Life Is Pretty Bad At My End

I discovered on Thursday that the tumour hasn’t shrunk by anywhere near the amount they would have hope through chemo, so instead of cutting it out, I am to undergo more chemo. I asked if they could operate, but apparently the only way to remove the tumour through surgery at the moment would be to amputate my leg below the knee, so I opted for chemo.

I reacted to this the only way I know how and ran away. I got in my car and drove to Eastbourne with the intention of throwing myself off Beachy Head but couldn’t bring myself to do it so drove onto Hastings where an old friend of mine lives, but instead of contacting them I just sat and got hideously drunk. My sister (who is over at the moment) eventually rang me to find out where I was, so I told her I was in Hastings and couldn’t possibly drive my car back as I was drunk and she got the train down and drove me and my car back to London. She had been with me in the oncology appointment so knew I was feeling pretty screwy and we had a long chat, which involved me telling her what my plan was for being on the south coast.

Now my Mum/sister is controlling all my tablets, although I have my own supply of venlafaxine from a prescription that I collected today. The pharmacist told me that venlafaxine/Efexor is one of the best drugs to be on. I just looked at him and nodded, whereupon he reiterated that there really wasn’t any class of anti-depressant better than the SNRIs. I just mumbled “yeah ok” and confirmed my address; I really wasn’t in the mood to be chatting to a well meaning pharmacist who was probably going to spout some crap at me about pharmokinetics.

I want to cut. I want to cause horrendous damage to myself. I’ve taken the sutures out from last Saturday, although one of the cuts is infected, but hopefully it’ll clear up on it’s own, and I had a huge urge to open all of them up again. I didn’t in the end, but I don’t quite trust myself at the moment.

No one appears to trust me at the moment. I don’t trust me, my Mum doesn’t trust me, my sister doesn’t trust me and my CPN, despite the fact I spoke to her yesterday afternoon after my Mum rang the CMHT, is still not going to move the appointment forwards stating I can always see my GP or ring the Samaritans if I feel I need more support between now and the 20th. I felt like telling her some fucking support would be nice, but I resisted.

Ruth

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8 Responses to “Life Is Pretty Bad At My End”

  1. Lola Snow Says:

    Ruth I’m so sorry. You probably don’t want empathy or sympathy at the moment, but I just wanted you to know that I care. If I could think of anything to say which would help, then I’d say it, but just know that there are people thinking of you,
    Lola x

  2. Alison Says:

    Ruth I am so sorry to read about the tumour and what you are going through, I am sure more chemo is not going to be a nice experience but you have come this far and I am sure you will find the strength and courage to carry on the right. Running away is perfectly natural, a reaction to the news you had received. I am glad your sister is there to take care of you. As for the CPN, I’d wanted to tell her to fuck off as well!

  3. Tracey Says:

    Hi Ruth. You don’t know me but my family has been hit with cancer as well. My mom is battline Stage III lung cancer. I’ve been doing a lot of research for her and I found a series of videos on YouTube yesterday that seem to suggest that taking Paw Paw (weird name, I know) during chemo can make the chemo more effective. If you’re interested, the videos were called: Paw Paw & Cancer: From Discovery to Trials. They were on YouTube.

    Don’t be too hard on yourself, Ruth. There is no “right” way to be when going through something like this. You sound like a brave woman with people in your life who care a lot about you.

  4. Disillusioned Says:

    Just adding my encouragement and respect. You’re in a crappy situation, and I would have wanted to do more than tell the CPN to fuck off.

  5. Ruth Says:

    Thank you for all your kind words. I was in fact quite amazed at myself managing to bite my tongue and keep my temper with my CPN. Unfortunately I didn’t manage to do as well today with some other mental health professionals, but I guess I can’t be charming all of the time.

  6. Elizabeth Says:

    Hey Ruth, you don’t know me either, but my son who is 22 was diagnosed with osteosarcoma of the humerus in August..it’s in his shoulder area. He has undergone 4 cycles of chemo and is now going back to the orthopedic onocologist to be evaluated for surgery. We are all worried sick, but you just got to take it one day at a time, put your faith in God, be positive and have hope. Many blessings to you and your family.

  7. Pole to Polar: The Secret Life of a Manic Depressive Says:

    Lots of love, bird. I can’t really comment on what you’re going through because it would be trite.

  8. Ruth Says:

    Thanks Seaneen. I don’t really want people to comment as if the tables were turned I wouldn’t have a clue about what to say. Thanks for the thought though.
    xx


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