Know Your Enemy

I now know mine, her name is Doxetaxol, she is trying to foil my LGFB plan. Curses.

I've passed the half way mark in my treatment, (yey!) at which point they sometimes change your drugs, which they did mine, hence the introduction of The Enemy.

Aside from the various not-so-pleasant side effects, which have moved me to kitten posts etc. it is undoing all my hard work on the LGFB mission. Namely, I look worse and frankly, feel a bit sh!t. Oh, and I'm writing this from the hospital where I'm currently residing.

It's nothing serious, my immune system went from compromised to utterly obliterated for some reason (enemy related), so here I am, literally chained to my bed by the drip that has been going for 24 hours and counting - I have to call a nurse to let me wee/pass me an apple/turn on the fan. Actually, I need to see this as a room service-esque upside, instead of the Terribly British downside that has me holding my wee/gazing longingly at apple etc. because I'm embarrassed to make medical professionals run around after me.

So all that aside, I have been somewhat dismayed to see my Look Better crusade unravelling. It's a two-fold problem this one. Firstly I can't be bothered to bother. This is fine, it happens to the best of us often in this situation, but it really hit home when Katie took me to Sainsburys in Dalston (eurgh. This could be what put me in here), and I forgo'd wig and makeup for just bobble hat. Again, fine, but I just don't go out like that. I'm not ashamed, but I don't like people to see or think me sick, and I've always been that way. This is basically my reasoning for the LGFB philosophy after all.
But DALSTON Sainsbury's, this is the hub of all uber trendy creatives. There are countless people I know whom I would rather didn't see me in flat shoes, let alone bald, distinctly more Swedish-ish and blotchy. And these acquaintances are highly likely to be food shopping on Sunday too.

And Yes, blotchy. It's a bit harder to tra la la about how to look better when the drugs are really really attempting to make that impossible. But it is NOT (is the moral of this story), but harder, definitely. And I accept the challenge!

So, I already knew chemo was tough on your skin - I had a post planned and I'll still do it, but this is now advanced skincare 101, and intermediate will have to come later...

My once milky, then fake fake tanned hands were happily showing off YSL rings, and even up to filming makeup cutaways on the LOOK how-to videos. Now they're mashup, as DadJokes coined it. Take away the manicure and they could belong to Tommy Hillfiger after his Axl Rose encounter (I will never stop loving that story). But manicure? That is lesson one: extreme diversion tactics. Katie came round and gave me an indescribable greige base with gold glitter tips. Greige-ish is the best colour either of us has ever found, a ltd edition by Nails Inc called London. I am badgering Thea Green, founder of Nails Inc to make it main line, but till then They do a close second called Porchester Square. This is not just about looking pretty, The Enemy makes nails hurt, crumble, even lift, so painting polish is apparently good to protect them too.




The Hillfiger effect is from extreme Sahara dryness and apparent inflammation upon contact with dust particles. This I conclude from being in possession of hands at all times, but repeatedly missing the trauma that inflicts damage. There must be some angry and robust dust particles in my house judging from the effect they have. Hand cream helps! They just need TLC 24/7. I'm using a combo of Aveda Hand Relief (heh heh heh) and Boiron Homeoplasmine, a French emollient wonder cream. Any friend who mentions Eurostar plans to me gets a pharmaceutical detour added to their itinerary. It only costs about 3 euro too.

Face wise, call me vain in the face of Cancer, but I'm loathe to let the skin compliments drop off. I've been using Darphin Intral Cleansing Milk, followed by Liz Earle Super Boost Skin Tonic Spritz and Liz Earle Skin Repair Moisturiser. Now I need extra soothing and moisturizing and de-blotching so Ren No1. Purity Cleansing Balm is the pros choice (that's me), still with Liz Earle, but I'm also using Pro-Heal Serum Advance by iS Clinical, on the advice of Shabir from VictoriaHealth.com. It's like skin Viagra, not that I would know, but basically I think this stuff is amazing.

Like I say, the not bothering to bother thing is harder to combat, so for now I'm flipping it up like George Samson (!) and concentrating on feeling better. The looking good part can wait till next week.

I prescribe myself several imaginary baths until I can soak in the real things (a nurse just came and offered to help me wash, I will stick to imagining baths), and Internet shopping. If only the 3G in hospital wasn't as mind-bogglingly awful as the food...





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My Honey

I saw an 'oops' show  on TV once where a British news reporter said 'Hypodeemic Nerdle', (trust me, it was hilarious) and it has stuck with me to the point where it sounds more right to me than the right way. I have to carefully think phonetically about Hypodermic needle, but deemic nerdle - natural.


But I digress. I hate needles. Massive needle phobe. I'm not a fainter, but I'm a no sleep beforehand, ridiculously proud of myself afterwards, 'ooh look at my cotton pad bandage, poor me' type.


So imagine my delight at the news that one of us would have to inject me with Granocyte white blood cells for five days every time I had chemo. And its not a little gentle EpiPen either, its a full on, prepare it yourself, draw up mixture, discard needle, proper job. If you're interested I need it because chemo depletes my white blood cells for about a week, so I have no immune system basically. I become a slave to anti-bacterial gel, taxi's and air kissing.


 Poor DadJokes drew the short straw after I refused (to me injecting myself is about as possible as punching myself in the face), and my mum nearly passed out practicing on a polystyrene cup. "I'll do it" he insisted at that point.


Turns out its completely fine, he's really very good, and I like the comforting 'OK' lullaby we get into every time. "ok, ready? its going in, you ok? I'm going to do it now. ok? that ok? feeling ok?"

.

The funny thing is, in my first low week (that's what I call it), I was home for Christmas, and my entire family, who rarely get sick, all got sick. Except me, who was supposed to.


At the risk of sounding like an internet educated nutritionist, I'm going to attribute this to a little pot of honey. 
Shabir Daya, MR Pharms and co-founder of Victoriahealth.com sent me Life Mel honey when I was first diagnosed, told me to have a teaspoon a day on an empty stomach, and although I didn't even know why, and to be honest raised an eyebrow, I did it like he said. Anything to help at that point.


Now that I finally have asked, it does make spookily good sense. 


Shabir says

'LifeMel Honey is derived from bees who are fed on a specially prepared mixture of herbs including Echinacea and Cat’s Claw, which are immune enhancing plants.  This provides the honey with a unique benefit that works rather like a vaccine helping to protect the immune system' 

And it's a lot nicer than sticking a nerdle in my stomach let me tell you. 

Its not the cheapest, at £37.50 per little pot, but it will last you a good month and I hereby solemnly swear by it. I was without it for a few days at my mums and I felt noticeably ropier for longer after chemo. You can find LifeMel here