeth at a permanent risk of radiation caries - which is particularly nasty in combination with the violated jawbones, because it makes teeth extractions to a problem.

And then there's always the issue that oncologists definitely work on a "needs to know"-baseline: the patient apparently doesn't "need to know" a whole lot of stuff. Examples:

- nobody told me before the 2nd surgery that my ear, left side of the jaw, left side of the throat and left shoulder would be numb for years.

- nobody told me that the jaw would be dislocated during the surgeries so that it'd need to recover from that trauma

- nobody told me how much fun tracheotomies are, especially pointing at the removal of spit done by nurses

- nobody even told me on their own that the PEG is meant to stay there for a whole year

- if I weren't informed about this already, I'd live in a happy blissful state of "oh, radiation therapy is totally harmless. Well, there might be a minor harmless inflammation in the mouth after a while, but that's it" - I see the purpose of that lie, but it's a lie anyway.

- according to the oncologist who told me about the chemotherapy, the greatest worry would be hair loss - and that is utter nonsense, because hair loss is the absolute exception with Cisplatin.


So, there are some reasons to distrust these capable hands, and that does not really help me right now.

~5.0 x 4.5mm.

I am not impressed with this.

It's less wide when swallowing though, and there's an irregular wedge growing at the right side again, so let's hope that this is the start of another mm gone in 2 days.


As long as the suture thread at the back of the tongue keeps tickling my throat, causing a coughing urge, I guess I should be happy that the size of the hole decreases at all. Bah, this sucks so badly, I hate it.

Yeah, that's the common doctor-problem - they are good ad fixing physical problems, but fail at the mental ones that come with these. Still, not sharing everything with their patients is probably what works in most cases, so they just apply it to everyone. It's dumb - but it's better to have someone that's going to fix you up and slap you than someone that treats you nicely but wouldn't know what an arm is, even if it was stuck up his ***!

My leg is ALMOST good as new! At this rate, it should be all fine tomorrow!
I did manage to have an interesting night though. Woke up panicking, scared that cats would come though the open balcony door and attack me. No idea whose cats, no idea how they get onto the first floor - but I freaked! Luckily I remembered I still have issues getting up, so instead I had the brilliant idea of just closing the door from my bed! I stretch my arms, try not to move my ankle much and then BAM - I fell out of the bed.
I am not even safe in in my own bed!
>.>
<.<

Luckily I am stuck with just a few bruises and I didn't hurt my ankle again.


And yes, that's a normal Monday for me. >.>

I am having a special Monday today. You know, on the 18th August, I received a blue bottle that can hold 2.5l. The purpose of this formerly empty bottle is to be filled during one day; but I don't think that I'll fill it to more than 1.5l or so. It's to check the kidney functions.

I must say, I find this difficult, because I usually combine the release of both waste products during a bathroom visit, so I can't just try to sit down on this bottle (that would give me a cramp on the other exit or a mess on the floor), and the bottle is too big to fit into the toilet. So I'm utilizing a plastic cup now.

Got to say though: I am glad that I got rid of the diarrhea before today.


This means, by the way: I'll see the friendly radiotherapist and the dude with the chemotherapy tomorrow. It's gonna be an exiting day tomorrow. I'll have my (half a) dozen questions with me; they'll want me to sign the agreement that they can do whatever with me. And there'll be a MRT and they'll make a mask of my face and perhaps do a trial radiation (I doubt that this will be the real thing yet though.)

But today, I just need to pee into the bottle. This means that I won't leave the house at all though (probably; perhaps I'll do some grocery shopping though?), so that I am not tempted to utilize a toilet somewhere else. Because I won't go for a walk with that 2.5l bottle in my backpack.


Wednesday is going to be somewhat exciting as well. First fluoridation, another visit at the MKGs (they check out my mouth weekly at the moment because of controlling what the new piece of tongue is doing and to check if there's new cancer growing anywhere), and before these two dates, I'll see the logopedician again. With some food in my bag that I don't date to tackle yet (this will either be a toasted piece of toast or something like that. I could also bring a piece of pizza with me, but at that time of day, I have no appetite at all, so the pizza would be wasted.)


Rest of the week is off until the chemotherapy begins at some point, or the radiation therapy on monday the 12th September.



upier: What a strange cat phobia you have there. Cat's are not interested in sneaking into your bedroom to assault you. This is not something they like to do.

They might assault your toes, if you stick them out of the blanket and wiggle around with them, but that only if you're sleeping in their regular territory, i.e. if you own the cats and they are allowed into your bedroom anyway.

Julian for instance would just sit down on the table next to your bed and stare at you in an offensive manner, but never attack you at all.

