Hello Auntie, how's your Cancer?

17th April '09

Last treatment finished, and Hickman line out, there really is a light at the end of the tunnel, and for once it isn't an oncoming train!

February will always, I suspect, be a tough month. Anniversaries are either celebrations or commiserations, and my February will always be a strange mix, with our wedding anniversary being over shadowed by remembering when I was diagnosed. Maybe Russell & I should get married again ... or take the cheaper option and just choose another date to celebrate?

First anniversaries are always the most raw, as memories are so fresh, and for me much of the month was taken over by tests and waiting for results. My annual check up resulted in me being sent for a CT scan, and of course there is always the annual mammogram. For the younger ladies out there, it's a pleasure you'll just have to look forward to, but I won't spoil the surprise! I've often said that cancer long after it's gone, still lives on in your brain, little seeds of doubt that eat into your subconscious making mountains out of molehills and secondary cancer out of an annoying tickly cough. I'm hoping that as time goes on my sense of proportion will return, but think that February will be tough for a long time.

March saw all of us with trips to hospital, and both children had a visit to the ophthalmology department. Morgan had the first visit where despite having stingy drops to dilate his pupils, he was the perfect patient. The feedback wasn't quite so good though, when they told us he is very short-sighted, something with is apparently rare in babies & children, and prescribed him his first pair of very cute glasses. The upshot being that they wanted to do a more thorough examination under anaesthetic to exclude there being any nasty pathology behind his diagnosis.

Whilst we waited for Morgan's GA appointment, Freya was also assessed, and equally co-operative, but thankfully found to be just slightly long sighted which is normal for small children. The next day we were back at Milton Keynes at 7.30am for Morgan's GA. Morgan was a total star, and despite all the other children being quite upset and sleeping after their anaesthetic, Morgan was soon up and about and charming all the staff, as he played on the floor by the nurses station. The examination confirmed his prescription, but that they couldn't find anything extraordinary to be at the root cause, so glasses seem to be the way forward. He's taken to wearing them really well, and in the month since he's had them, we've only been back to the opticians twice for them to be repaired, which I'm told is very good!

Easter week arrived, and plans were made for things to do, but suddenly everything shifted when my Hickman line site became red & inflamed. Blood cultures confirmed that I had a line infection, and I was prescribed industrial oral antibiotics, as well as twice daily IV antibiotics which they administered at the MacMillan centre at MK. Why is it that these things always happen at the weekend, or worse still a bank holiday? My oncologist, surgeon & microbiologist, all pulled strings to get the line removed as soon as possible, and Thursday saw me laying head-down on an operating table, whilst they removed it. In truth it was no big deal, and I chatted to the surgeon all the way through the procedure (no surprise there, I hear you say), and all I've been left with is one stitch, and a small scar.

Easter weekend saw a mix of weather and a fun day out with family to the races at Market Harborough. Despite being a drizzly day, the children all had a fantastic time chasing each other and playing tag, although Morgan did struggle somewhat with walking on such a steep hill. The plan is to return again next month to celebrate Liz & Simon's birthdays, so we're hoping for more sun and less mud next time.

The down side of the line being removed was that I still had one more treatment and no veins to be seen. My lovely district nurse was almost taking bets on getting called to assist my chemo nurse I think! As it was, it took two nurses, and four attempts to site my line, but at least they managed it, and now it's all done. The day of my last herceptin was finished off nicely by the Easter bonnet parade at nursery. I'm sure many Mummies had spent hours covered in glue & string, feather & fluff to give their offspring something to wear, I certain know I did! Freya & Morgan both wore papier-mâché hats, Freya's shaped like an egg, and Morgan one decorated line a hot cross bun. Despite fierce competition, both children "won" their year groups ... Proud? Moi?

So, what's for the future? My training for the Moon walk is now reaching its maximum, and I'm quite comfortably managing almost ten miles without trouble. I've done most of my training with my good friend Gareth, who as a good honest Yorkshire-man, will always tell me if he thinks I'm slacking! Following a back injury, Russell's not done much training, but as he's generally pretty fit anyway, I'm sure he'll do just fine ... one month to go now so the count down begins!

If anyone would like to sponsor me, on my walk ... come on, you know you want to, a link to my fundraising page is www.bmycharity.com/Evelina and every penny really does help, so don't forget about gift aid.

Next time, I write will be after my walk ... assuming I complete it of course!

12th Feb '08

I'm sure the expression is "what a difference a day makes", but today I'm changing it to "what a difference a year makes", as life with cancer seems to move at alternating very fast & terribly slow cycles.

This time last year, I was a woman with cancer, bit who didn't know it, now I'm a woman (hopefully) without cancer, and just need a little reassurance to support that.

