I was told to expect a gippy tummy with my radiotherapy. I have mentioned this before. I interpreted the side effect to mean runny poo, maybe lots of poop, but regardless, I took gippy tummy to be bowel based activity. I was wrong. The zap lasting but a few minutes has actually resulted in the vomit. By my standards, a lot of vomit. The sound of which, scared the dog yesterday.
Bar my transplant, I have been fortunate enough in my treatment to date, to have mostly avoided the act of physical sick ness. Nausea sure, we’re old pals, but it has been something that has been manageable with a few pills here and there. Post transplant, the nausea was something that occurred more than I would have liked, but again, with the exception of a few instances, one memorable one in Mamma Jones’ car, I have been able to avoid something that I have traditionally associated with excessive drinking. Something that is preventable.
I have had five radiotherapy sessions, with my last session finishing a mere hour ago. So far, I have been sick after three of them. A quick, paranoia fuelled Google search yesterday revealed that this is a common side effect of radiotherapy of the abdomen area. As my L1-L5 are the things being targeted, I calculated that it is quite likely that my abdomen may be experiencing a little bit of the radioactive spray back.
Today, because I found yesterday rather difficult and my response to it somewhat pathetic, I came prepared. I have only eaten a pot of yogurt with linseed and a packet of Quavers. One could say the rather tasty New York Deli sandwich from Benugo was wasted on me yesterday. I only had this morning’s food because steroids require food in my stomach. Furthermore, in addition to some strong anti-sickness pills last night and more this morning, in my handbag, you would currently discover three doggie poo bags*. I figured that due to their normal function, they are designed without holes to avoid embarrassing and unpleasant instances of leakage. The bags are an additional contingency because I do not get a great deal of warning and I am currently on a train travelling slightly up the East Coast Mainline. I may have experienced projectile vomiting in the British Film Institute last week, but I do fear doing it in the first class carriage (purchased with disabled railcard discount) would be rather embarrassing and most unfortunate for those travelling on to Glasgow.
The good news is that the radiotherapy ended today. The bad news is that I was told that the side effects, the other being fatigue, could last for another fortnight. Do you know what I say to that? A means to an end my friend. A means to an end.
* To ensure that this blog was factually accurate, I again visited the world’s favourite Internet search engine and I discovered there are multiple names given to the doggie poo bags. It would appear that it would be far too complicated to call them a ‘dog poo bag’. From what I can see, ‘doggie poo bag’, ‘dog poop bag’ and ‘bio bags’ are the most acceptable terms. I suspect that this is because the general public have a weaker stomach than I do, and need ‘poop’ presented in a sanitised way.
That was a pun by the way, because all evidence suggests that I do have an actual weak stomach. My weak stomach cannot be sugar coated.