Geordi would walk around on the bed and purr loudly and snuggle himself next to you or onto your legs or belly, perhaps licking your nose a little bit. Maybe utilizing your full bladder as a means to jump onto the window sill, but that's it.

I don't think that other cats would do different or meaner things to you, even if they're not your own.

Well, this was enlightening (and a pain in the butt). I was almost worried that the 2.5l bottle wouldn't be big enough... but it was sufficient (because I didn't manage to catch about 100-200ml or so).

Interesting. I guess what you pour in, comes out again; and that's what I get for 1.5l tea, 3 cups á 200ml of water and 1 cup of veggie juice.

So, now I have the pleasure to carry 2.5kg of pee to the clinic.


I'm extremely nervous right now and will call the taxi in about 10 minutes or so.

What a day.

Firstly, I have no appetite before 9ish am. So I left the house with a cup of tea in my stomach and nothing else.

Then, the taxi central hadn't quite understood that I've a paper from the insurance that says that they'll cover for the taxi costs. So the taxi driver arrived, heard of this and became quite grumpy.

Next, nice news for the chemotherapy department: the hearing loss and the kidney damages are not totally commonplace problems. <10%, apparently. So I signed up for this. Start is at the 12th. Dr Beetle had a new idea though: Let's do a hearing test at a HNO (throat nose ears doctors) before Monday!

Next, at the MRT was a major delay. There had been an emergency with a baby in need of a MRT done. At this clinic, everything is scheduled according to the age of the patients, so babies have the utmost priority. Just as I was the reason why some cancer grannies got re-scheduled with their surgeries, you know. Anyway, I sat around for ~2 hours, and then the MRT happened. Totally weird stuff. I closed my eyes as soon as they put the lid onto the casket. *shudder* Later, I peeked around a little bit, but tried to imagine that I was at a better place. The noise that the machine does did not help very much with the relaxation attempts though, because it was so utterly ridiculous. Ridiculous, not scary.

"brrrrrrt brrrrrrt brrrrrrt pooof pooof poofpoofpoof brrrt brrt brtbrtbt" They even had a full-body vibrator function at one or two points. Awesome.

Anyway, I went through the first 4 levels of Thief 1 in the end. I forgot to include most of the guards on my travels though, so it was really fast.


Then, the radiation therapist, Dr Letter, had a new and exciting idea. I need some jawopener thing produced for me ASAP so that only the lower jaw and the teeth therein are damaged. This meant a delay of the CT, mask production and trial run which they had planned for today; this will happen on Friday. Until then, I need to get this jaw-opener done - so, more stress tomorrow and the day after, too. This Dr Letter is an awesome guy. Can't pin-point it to any details, but he was awesome.


Right after all of this, I went to the physician to get some more paperwork so that everything is in order next Monday, and a paper for a HNO. She wished me good luck and all the best and didn't understand that she was basically the only one of all the experts who voted for the vaccinations. Maybe I scared her when I told her the list of people whom I had asked. *shrugs*

To whom I went immediately afterwards. Hearing is fine now, but I apparently hear a little bit better on the left side than on the right.


So, in the end, I was up and about for 10 hours without having had any breakfast, lunch or other meal.

Tomorrow, it should only be 6ish hours of walking from doctor to doctor.



Anyway, 4x4mm. Both chemotherapy and radiation therapy will stop the healing process. This sucks worse than a 2 dollar whore. because it won't be shut closed until Monday.

Alright, aside from the fact that the logopedician is an early morning person (the appointment today was scheduled for 6:45am (ouchies!)), today went well and speedily. We didn't achieve a lot of stuff today in the logopedia session. Basically, we talked, and I coughed up some of the crunchy bread that I had brought along. => stay clear from anything crunchy for another while. She also thinks that the new tip of the tongue is fascinating.

Anyway... so, yeah, I'll have to fluoridize my teeth from next week on on a daily basis, and I get a helpful tool for that as well. During the radiation, they'll apply fluoride in another way though, because the normal way would just hurt too much.

The jaw opening and fixating device and that tool will be ready tomorrow afternoon, which is really awesomely fast. I mean, it had to be done before friday, but it's still awesome that they can do it so fast.

And then I went to the MKG to have him look into my mouth. It was a new face, except that I had seen him once during one of the first doctors' visits in the clinic. He had been on vacation ever since, and was apparently a bit freaked out that I recognized his face anyway.

Then the state of the suture threads freaked him out, because there were still bits mixed into the threads, of the crunchy bread and of the stuff with which the dentist had taken an imprint of my teeth. As a result, he pulled the threads, so now I don't have a carpet on my tongue anymore. The logopedician will rejoice and insist on tongue exercises now.

