What a reunion!  3 weeks is far too long to be away from one’s family and I was completely emotional (a permanent state of mind for me at the moment, mind you).  Having everyone with me makes coping with this thing so much easier.

Monday brought everything back into stark relief as Nik and I headed back to my new home-away-from-home for my heart scan.  It was a slow day in Nuclear Medicine, so once they had located my folder, which seems to have turned into a serial-truant lately, they started the process.  I was injected with Tin (how do these people come up with these things?) and twenty minutes later they injected me with a radio-active material called Technetium which affixes itself to the Tin and emits gamma rays.  I could feel the Technetium working its way up my arm, towards my heart, as a burning sensation. 

The radiographers then used a gamma camera to take three different photos of my heart function, which are then interpreted by the doctors to assess my basic heart function.  The chemotherapy drugs are cardio-toxic, so I have to have the ERNA scan performed again, halfway through my chemo to assess whether there has been any drop in cardiac function as a result of my treatment.  The procedure itself, aside from those bloody injections, was a walk in the park and my only real discomfort was not being able to participate in the conversation Nik was having with everyone.  Apparently talking elevates the heart rate, which can then provide a false reading on the results.  With all of the years of practice, you would think I would be talking-fit, but apparently not.  I wonder if the amount of talking I do would actually then be considered a cardio workout?  I should look into that.

Even more exciting for me was that I could remain fully-dressed.  That is the first time I have been to that hospital and not had to remove my clothing.

One of the hardest things for me to comprehend about all of this is that I am the picture of health – I don’t even get head-colds - and yet I am willingly subjecting myself to a treatment which is going to pump toxins into my body, destroy my blood, hair, nails and any other fast-growing cells and make me unbelievably ill.  And I am going to do it four times.  There is something innately wrong with all of this!!

On Tuesday, Nik took his mom to the airport for her return flight to Durban.  The kids were both staying at friends and we found ourselves alone for our 16th wedding anniversary.  After lounging around the house for several hours, we decided to treat ourselves to an anniversary lunch at Beluga’s in Green Point, a very upmarket establishment which has half-price sushi and cocktails every day from lunchtime to 7.00pm. Feasting on margaritas and sushi is definitely an excellent way to celebrate an anniversary. 

After we had finished, we retired to the bar for a smoke and got chatting to the Zimbabwean barman, Tawanda, who turned out to be an appallingly bad influence.  In the name of educating a couple of country bumpkins, he introduced us to several new shooters on the house.  I believe strongly that knowledge is power, so I felt it was my duty to become well-informed on the bad side-effects of multiple shooters combined with cocktails and I submitted myself as a test subject.  Suffice to say, coffee-flavoured tequila, a banga banga (Southern Comfort with lime and grenadine) and white chocolate martinis combined with a margarita or two generate a sense of well-being, while rendering a person completely bullet-proof.  This should not, however, be performed without adequate supervision.  The resultant effect can leave one with a radically altered appearance causing shock once the mixture has worn off.

This is generally not a good time to call the hairdresser, but there was no warning label on the bottles advising this.  I wonder if we can sue?  Suffice to say, in my genial, let’s go bungee jumping state, I insisted on heading off to my hairdresser immediately after lunch (at 4.00pm).  Angela, who has been my hairdresser for over 10 years kept the salon open for us and we rushed in, full of bravado, insisting that she “take it all off”!  My only sober request was that we cut off the ponytail in one piece so that I can donate it to the Cancer Association to be used to make wigs.  Angela went to work, snipping, shaping and shearing.  I emerged half an hour later looking like a middle-aged pixie – my previously highlight-covered grey shining in all its glory.  Thank God I only have to put up with this new look for 3 weeks and at least the loss of short hair will be less traumatic than watching long hair fall out in chunks.

While I was watching my long locks falling to the floor, another, far more devastating deluge was occurring in Aberdeen.  A hail storm of biblical proportions hit the town yesterday afternoon, leaving massive destruction in its wake.  Hail stones the size of golf balls rained down on the area, shattering windows, uprooting trees, decimating gardens and killing small animals.  A total of 31 window panes were smashed in our house.  The gutters collapsed under the weight of the stones.  Rain water was running down the passage walls.  Our vegetables have been julienned.  Car windows, mirrors and lights were smashed.  Homes were flooded. Fortunately, our chickens were all okay and the olive trees seemed to have survived the onslaught.  Tawanda’s ministrations at lunchtime dulled the pain somewhat, but I imagine the full horror of it all will hit us once we get home.

In the meantime, we have many more ups and downs to look forward to.

by Samantha Jankovich-Besan on Wednesday, 22 December 2010 at 13:43