Sometimes, despite my best efforts in management strategies and planning, things don’t always go as I’d hoped. However, this morning as the sun streamed through my window, I felt stronger than I did yesterday.
Last Wednesday, I had a consultation, and the news was mostly positive. My white blood cell count was a tad low, but the consultant assured me it was manageable with an injection if necessary. He said I should be fine for the next two rounds of chemotherapy, after which a scan would be arranged to ensure the tumour hasn’t grown and that the cancer hasn’t spread.
After leaving the consultant’s office, located on the top floor, the thought of squeezing into an overcrowded lift filled with unwell individuals was overwhelming. To set the scene, there are supposed to be two lifts available for patients accessing various wards and departments in this hospital block. Unfortunately, one lift has been out of order since my diagnosis. As a result, queues form outside the functional lift, and when it finally arrives—an eternity after pressing the button—everyone rushes to get in, creating a cramped space filled with germs.
Back to the story: after the appointment, we chose to take the stairs instead of the lift. This decision proved challenging, as I struggled to catch my breath. By the time we were heading home, I began to feel nauseous and utterly exhausted—it was a complete wipeout. I went straight to bed when I got home and felt unwell right through until Saturday.
Once again, I found it difficult to eat, grappling with an intense metallic taste that was worse than ever. I resorted to protein meal replacements, as my appetite vanished due to the nausea. For the first time, I found it hard to shower, as my balance was all over the place.
Additionally, I experienced peripheral neuropathy in my right hand for the first time. Simple tasks like doing up buttons, tying shoelaces, or opening jar lids became nearly impossible and quite painful. Previously, I’d only experienced slight sensations of pins and needles, so this was a new hurdle for me.
Nevertheless, today is a fresh start. I’ve reflected on what’s happened and recognise that I need to make further lifestyle adjustments. I believe my body is sending a clear message: enough is enough—SLOW DOWN.
Rob you are not the pre diagnosis man anymore.
Looking back through my blogs, I’ve discussed professional and personal meetings and targets far more than my physical health and mental well-being. Perhaps it’s time for a change in direction—a fork in the road leading to a new path.
As the scriptures say, *“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my loving eye on you.”* (Psalm 32:8)
So today, I’m starting anew, focusing on slowing down, nurturing my mental well-being, and taking care of my physical health.
After all, living with cancer means striving to live the best life possible—complete with crumpets! I’ll catch up with everyone later.