Tiger, leopard, baby elephant

A white blood cell.
I need lots of them.

My white blood cell score last Tuesday was 1.4 megatons per millilitre (or something). I had been given medicine to boost my score higher than 2; anything lower, and my body would be unable to take the punishment of chemo. We rolled up on Wednesday to get my new score and crack on with the chemotherapy. I was gutted to hear that my immunity levels had actually dropped to 1.1, and chemo was therefore out of the question. Again. Chorio needs to be whacked hard and fast, so my worry rate increased.

Moniek preparing the syringes.
Sponsored by Fray Bentos, dedicated to the Conway.

White cell boosters could become a regular necessity, so Moniek had to learn domestic syringe skills. My worry rate spiked. The nurse injected another dose into my self-squeezed belly fat during a live demonstration. The side-effects of this potion are bones which ache to their very marrow, bronchitis-light, and monsoon sweating. It’s not fun, and not conducive to writing a blog.

The tiger-leopard

We waited by the tropical fish tank for the blood lab to open on Thursday morning. Moniek joked about my long-overdue hair loss, and grabbed the back of my head. A big clump came off in her hand and the joke fell flat. An hour later a borderline white cell score of 1.9 arrived, and Dr Karmen decided to go ahead with the B-mix chemo. I sighed with relief, and jumped into the bed to be poisoned.

The chemo depleted my white blood cell score again. Moniek gave a practice injection under medical supervision. Her technique was that of a beer-swilling darts player going for treble-twenty. I over-squeezed in panic, trapping the needle in my spare tyre. The nurse was shouting ‘let go of your fat! let go of your fat!’ but, despite the mild chaos, Moniek was given her needle proficiency badge.

Dr Karmen reviewed my data and called me to the clinic on Friday for yet another booster. A gruelling 5-day major cycle was drawing near, and so a plan was agreed for Moniek to give me another injection on Sunday. We were given a cool-bag to transport the medicine to the fridge at home.

Instrument of torture

My sister Elaine arrived on Friday afternoon. I was full of aches, coughs and sweats but cheered up immensely by her arrival. Her suitcase was full of gifts from well-wishers including a box of Quality Street which, as it turns out, are also enjoyed by the Dutch. Our ensuing gold coin debate had nothing to do with Eurozone matters.

Torture

My hair was dropping rapidly, so I offered the girls the rare opportunity to hand create a half tiger stripes, half leopard spots ‘style’. 5 minutes later, I was completely bald save for some easily ridiculed ‘baby elephant’ bristles.

Moniek needed to inject the booster medicine on Saturday, so I made elaborate omelettes to delay the inevitable. The actual size of the needle was, admittedly, quite small - but the psychological trauma it created was massive. Unfortunately, Elaine photographed the entire drama.

The baby elephant and Elaine.

My next major chemo cycle is scheduled to start tomorrow. Dr Karmen ordered more tests to check if (a) my white blood cell score was considerably higher than 2, and (b) my Chorio count had dropped from 6.7 since last week. We avoided the rain and nervously awaited the results under the awning of a coffee shop.

The nurse called mid-afternoon: white blood cell score 50, Chorio count 2. There was much cheering, hugging and chocolate eating.