Also, another subcutaneous thread peeked out at the throat, and he removed that as well.

Then he had a look at the tracheotomy and decided that it's 6mm. I'll have to check it out tomorrow myself, I think his ruler is off. :P Or maybe the hole didn't like me biking to today's appointments; my muscles are atrophied quite a lot, so it was very exhausting. Anyway, his assistant then thought it would be a brilliant idea to apply some antiseptic spray onto the plaster when she removed it to insert the little ball that's necessary to shut the hole closed, and she of course applied this **** into the hole as well. They're all nuts, really - it's no fun to get antiseptics into the trachea.

Anyway, yeah. Looks like there'll be a war between the MKGs and the radiologists about who's responsible to take care of the upcoming irritation and pain of the mouth's surfaces, because both departments feel that they're the ones responsible for them. I guess I'll receive various pain killers from both sides, so that's nice.

At the moment, I find the radiooncologists the most trustworthy of the lot, because both of them did not tell me lies (yet). Or obviously retarded and wrong stuff like "oh yeah, you can absolutely shower now again just like normal, no matter that there's a hole at the front of your throat, leading straight down into the lungs".

I trust the MKGs to do surgeries *really* well, but they're surgeons. If they need to fix something, they cut a hole into you or transplant skin to another place. They'll do that, and they'll do it really good, probably in a way so that you won't even see a scar later on. But for other things... I don't know how qualified they really are.



Aaaanyway, in the last 2 weeks, I had been on Tuesdays to this weekly checkup of the mouth. This obviously wasn't possible yesterday, so this week, I went on a Wednesday. As a result, I met the Broken Jaw roomie again. She had been one of the two first roomies, she was really cool and helped me to "settle in" into the routines of the clinic. We chatted a lot today. That was really nice. (But she didn't want to see the PEG )


So, next week will be weird. The MKG of today apparently thought that I could just walk from the oncology to this MKG amulance at some point next week - I doubt that the oncologist would be very impressed by this idea though. But what do I know?

Last month still feels surreal, but some things pop to the surface every now and then. Mostly because I am somewhat back at emulating a bipolar depression (manic phases and depressed phases changing rapidly) now. Waiting for nasty stuff to happen, is always bad.

One of the things popping to the surface is: gestures.

I said it in one of my "let's recover from the surgeries" videos already: How do you tell a nurse that you need to pee, when you've a tracheoflex in your tracheotomy and are incapable of getting out of the bed on your own? (That's one of the tracheotomy items that don't allow you to speak but give you better access to air via the hole, i.e. when your tongue is rolled up like a falafel and flaps around like a wet towel at the back of your throat. I think at least that this thing was called tracheoflex. It has a balloon thing, blocking nose and mouth completely away from the breathing, and a green bobble to filter the air and to add some additional oxygen).

Or how do you tell a nurse the following: "The catheter hurts like hell and my bladder feels like it's going to explode next second. Do something!!"

Or what about: "Put a plaster over the tracheotomy, I'm going crazy when this hole is open! No, I don't find this reassuring at all and the issue is NOT that I think that I am suffocating! God damnit!"

Or: "That hurts. Can I get some more painkillers or something?"

You can express all of this with gestures and facial expressions, which is weird. And the other people actually seem to get it more or less, depending on how often they've had to deal with patients who express themselves like that.

It's most difficult with the "put a plaster over the hole right NOW", because it's apparently more common to have irrational fears of suffocation than a tracheotomy-phobia, but I am getting better at expressing my thoughts about that.


Also, interspecies communication: my cats know the meaning of a raised middle finger. Not that it would impress them or make them stop doing whatever they're doing, but they know that I disapprove of them to an extreme degree when I do this gesture. They also give me these arrogant glances afterwards that cats are so good at.

You see, I have 3 cardboard boxes here right now. One with PEG plasters and syringes. Two with liquid goo. The cats investigated these all too much, so they've seen the rude gesture quite a lot. It did not convince them to stop investigating, so I have hidden the liquid goo in the closet for now. Now they go for the syringes and bandages. Grrrr.


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So, I got the new toys. The jaw-opening&fixating device is less of a ball-gag than I thought (phew). Also less distance for the upper jaw, but I hope it's enough. It came in two pieces, so you can actually talk with the thing in your mouth. Nice. It's suffocating a bit when lying back though, so he cut some holes into the front.

Well, that's alright. A week ago, I couldn't open my jaw more than 3 cm, so they couldn't go on a complete rampage, because other people probably can't open their jaws more than 2 cm for a long time. You couldn't fit a 5 cm distance fixation device into such mouths.

