The following blog does not contain any references to feelings or death (bar a brief discussion about my hatred of something). Therefore, to break out of my current cycle, this blog is not depressing. My usual content will resume at some point, so in the meantime, sit back and enjoy reading something mundane.
After living with Myeloma for 1589 days, I thought I had experienced every possible side effect, bowel issue, general irritant and injury possible that relates to this wretched disease. Yesterday, I discovered that I was wrong. Things can still happen as a direct result of having Myeloma that I can not foresee. Yesterday, my unforeseen injury was paper cuts. Those small things. That’s right, for nearly 48 hours, in spite of my current inability to walk up or down any stairs without clutching on to both banisters and leaving the sound of what some would consider to be very odd sex noises in the air, whenever and wherever I do something remotely ‘strenuous’; I have been moaning about paper cuts. * For the past 48 hours, all of the above pales in insignificance to the paper cuts, the bleeding paper cuts I received all in the name of Myeloma.
How could this possibly happen I hear you cry? How could I, Emma Jane Bones make such a Living-with-Cancer -rookie-error, that resulted in the breakage of two thumb nails and cuts to the skin between the nail and thumb, on both thumbs at the same time?
The answer lies with tablets. Lots and lots of tablets, technique and a dash of poor post application of gel polish nail care.
I dread to think how many tablets I have taken over the 1589 days, I wouldn’t even know how to calculate it. As a rule of thumb, I work on a fortnightly basis instead because sorting my medication is the most depressing thing I have to do on the regular. I do not want to be reminded of my shackles on any basis, but having to do it twice a month beats having that feeling it evokes four times a month. On a far more practical level, sorting my drugs in bulk creates space. Yesterday was Drug Delivery Day, so I was in desperate need to make the packaging of two bags full of drugs, disappear. I live in a room in a two bedroom flat in London; the space is too limited to include cancer medication and the unnecessary packaging that comes with it. I ” have two dossette boxes, should I live the dream and get four?
I currently take at least 33 pills a day. My weekly pill total has 245 pills destined for my gullet, which takes into account the extras medication requires for Mondays. That’s 492 pills per fortnight; that is 492 individual pills removed from a box and then pushed out of its packaging into the relevant divided section in my waiting dosette boxes. 492. 492 times I pushed one of my thumbs against the slab a pill willing it to come out of it’s packaging before the top of my thumb hit the empty casing of the plastic. I probably failed 491 times. With each push, I added further injury to my already injured thumbnails. I should have known better.
Yesterday, I also receieved over 300 of my prescribed laxatives spread across at least six different boxes. It’s been a while since I mentioned it, but know that this is medication js still extremely cruicial to my wellbeing. Being the Myeloma Pro I once was, I decided to decant these into an old empty, correctly labelled, medicine jar I had kept for such an occasion. That’s one of my Top Myeloma Tips by the way (in modern times, it could also be referred to as a ‘hack’ but I am not modern nor am I a Buzzfeed article). Who needs boxes when you can have a clean and empty medicine bottle with a safety cap? As usual, I’m digressing, back to the story at hand; it simply meant there was approximately 300 pills on top of the 492 pills to be popped.
It becomes grey. At some point during my hour of drug dispensing, I broke both my thumb nails. As my legendary stoicism lives on, I too, soldiered on in spite of the pain. I kept going, despite my thumbs turning more red with every push. I endured. I thought it couldn’t break me. Then I saw the blood to accompany the stinging feeling that had been going on for a good thirty minutes and I saw my surrender. I turned to Housemate and asked him to sort out the remaining laxatives.
Quick sidebar, can you see why I hate the job in question? Obviously you can. I have developed a coping mechanism to get through it all. There is only one pleasant thing about filling my boxes and believe it or not, it’s the colour combinations of my medication. Stick with me. At nighttime, I take a blue pill, one bright orange , two pale yellows, two bright yellow, two grey, one pale orange and several white pills of varying shape or size. Once safely tucked into their relevant sections, I look at them through cross eyes. It’s hashtag satisfying.
* This really just means any movement greater than holding my mobile phone with rested elbows and tap, tap, tapping away. Anything else, results in a noise and a grimace.