GCSF – no longer on my ‘favourite drugs’ list

Well scientifically maybe, but not as a user. I am retrospectively writing this, at a time where I am not exactly feeling my usual chipper self, but I will try to resist the temptation to moan about my now sufferings, and purely focus on those in the past. 

We made a trip up to Edinburgh from Brighton the Friday before my last chemo. This, I will reiterate, was a trip sanctioned by my consultant; I was not breaking any rules. I was, however, very neutropenic and subsequently on GCSF injections. Again. I am starting to think this may become a regular occurrence. Anyway, I am sitting at Gatwick with Mike, when he receives a call from my Macmillan nurse giving him a few appointment updates; ‘Oh and I have noticed Olivia has quite a low neutrophil count so make sure to keep her away from crowded places….’ Time for a wry smile.

My first gut jab was Thursday, so by the time we were in Edinburgh, Friday afternoon, my sternum was already aching. Good news really; obviously my bone marrow was releasing all its goodness into my blood stream, so I may not have been dangerously neutropenic on the flight. Although this may be good news, the feeling is pretty uncomfortable. My spleen is working overtime despite suffering from lymphoma infiltration - a fact it likes to remind me of constantly, a gift of pain I then pass on to you. Sitting becomes an awkward pastime as I try to appease my sternum, spleen, gall bladder and arm all at once. I spent Friday evening in a quest to find the ultimate sitting position, a quest that proved fruitless.  

Saturday we had a lovely, and for me lively, walk up in the Pentlands (Munroing maybe?) where, aside from a decent and bloody blister, I had no adverse side effects. Yes ok, my sternum hurt, but that was to be expected. To be honest I was buzzing like a pre bedtime six year old; ‘Turn around now? But we are nowhere near the top!’ That night, post a third and final gut jab (admirably witnessed by my moderately needle phobic sister – ‘moderately’ being a euphemism) at a very nice dinner with a very nice French red wine, my pelvic bone starts to throb, and ache, and ache throb. Or throbache.  Self-medication with further red wine and a tawny makes sitting at least bearable, but come bedtime there is no chance for sleep as the pain is now relentless; radiating from my femur down my legs, from my pelvis into my spine, from my sternum into my ribcage, not to mention an ever present ache in my darcabazine damaged arm, a bizarre sore throat and an overwhelming nauseous feeling. Oh and my [insert expletive here] spleen.

The blur in the top left was initially a guy flipping the bird.....

Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, oh shit I am going to throw up. I attempt an explosive leap from the bed in an effort to reach the bathroom, but my legs give way under the vast bone pain and I slam into the wall, waking my husband in the process. He responds heroically at lightning speed, saving me from an imminent Hendrix style fate, rushing me down a foreign hallway, in the dark, avoiding shoes and bikes, in his boxers, without his glasses whilst pretty much still asleep. Telepathic high fives all round at a job well done, as I enjoy my dinner a second time, now with the beautiful ambiance of a toilet bowl and an overhead fan. I don’t think I need to tell you which I preferred.

My sister, who had magnanimously sacrificed her bed for the family cause, was pleasantly awoken from the couch to the sound of me hurling my guts up. She tottered out to have a look (who wouldn’t?) and sent a blarey eyed Mike back to bed. It turns out she has been suffering bouts of insomnia due to an exercise preventing injury, so we spent the night between the kitchen table and the toilet catching up. It was nice to have the company.

There is not really much more to this story. Sunday we went for a drive to Anstruther, had the best fish and chips in Scotland (pineapple rings for me). I had pretty bad bone and splenic pain most of the day, not to mention a demoralising feeling of fatigue. By St Andrews my body had decided to shiver uncontrollably. The rest of the weekend was a bit of a blur, somewhere between semi-consciousness and unconsciousness. Except I do remember the Bombay Bicycle Club curry. Man that is good curry.