What's fancy is that it's coloured, which is unusual, apparently. One half is green, the other is black. This plus the bit of the white teeth accounts for a certain football team from nearby. I can't say that I am a fan of that team though (I don't even know if they have anyone fanciful in there? I am more for women's football anyway, oh those swedish girls... ahum.)


Right, back to today's adventures: This doc told me also that the horror stories that his colleague had told me right after I got my cancer diagnosis (she: "well, during the radiation therapy, you WILL lose some teeth, which we WILL pull out" -> me: "omg, I don't want to go through radiation therapy, screw them all!!) was meant to conjure some stress, anxiety and panic, and thus some compliance to look better after your teeth. I insist that she overdid it though, because the psycho-oncologist actually had to do some work to get me into compliance with the radiation therapy afterwards.

Well, alright, she didn't know that I have somewhat of a dentist-phobia. But she overdid it anyway. Grr.



Tomorrow: Mask+CT+trial radiation. And some more annoyance with the taxi driver central. I wonder how long it will take until I won't have to spell out my name a couple of times anymore.

I'm going to put on a prettier bra than on tuesday.


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Wooooooow. I just managed to shower without turning the plaster into a soggy mess. And that was an excessively long shower (because it's soothing to feel warm water on your back and on the legs etc).

The typical length of the showering and the hair length might be the issue when a MKG says that "yeah, you can shower normally again". These pretty boys probably just shower for 2 minutes or something, and they don't need as much shampoo as I do with my half a meter of hair.

So, I won't change the plaster now and I won't measure the size of the hole until tomorrow or whenever.

Fine. The taxi central has understood it by now that my insurance pays for the rides. Both taxi drivers today were cool dudes. Or maybe I looked so miserable that they just kept chatting.

That's because I had a splendid night:
1. restless leg syndrome because of low hemoglobin values (after the surgeries; I lost about 20% of my blood during the first one) and low ferritin (this is normal for a female vegetarian who loses quite a lot of blood per month). This is normal for me. I have iron pills called Ferro Sanol, which works well against the RLS, however, they're so disgusting that I can't swallow them now, and I just knew that PEGging it would mean a clogged up tube.

However, the RLS became so bad last night that I went ahead and tried to PEG it. As expected, the tube was clogged up. I spent some hours de-clogging it and trying to get the iron into me. I got most of it in the end.


2. I did put too much fluoridization goo into the new toy. This meant that I swallowed quite a lot of it. This meant that I puked it up not much later (also part of my dinner). Also, I drooled a lot again, so I coughed a lot. Another couple of hours was spent with this.


3. Finally, at around 3:30 am, I was done with these activities, but couldn't sleep because that time of night is the ideal time to start to get depressed by worrying.


4. I was done with that at around 6am, and the alarm was set to 7am.


5. Additionally, Geordi the ratcat decided to walk over me at around 6:30am - he obviously thought that after a night like that, I couldn't possibly think of actually sleeping for a change.


So, I am in an about as sleep deprived state as after a night in the company of roomies like one of the Jaw-Cancer grannies - they all snore incredibly and provide some free sleep deprivation for both of their roomies. Some sleep deprivation is of course not too bad of a thing because it's working as an anti-depressant somewhat, or as a de-realization technique (if everything is dreamlike, it's not that as bad as it really is), but it wasn't nice anyway. I'm about as pale as my wallpaper now.




So, right. Anyway.

Today's adventures with the doctors, assistants and nurses!

- I met the other one of the tongue cancer ladies today. What I'd really like to know is why I wasn't put into the same room as these two; okay, they were both some weeks ahead of me, but both had exactly the same as me. Both on the right side though instead of the left side. The one today had an arteria radialis + skin surgery done, what they had told me that they wanted to do with me as well.

I don't know if the other one had this done as well, but if that's so, then I should be REALLY bloody happy that I did not, because both of them speak very blurred. She today sounded actually worse than I hear myself; the other one sounded like I hear myself. Others hear ME with a slight lisp and not much more impairment. So, piece of the tongue with blood vessels is better than a radialis piece.

Nice. Let's hope that the cancer won't resurface so that I will be spared to get a radialis piece. I was shaving the borderline there, apparently, and Doc Nerd apparently was the one who talked Doc Drink into sparing me this particular sort of fun in surgery #1.

Anyway, was nice to actually talk to this lady for once. In the clinic, she had just walked along the corridor and didn't talk yet. Also, I didn't actually see her "second smile" scar then (she's a bit chubby, and this hides the scar really well), so I didn't even think of her having the same as me.

