In the shower, on Thursday, when we were getting ready to go down for the next lot of cancer treatment, Bren’s hair started falling out. It was like, OK today’s the day, and every time he put his hands near his hair some of it fell out. Ironically, he had a pretty good head of thick hair for a man in his forties, and had not a grey one in sight.
He had organised for a mate to come out and buzz it all off when the time came, the time had come. The kids were very much a part of the whole thing and didn’t feel at all sad about dad losing his hair, and for the most part neither did dad.
7 August 2014
After a consult with his oncologist on Thursday; Bren was feeling pretty good, so we walked up to the busy retail and restaurant strip at the top of the hill that ran past the cancer hospital. We had lunch and then browsed some of the shops, as we walked from one end of the street to the other, slowly with Bren on crutches, but it was a good indication that he was going into his next round of Chemo, strong and ready.
The next morning we arrived at Day Therapy bright and early, and without too much of a wait were called in by Bren’s treating nurse for the day. A petite girl, she seemed young to have the experience needed to do the job she did. Fluent in two languages, she was treating Brendan and translating for the patient next door. With her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wispy fly aways escaping all over the place, the diamante clip trying to hold her fringe out of her eyes was failing terribly.
The only little bit of drama for the day was caused by me. After about 4 or 5 hours had passed in the treatment room, I gave Bren a break from my company and went downstairs to take some photos of the building he was being treated at to show the kids how nice it was, so they could see how comfortable and not scary it looked. They didn’t come with us for treatment stays as young kids weren’t permitted in the treatment areas.
I was clicking away on a real camera and not my phone, when a large security guard approached me from behind and in quite a scary voice said, excuse me, who are you working for? I turned around startled and told him that I wasn’t working for anyone, my husband was having treatment upstairs and I was taking some photos to show our family where his treatment was taking place. He apologised profusely and said, oh, OK, no that’s fine, it’s just a few people had asked what was going on. And so he left me in peace.
With that little piece of drama out of the way… oh and the story I wasn’t going to tell about me almost side swiping a poor guy in the lane next to me when we drove into the city: driving tip for the beginner…always, always check your blind spot. When it happened I said to Brendan, crap!Whose fault was that? He just looked at me with raised eyebrows and said — well it wasn’t his.
All things considered including my bad driving, this second treatment went well. Halfway through, the magnesium did make Brendan feel ill again though, so they stopped it before it could cause a reaction.
That’s another one down.