Walking before you run

 I wrote a post a couple of months back about adapting to the changes brought about by the pre-transplant chemo from July to November (Daratumumab, Bortezomib, Thalidomide, Dexamethasone). I called that post 'Learning to drive my new car' and it was all about the subtle changes that you notice, or imagine, when major drugs are pumped into your body.

Well now that I am back from hospital after a good kicking with Melphalan, the changes are much less subtle, but the idea of accommodating to them is still just as valid. Even though there was only one infusion of this drug, I know that it continues to do its work in my body for a couple of months, and boy can I feel its effects now. But strangely, even though the effect are extreme, you do normalise them very quickly by the way you plan your day and your life.

The biggest thing you notice, and the consultants prepared me for this, is extreme and rather shocking fatigue. So many of my blood cells were flushed that I am like an anaemic 90-year old on the energy front. I have to walk up the stairs and pause on each step. If I forget something upstairs it feels like a tragedy, and I will shamelessly get visitors to help with such stuff. 

I can walk about half a mile a day, at maybe 1mph. I will have a daily slow walk but if,  for example I have to make a train trip or go to the supermarket, that uses up my walking allowance for the day. 

When I wake in the morning my pulse rate is 90bpm. I can sometimes hear my heart while I am lying in bed. The doctors are not at all worried by this, but it means that when I am doing my 1mph walking, I am probably getting a heart rate of 110 or 115bpm.

I also feel the cold more. I unwisely left the heating off when I went to the Wednesday Cambridge appointment. I had to leave my coat and hat and gloves on for the first two hours after restarting the heating. Also, I am steadily losing the hair on my head and chin, so have less to keep warm with. But you will see in the pic that I am wearing my fantastic Norwegian 'Lucejacke' and the wonderful Shamrock hat made by my friend Carol. All layers are good.

But the point is that it now feels normal. I am not worried about it and I plan like my ancient nonagenarian aunts and uncle. Just do what you can, and do not attempt to do what you know you can't. I am, of course, in a much luckier position because I know this is temporary.

And when I get back to my previous 65-year-old health, boy will I enjoy myself!