The last three months have moved at such a pace when compared to much of the rest of the year, and we've really packed things in. Freya's third birthday was celebrated with her friends, whilst riding on our local volunteer-run stream train. Despite a drizzly day, all the children seems to have fun, and when Freya refused to ride the footplate, I think Daddy was rather disappointed.

The build up to Christmas saw the children making things at nursery to fill the house with sparkly bits of card and stray glitter. Freya really "got" Christmas this year, and enjoyed the planning and lead up to the celebrations. Morgan finally found his feet, and was soon using his new skills in walking to antagonise his big sister. He also started talking much more, and showed his strength of will when wanting to achieve something.

23rd December saw us all packed up and ready to leave MK for Russell's parents in Wales. A long drive, in less that ideal weather saw us arriving with two tired children, just in time for dinner. For the first time in about 25 years, someone else cooked Christmas dinner, and it was lovely to be able to watch the children rather than the turkey for once! The end of the month saw my 41st birthday and New Years Eve, which we celebrated quietly at home with a couple of friends. Our only wish for the New Year being a healthier one.

Well, when I was wishing for a healthier New Year, I obviously didn't make myself clear enough, because by the 6th of January, Freya was covered in little (& not so little) blisters, as she seccumed to The Pox. Morgan just had one spot on his knee, and seemed to escape otherwise! Despte having spots on her spots she was very good and didn't scratch too much, but after a week at home we were going stir crazy, so headed over to see Auntie Liz. It wasn't suprising when another week later Ellie had spots too. The pox finally came full circle at the beginning of this month when Morgan came out with a proper crop of Pox, so at least that should all be done with now.

So, now we come back to the cancer in hand!

Today, I went for my annual oncology follow-up. I did actually manage to see the consultant, which is useful, as it seems only she makes any actual decisions. As I've got a sore spot on my ribs which has been ongoing for a while, and a troublesome cough since Christmas she's sending me off for a CT scan next week. I'm sure it's more to put my mind at rest than hers, but either way I'm realived that it should give me a clean bill of health. I also have a mammogram booked for the following week, so will be having a full MOT by anyone's standards!

My Hickman line is showing it's age, and will just about survive my final three Herceptin treatments, I suspect, before they remove it. Once it's gone, my only remaining treatment will be the Tamoxifen & Zoladex, both of which are relatively easy to manage. I am starting to consider my options for returning to work, or not ... but thankfully that's not something I need to think about too much until May, but I'm open to bright ideas & suggestion!

15th October '08

Gosh, it's been so long since I last updated you all, doesn't time fly when you're having fun!

I am now about five weeks post radiotherapy, and beginning to feel "back to normal" whatever that might actually be. The last week of radiotherapy was really tough, the tiredness really seemed to set in and yet the sleepless nights remained ... I think someone somewhere was having a joke at my expense.

Not only does radiotherapy make you immeasurably tired, but it also leaves you with a rather uneaven suntan. It wasn't until almost the end of my treatment that I realised I had a sunburned oblong across my chest, reaching from under my arm to across the middle of my chest. On the whole, apart from being a little sore, the biggest complaint was the peeling, which was calmed by ever increasing ammounts of aqueous cream. Time in the radiotherapy suite, must be rather like time in the air-raid shelters during the war. Each morning as we waited for our names to be called, we swapped bad jokes and gallows humour. On occassions when the machines broke down, or were being serviced, the call went up for boiled sweets and new magazines ... after a month there really aren't many you haven't read. I met some amazing people, all of whom, like me were crossing off the days on their appointment cards, and all I hope I'll never need to see again.

With radiotherapy finished, and the tiredness slowly subsiding, it seemed fitting to "get on" with things, so what better than to enrole in a college course? With Mum along for some moral suppport, we went along and joined a silver-smithing course. You might well ask why we picked something so obscure, well to be honest, I'm not really sure, but I'm glad we did. It's good fun, and amply fills our Tuesday mornings.

The end of September saw an abundance of chocolate cake around chez Collins, as Mum & Russell both celebrated their birthday's. It seems Morgan particularly has a liking for sticky cake, and enjoyed sharing it, not only with Freya, but also the cat, his hair, ears & the floor! The first weekend of October gave Russell & I a well earned weekend away whilst Nan & Grandad looked after the children. Amazingly the sun shone for two of our three days, and Russell left his laptop at home ... I'm not sure which was more unusual! Two days of good sleep, food and company, and we were soon home refreshed to two happy children and I'm sure, two tired Grandparents. One thing cancer has taught me is not to take things for granted, especially our loved ones, but with the frantic pace of life it's easy to forget how important the small things are.

