I’m starting my second course of treatment this morning.
I spent much of last week begrudgingly preparing for spending this time away from the farm shopping and writing lists for my wonderful in-laws who have arrived like the cavalry again to help Bearhands with the girls while I’m in Brisbane.
Then yesterday I waved goodbye to my three favourite humans and came to stay at Mum and Dads.
My last dose of treatment was not exactly text book. I had a weird reaction to one of the drugs I was given. It slowed my heart rate. Slightly to start with - enough for me to cheerily pronounce I had the resting heart rate of an olympic athlete*. Then quickly - which wasn’t funny at all.
The fall out was horrible. I’ve had two 9lb 5oz posterior baby girls (one without an epidural!) and the pain was by far the worst I’ve ever experienced. So I’ve been feeling less than enthusiastic about returning for round 2.
Even if today is a bad day, I’ve endured days far worse than this.
Like the day the Little Sister’s umbilical chord was stinky and I freaked out
The day I pranged Terri Irwin’s car in the zoo carpark
The day my Mum phoned to tell me she had breast cancer
The day my whole family left for Indonesia to repatriate David’s body
The day I resigned from the Police Service
The Valentines Day I was certain Bearhands was going to proposed but he didn’t
The birthday I was certain Bearhands was going to proposed but he didn’t
The day of the year twelve titration comp where my experiment was right but my calculations were wrong and a pesky factor of ten cost me the win
The first day I delivered turf with Bearhands and got the trailer stuck in the carpark of a nursery
The day of Steve’s memorial where I sat in the crocoseum and watched my mates shelve their own grief for a few hours to give Stevo the send off he deserved
That Friday night post-work drinks where a colleague asked me to dance, dipped me, then dropped me and I spent the rest of the night in the ER
All the days when the kids had whooping cough
David’s 30 - 35th birthdays
The day I found out I have MS
The day Bearhands came inside from an early morning phone call and told me that our dear friend Anthony had died overnight
The day of Nanny’s funeral when they played The Lord is My Shepherd before I was supposed to speak and I struggled to compose myself enough to deliver my portion of the eulogy
The night the Big Sister started vomiting blood and we rushed her to hospital
The days of last week when my best friend’s happily-ever-after was lying in ICU
The thing about all of these days is I made it out the other side. So far my track record for getting through bad days is 100% and that’s pretty good.
Keep your fingers crossed for me this week as I (hopefully) bid a final farewell to MS.
*It’s not natural for me to have ANYTHING in common with Olympic athletes!