I’ve been back on it for a few days, and am starting to lose track/energy; Rituximab, Vincristine, Doxorubicin, 3 days of Cyclophosphamide and yesterday I had another intrathecal injection of Cytarabine. Gladly the procedure of ‘very thin needle’ and ‘4 hours lying on my back’ seems to work ok as I have another booked in for tomorrow afternoon. I feel a little light headed, tired and my bones ache, but I feel a great deal better than I did during cycle one.

I can also feel the peripheral effects of my chemo coming through; my skin is dry, mouth claggy and my knuckles are turning brown. The heady dizziness is disorientating, and I’ve spent most of the last few days staring at newspaper supplements and the wall or mindlessly watching TV shows that probably wouldn’t have much impact if I was fully coherent. After tomorrow I have a few days break in order to prepare me for 24hr Methotrexate infusion. I didn’t enjoy this last time, so I’m planning to get up and about as much as possible and try and shake myself back to normality so that I have the best chance of getting through it.

Trying to sleep

The room is hot so I have the window slightly ajar. The alternative is the fan, but as sleek as it looks, it’s noisier than the dark outside. My head is still throbbing a little as I drag myself under the scratchy white sheets. I no longer have the energy to remove my pyjamas as I drop my head into the pillow. I hold the button slowly reclining the bed into its familiar prone position. My top crinkles beneath me which I know I’ll regret in the morning, but I can’t pull myself around too much without tangling the Hickman line in my chest. It has become a familiar appendage, hanging against my skin. I rarely notice it until I lie on the clamps which dig unforgivingly into my flesh. I reach to the call button and switch off the light.

Nuzzling my head into the corner between the pillow and the side panel, I stare at the warm LED glow shimmering across the mechanical grey stucco plastic. Finally I close my eyes. The darkness is noisy.

I can feel the throbbing of my joints as my blood pulses in syncopation around my body. The repetitive flick of the second hand on the wall is suddenly overwhelmed as the deep rumble of a car drives past the window. At the same time I hear a click as the gurgling rumble of the fridge kicks in; an appliance on its last legs. Clinks and rattles join in from outside as a trolley passes along the corridor. I concentrate on the colours behind my eyelids.

The disorientation of dark blotchy reds merge with purples and yellows. My mind lifts as I feel a cold chill through my brain. I can feel my head spinning. I feel weightless and can no longer orient myself against the sounds from outside. I can feel my whole body fixed in position spinning around the room. The dizziness makes me nauseous, but I let it pass as I imagine myself spinning and diving uncontrollably, bouncing off the walls. The exhilaration increases my pulse momentarily as I finally drift off to sleep.