Therapy - Round 1

Chemotherapy can play havoc on appetite, taste buds, and just general bad symptoms all things gut. So... I tried to stuff my face beforehand. I had tried in the 2 weeks before the first session to put on some much needed weight. I did not realise how cortisone amongst other drugs would turn me into the cookie monster as soon as the therapy started. I couldn’t stop eating. Apparently, you get the munchies from smoking weed. This was that in overdrive. One less worry and I stacked on weight.


The swelling off the lymphs went drastically down in the first days and the cough was gone.
 Walking was tough. Chronic Fatigue from the chemotherapy had me on the back foot for awhile. Naps didn't help. I took to walking after a treatment session and it really was a case of... really slow... It was exhausting.


I had taken my guitar with me, which turned out to be huge in how I turned the long hours into productive and very soothing therapy. I began recording alot of stuff in GarageBand on my dad’s acoustic guitar, which he had lent me. I had never been fascinated with classical guitar, but the playing of Berlin-based Fink made me really intrigued to try that style of playing and my dad had a classical guitar and I had a hell of a lot of down time in the coming months. I set myself goals, feell comfortable on the classical guitar, progress on finger picking and soloing, callous my fingertips so that I don‘t find 13-gauge on a steel-stringed acoustic tortuous, attempt either Kilimanjaro or instruct/co-instruct next January, become sufficient enough with GarageBand end to record songs that I have been way too lazy to write over the years. Playing guitar would, unfortunately, also slow down the time it took to infuse the collection of different bags that were, hopefully, help me regain myself. So, sometimes the sessions lasted 5-6 hours.


Netflix didn‘t help quite as much. In fact, I felt the worst when just staring at a screen, in an attempt to pass time. I realised too, that I had to really turn my attention inwards... to signals from body, mind and spirit. What do I need? Movement or rest? Is that hunger or stomach pain? What to think on and what not to think on? What is nagging me? Peep behind the curtain. Improve that mindset. Detox of thoughts. Slow down that hamster wheel upstairs. How much can I affect my health by doing this? May only be small. Could be huge. Why take chances? Just do it.

Now... with that being said... being disciplined enough at all times and really listening to this realisation is a different animal. Netflix is a seductive little beast. A few clicks on the old iPad and a whole couple of seasons of 'Luther' with Idris Elba were scrambling for my attention.

Maybe there is something that contributed to the illness. Was it Epstein-Barr-Virus? Was it nutrition, smoking, drinking, living in a polluted city, driving in traffic every day, using deodorant, too many worries or my damn ancestors affecting my DNA now. Or it may just be damn bad luck!


Well, I can affect the other things so might as well get cracking on it. Running that gauntlet of dragging up the negative, the frustrations that are spread out over my mental table. What is not serving me? At all? I found this best by being out in nature at the conclusion of Chemo Round 1, walking my old man‘s gait, talking and remonstrating with myself loudly, sorting through arguments bygone, with no-one to hear me but trees, an odd cat or two, a herd of wild buffalo and sometimes the shocked octogenarian on his daily walk around the swamp. The walks were sometimes 10 minutes. Exhausting but one on the mental notch. Walking and a measly 50m light light light jog were mental and physical victories to build on.


All in all, I felt like crap going into the 1st round and felt like crap going home after the 1st round. But there was a noticeable reduction in the size of the lymphs in my neck area and the irritating cough was gone!


Unfortunately, I contracted some gut-punching germs and a fever that put me back in hospital for a few day and a round of anti-biotics. I was told to go in if my temperature exceeded 38,5. It went up to 38,4 and that might I was still good to stay at home. Haha. Not. Paid for it by feeling like shit. Lesson learned. Still, it wasn‘t terrible either. I was becoming more acquainted with the generous staff of Station 82. It sure is some pressure of your back and a relief when you know you are surrounded by a good environment. Even only for a moment, having a little chat with the staff... made you feel human and not completely shut off.

Though, I was enjoying the solitude with my thoughts too. Working through memories and nagging doubts, confronting scenes long ignored or buried in denial. Who am I? What have I done up to now to getting here? Are there any lessons to learn just by confronting and seeing through certains scenes from memory. The ever-defining image. A man with a wife and child, a business to run, life and potential to fill. And bucket loads of procrastination and doubt and foul moods. And a bald head. I almost was going to go in, thinking I might be lucky as far as the follicles are concerned. Nah. Falling out like autumn leaves, a hairdressers clippers appointment later, I had arrived at the Kojak look of my own accord. A moral victory.


The mind games started at the beginning with the doctor who admitted me into hospital, giving a very-detailed description of the therapy to come, and gave me a feeling that this will turn out well. On my mentioning that I had intended to get tattooed soon, the doctor said to wait 6-9 months. This made me totally believe that in 6 months at the latest, the negative part of this story would be over. (next - Round 2)