Is a tiny, lagoon island in Batticaloa District, in the Eastern Province of Sri Lanka. It is also an area of increased cancellous bone. I have one and you may have one, too. Mine is in my lumbar vertebrae and I love it for not being an area of metastatic breast cancer, or any other kind of cancer, for that matter.
I waited almost a month to find this out but I’m OK with this; I’m used to it. Waiting is what you do, when you have cancer. Appointments, scans and blood tests; appointments, scans and blood tests. The constant monitoring of one’s mortality is exhausting but, on the flip side, what marvellous fortune, to be living in an era of appointments, scans and blood tests.
Chemo 4 is coming up, at the end of next week. Following my nose dive, after the first chemotherapy, I’m no longer on FEC, just EC….Still feels like FEC, to me! The (E) epirubicin, goes in first; it’s a bright red and then, as soon as the (C) cyclophosphamide is injected, I start to feel strange, unwell and sort of drunk, without the nice bit! Over the next few days, I take a battery of drugs to combat nausea; my heart thumps and my head sings. Sleep, at night, comes in two hour blocks of, what I can only describe as, anaesthetised loss of consciousness. Day 5 brings overwhelming fatigue. I don’t know how I get out of bed and I don’t know how I get back in. It feels like paralysis has set in as I spend most of my time horizontal on the sofa or in bed drifting in and out of sleep. By day 8, I start to pull out of the spiral and the relief I feel on day 10, as I wake up, refreshed and renewed is indescribable.
Almost normal, then, until day 21, next Friday. Oh ‘EC!!