After much arranging and planning last weekend I went away alone to a Young Women's Breast Cancer Forum. As much a chance to share thoughts and ideas with other women as to learn new things about treatment and surgery options. On the darker days, when I questioned "why me?" it was often in respect to how my life with cancer affected Russell and our children, but the weekend made me so greatful to have them at all. Some of the women there were less fortunate. Some had failed marriages to thank breast cancer for, whilst others, just in their early twenties, might never get the chance to experience having a family.

Monday saw eight months since my diagnosis pass, and on Tuesday the children wore pink to nursery to raise awareness for breast cancer. Everywhere the shops seem full of pink & fluffy things to raise, sadly though they seem less keen to show the true face of cancer. This morning, almost (but not quite) on a whim, I decided to enrole for the Playtex Moonwalk 2009. By the time I'd refreshed my computer screen for almost an hour & a half, all the places for the full marathon were gone, leaving only the half marathon spaces free ... relieved? me? never! So on May 16th I shall be doing my bit to support breast cancer research, and will be asking you all to dig deep in supporting me too. I have a page set up for donations, www.bmycharity.com/Evelina so you might like to check it out for later.

Novemeber sees Freya's third birthday, and the run up to Christmas ... but more of that next time!

23rd August '08

There are two things that having cancer has taught me;
(1) you soon find out who your friends are, and
(2) cancer has no respect for age or colour or money.

Since I last wrote to you all, another friend has been diagnosed with breast cancer, and a former collegue has died from this dreadful disease. Mostly, it's easy to stay strong & positive, but when you hear news like this, it makes you take stock of your own position in life, and be thankful for what you do have. My firnds have been great support to me, providing a shoulder to cry on & cake to devour, which always helps! Family have been amazing with helping with the children, and jobs around the house, giving me time to rest when I need too. For these people I'll be eternally blessed - you know who you are guys!

So were shall I start ... ah, yes! Holidays, I thoroughly recommend them! After three months of chemo & extensive surgery I was very ready for our holiday in the New Forest, and amazingly we managed to secure the only week of English summer so far. We stayed in converted farm accommodation with friends, and managed to meet with other friends and family whilst there, which was a lovely treat. Lazy days spent on the beach or having fun in the forest were just the tonic I think we all needed. Both Morgan & Freya enjoyed the company of the other children, and Russell & I managed to steal a few hours away together too. If anyone's interested Burgate Manor Farm (http://www.newforestcottages.com/) is great for family holidays.

Back home, and it was straight back into the usual routine of hospital visits. Monday saw a return visit to the radiotherapy department for my planning appointment. Thankfully this time, everything was stable enough for them to complete it, and I was duely tattoed with marks so they knew exactly where to apply the beam during my treatment. I'd often looked at women with pretty & discrete tattoes, and thought they looked great, but never thought I'd be getting one free on the NHS!

A week of parties and celebrations followed with Morgan's first birthday. Like the Queen, he managed to have a few "birthdays" and as I had treatment booked for the real day, we celebrated the day before, with Freya happily assisting him with the unwrapping of presents. The morning of his birthday saw Morgan off to his first day at nursery, and later in the day we were summoned to collect a little boy with a high temperature. Unfortunately, by the evening, when it peaked at almost 41 degrees, Morgan got a rather unusual birthday surprise, a ride in a nice shiny ambulance to A&E! Thankfully, he was diagnosed with nothing worse than a nasty throat infection, and we were soon dispatched home with penicillin. As Sunday, the day of his birthday party arrived, he wasn't much brighter, and by mid-morning he was covered in bright red spots ... cue a mad rush back to the out-of-hours GP for a change of anti-biotics, before dispatching Grannie to collect all the party food from Waitrose. The rest of the day went off without event, and again the weather held for us, and we enjoyed the sunshine. By Tuesday morning, my little boy was back to normal, and I went off for the first of twenty sessions of radiotherapy.

Radiotherapy in itself, shouldn't be too bad, or so they tell me, what they don't warn me about is the endless waiting around!

I have been lucky enough to have been "given" hospital transport to all of my Northampton appointments, and have had the pleasureable company of George as my driver for the past few months. Now George really is a character, a retired ambulance paramedic, and now volunteer driver for 18 years, he certainly doesn't look his 72 years. Each morning he collects and then returns me, along with the rest of my radiotherapy crew. There's Vodka Lil (aka Grace), a lovely quietly spoken Polish lady, Slack Alive (aka Millie), a crazy afro-Carribean lady with a great laugh, and me ... the Wicked Witch of Westcroft! I'm not sure that all of George's charges get nicknames, but it's certainly kept the three of us laughing.

