Whimper – v.t. make feeble querelous or frightened sounds.
I own up. I’ve whimped through this week. The installation of the port-a-cath was more stressful on the system than I expected. There were complications with the insertion and the tortured flesh cried out for some time. I wandered about on the edge of tears, ‘making feeble, querelous and frightened sounds’ hugging my half moon pillow under the right arm (thanks Zonta) and watching the clock for the next dose of the pain killer. I took my mind off the pain by gardening and sorting Christmas presents before my chemo brain sets in. Big sista is gonna do Christmas no matter what!
On Friday the wonder-child came back. A chest x-ray showed that the lungs were clear, the surgeon gave me the all clear re health of the wound sites and the position of the port-a-cath and I made my first contact with the oncology nurse at the Base. Instead of the expected objective information source I found in her a soul mate. My journey into the foreign land of Mr Chemo suddenly had a wise guide who knew the territory and who recognised me as more than a case file number. I left our conversation believing in my capacity to find my way through the chemo process. Apparently the dosages prescribed are pretty strong. She lead me to understand that my history of practice from writing to awareness through movement equips me to deal with each aspect of the ordeal as it arises. (This state of mind will be assisted by the arsenal that adorns my bathroom bench top of solutions for side effects emitting from every orifice!). Because I am visiting family on the Sunshine Coast in a few days we decided to make November 23rd the starting date for teatment. By then I will be sustained by the love of my family, have got my positive chemo-script programmed into my body-mind and be as ready as I can be to make it a healing journey.