What I find interesting in particular is that all 3 of us were a bit on the higher edge of the normal BMI (I was at around 25 before), all of us are *relatively* young... younger than the typical cancer grannies, this is. What worries me is that I am the only one of us 3 who's losing weight in a significant manner. Ah well, this is back to the depressive state of last night.



- Next, the mask was done. First, they put me onto the table and expected that I should relax, while they were fussing about. This did not go particularly well. I got a special pillow done, shaped precisely for me individually; and that was more or less the only contact with the doctor today. The rest was done by a flock of nurses/assistants; well, not right: he did something when they put this mask thing over my face as well.

What made this procedure a lot of fun was that the technology screwed up because someone had pushed one of the parts of it around by 2 mm or so.

So, I had to lie there for almost an hour, I'd say, eyes closed, mouth shut by the mask (wouldn't matter if the jaw-opening device would be shaped like a gag, because you're muted on the table anyway...), while they were fussing about some more.

Weirdly enough, they thought that I needed some soothing and calming talk-to in the first couple of minutes, but when they started to tickle my nose and to write on the mask, they didn't talk to me at all, even though I'd have liked some explanation then.

Right anyway, at least it's somewhat comfortable on these tables. Contrary to the MRT.


- And then, another CT was done, with mask and pillow and the gag again. That nurse expected me to remember exactly how I had been lying down on the other table. I think I need to memorize this exactly from now on, also where the braided ponytail was placed.

They also actually put a clamp around my right arm to make it an even more horrifying experience. Well, no. I don't know why, but I have an explanation. During the mask preparation, I was supposed to move to the right side of the table, and when I lied down on the CT table, I tried to lie on the right side of that table as well. Perhaps the arm was a bit too far out on the right side.

There was some male person in that room while they were pushing me into the precise position. Might've been the physicist himself, or maybe it was a radiologist. More likely the physicist, because he said something about "ah well, as long as the rest lies like that, we can calculate it".




Sooooooooo.... weekend.

Monday, 8-9am: enter the hospital.
Monday, 16:00: first radiotherapy.

Sometime in between: first chemotherapy, I guess.

Let's hope they won't decide that they need to transport me in a lying or sitting state. Neither the wheelchair nor the rolling stretcher are my favourite ways of traveling.

But I'll probably be tied to some infusion thing then.

Bwah.

[x] Yesterday evening: carefully planned and exercised assault on a pizza. Without the mixer. It took me longer than an hour to defeat it.

[?] Right now: assault on a croissant in progress. Looks good so far, but needs liquids to be swallowed. This went better with the pizza. Might be because the taste buds are in a very confused state right now and don't really recognize the difference between, say, cardboard paper or a croissant.

Nice work on the pizza and the croissant!

All the best for next week and hopefully it won't be too bad!

Thank you.

Well, I'll be armed with a bunch of needles, some wool and the intention to convert the latter into a pair of socks (I like knitting about 1x/year for some weeks); with two books; with my mobile phone; and I'm asking friends and parents to visit me so that I don't go insane at the sight of all the cancer patients, the mad nurses and the tired doctors.

As an university clinic, the patients have typically worse symptoms than in a normal private clinic, which means that most of the patients that I'll meet won't have a life expectancy of longer than 5 years. I hope that I'm the minority there, then.

Right now, I don't think that I particularly want to make new friends amongst the cancer granny population. They *do* talk about death and suffering too much during a normal conversation.


Anyway, if my brain continues to follow this awkward Stockholm Syndrome-alike fashion of developing attachment to those doctors, then I might start to write weird things about whoever applies the chemotherapy bottle in a while. I've been looking at this awkward reaction of my brain for the last couple of days now and I've been raising eyebrows at myself. ("No, I totally wouldn't mind chatting some more with the guy who cut my throat from ear to ear or with the guys who gave me the bad news packages... wtf am I thinking??")

Yeah well, I might see them again when I'm going to the MKG clinic for the weekly checkup during the radiation therapy. Somewhat doubtful though, because the chief docs are in the surgery room most of the day. I'll see Doc Pretty again though. Awwwww.

No strange emotional attachment feelings towards my physician though, because even though the vaccination reaction was comparatively as bad as the other things done to me last month, it served not really much of a purpose. I recognize that she wanted to help, and I recognize that she's visited several "psychology for physicians" lectures, and that she can display or feel empathy... but no Stockholm Syndrome-alike weirdness towards her.



Enough of this weird stuff. I'm contemplating now what I want to eat.
- another pizza? (no, I'll keep this for when I'm back out of the clinic)
- some pasta? (hmm)
- some veggies in a frying pan? (hmm... don't really feel like that, but they should be consumed before Monday)
- just some ice cream? (don't be stupid, you need more calories)