Oral hygiene

The past couple of days have been a bit miserable, despite the welcome presence of dear friends visiting from Alberta. I was warned that I might get mouth sores from the chemotherapy and that I should practice excellent oral hygiene and rinse my mouth four times a day with baking soda and water, which I did for the first few days after my first chemo injection. But I got confident the sores wouldn't arrive, and slacked off. (Standing at the sink to brush my teeth can be quite painful, although my recent purchase of an electric toothbrush has helped some.) Sure enough, I sprouted a big split-lip type of lesion right around the same time my hair began to shed, more than two weeks after the injection. I've got some prescription stuff to gargle with now, but the sores make it difficult to eat, drink and talk. At about the same time, I got a wicked sore throat that kept me up for a couple of nights, and last night I developed fever and chills. I am supposed to head for the Emergency department if my temperature exceeds 38 degrees C; last night it was 37.9, so I just stayed in bed (returning to the Emergency room is not top of my list of things to do, especially at night). Now it seems to have gone back to normal and my throat is feeling quite a bit better. I have hopes that the mouth sores will subside with treatment--but my shoulder blade is killing me. Boo-hoo.

On Wednesday, I went to see Dr. McCharm, the surgeon who removed my lymph nodes. I'm really discouraged about the fact that, since the surgery almost two months ago, I have been unable to walk much, and my underarm is still numb and hard and painful. "I told you it'll be like that for the rest of your life," said the doc with his usual grin. What I remember him saying before the surgery was "It will never feel the same." Naively, I took that to mean that it would get better but there would be some permanent minor residual pain in my arm. I shudder to think it will always feel this way, like somebody sewed my underarm to my shoulder blade from the inside. He conceded that the havoc he wreaked on the ligaments and nerves in my underarm could well have affected the musculature in my back, which is why I have so much trouble walking. Not great news.

Meanwhile, I told him that the person I went to for lymphatic drainage massage had been unwilling to massage my actual incisions for fear of stirring up cancer cells. He said there was no reason to worry about that, because he had removed the tissue with clear margins, and he was in favour of massaging the incisions. I wish I'd done it sooner--it feels like there's serious adhesion going on there.

Pollyanna moments:

• Playing Lexulous online with Matt in real time, sitting side by side, each with our own laptops, in my living room.
• Hugging Ken because he's not too tall.
• Finishing a great book: Down to This: Squalor and Splendour in a Big-City Shantytown by Shaughnessy Bishop-Stall, a worm's-eye view of the rise and fall of Toronto's Tent City.