Laughamycin and Smile-ophosphamide

It's sleepless night tonight after Taxol infusion no.9 today. I've reached 3/4 of the way through this part of the treatment and there are only 3 to go. I'm getting excited already, so goodness knows what I'll be like the night before. Unbearable, probably.

This week marks the retirement of my wig. I took the plunge on Monday and went out without it. No-one stared at me and when I went to school on Tuesday to have lunch with a mate, there were compliments. I must have only run into the nice colleagues! It is so good to go out and not have to worry about wig-creep at the back of my head.

I have also spent some time orgainsing the next charm on my bracelet. I have the breast I ordered from the jeweller just before my surgery and have found someone to make me a Chinese hamster. It amuses me greatly that Herceptin comes from the ovaries of the Chinese hamster. Once again, the female of a species gets a raw deal. Personally, I think it would be wonderful if they discovered that the best anti-cancer drug ever came from the testicles of certain war-mongering and profit-plundering men (At the risk of offending, I name no names here). Just think of the fun of harvesting it! That's one career I might consider as an alternative to teaching.

A touching experience at the clinic today. Sitting in the next chair was a young man in his twenties. The look on his face reminded me of how I felt during my first session. The place reminded me of an opium den and was a little overwhelming, to say the least. I wondered what effect those cytotoxic substances were going to have on me. We struck up a conversation and after testing the waters, I began to administer the therapy of Laughamycin and Smile-ophosphamide (LS? Side effects - a lifting of the heart. Effectiveness - not yet measured scientifically). I've been thinking lately about why I have chosen to joke so much of my way through cancer treatment. It just makes me feel good to smile. So we managed to make some jokes that had the whole room laughing. Much more pleasant than nausea, peripheral neuropathy and alopecia. When his infusion had finished, my new friend was able to admit that he didn't feel like baying at the moon and hadn't grown frighteningly hirsute.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmingly grateful for what my doctors and the oncology nurses have done for me. Making a few people laugh and feel braver about their treatment is one way of giving something back.

In some ways I'll miss the clinic when I'm finally done.