The radiotharapy is beginning to take it's toll and make me tired, some I'm sure is due to being bombarded my high energy x-rays, although my treatment only actually lasts for about 50 seconds, but much is due to the accumilation of all that's happened over the last six months.

I shall be glad when 9th September dawns and I will have my final radiotherapy treatment, the Herceptin will continue until next spring, and the Tamoxifen for five years, and that is when the real battle will begin!

14th July '08

It seems that such a lot has happened since I last updated you, but it's only today that we've finally been able to tie all the loose ends together & make sense of everything.

After waiting for the appointment to get my pathology results, I was really gutted to have my appointment cancelled as they weren't back from the lab. Regardless of where your cancer starts, it always ends up in your brain, or more exactly in your mind! Waiting for results and for plans to be made is almost as hard as the diagnosis & treatment itself, so waiting another week did not put me in a good frame of mine at all.

Soon enough though, the next week rolled around and we arrived at MK to see the surgeon. Unlike most surgeons mine seem to be rather an oddity, as they both communicate well with patients. Most surgeon it seems are better with a knife that with patients, which is lucky I suppose as that's the career route they've taken! The news they had for us was all good, if rather confusing.

All the fourteen lymph nodes they'd removed were free from any disease, which implies that the chemo was doing a good job in trying to reduce the chances of the cancer spreading and taking up residence elsewhere. The breast tissue samples showed no signs of the original inflammatory breast cancer (another thumbs up for the chemo), although they did issolate a 3cm area of DCIS. In true fashion I'd got my monies worth, and had even got BOGOF on my breast cancer! Two for the price of one, is apparently pretty rare, but then I do like to be different.

DCIS isn't an invasive cancer like my original diagnosis. It's changes often seen as small calcifications which are pre-cancerous, but likely to become nasty if they're left to their own devices, so the management is still the same.

Unfortuately, my oncologist was on holiday (shock horror), so it's taken until today to confirm my treatment plan and it that time lots of other things have changed too! Notably. I'm still going back to see the breast care nurses every few days to have my fluid drained. They aspirate varying amounts, but usually between 200mls & 350mls, and gradually the periods between visits is getting longer, and the volumes smaller. I've had my quarterly heart scan which confirms I have one, and that it's in good working order, so I can continue with my Herceptin.

The biggest change to the family is that the childminder we've used for two years is going to get a "proper" job, just when we need her most. Luckily, I'd seen this coming a while ago, and so both Morgan & Freya are now booked to attend our local day nursery from August when we're back from our holiday. It's not an ideal solution, but the nursey staff seem really nice, and it's very local.

After seeing the oncologist today, we now have a plan to work with. As all the inflammatory cancer seems to have gone they have no plans for more chemo, and will keep that in hand for if I need further treatment in the future. On Wednesday, I meet the radiotherapy team for my radiotherapy planning. During this they'll analyse exactly where they need to apply the beam, and tattoo an "X marks the spot" so that they're sure I get the right dose in the right place each time. I've been prescribed 20 sessions, and am hoping they'll start as soon as we get home, but this is still dependant on my fluid accumilation finally behaving, so we'll wait & see.

Work have started to chase me as to my plans for return to work, and consequently I'm having a telephone interview with them this week. At the moment I'm amazed that they're even pushing the subject, but I guess they're just doing their job ... but I can't see me rushing back anytime soon.

The 25th July sees us heading off for a well earned break to the New Forest, where we hope to meet up with friends and family, but generally just have some quality time together as a family. In my usual belt & braces way, I've got a copy of my last hospital letter, and have found the local breast care nurses, but hope not to need to use them.

24th June '08

Well the glorious 12th dawned bright and early in Milton Keynes, in fact earlier than usualy as I needed to have my breakfast before 7am. Five hours later, I was admitted to the Ambulatory Care Unit at MKGH for my operation, and by the time I'd been tagged and given my sexy stockings, I was being collected for theatre. Every time I've had an anaesethetic I'm amazed ... not so much the waking up (which I've always taken for granted), more by the fact that I can be silenced so easily by the right drugs!

I remember nothing more until I was returned to the ward, (much to the surprise of the anaesetist who came later to ask about my pain management whilst in recovery), and only really started to take notice when Russell arrived just before visiting was due to end at eight o'clock. Much as I was looking forward to his visit, I probably didn't show my appreciation very well, as I filled the nearest vomit bowl. Even Russell's scintilating conversation though couldn't stop me dropping off mid-sentance, so he soon disappeared off home to Mum & the children.

Friday morning saw me up and about by 6am, not by choice you understand, but the nurses seem to think it's a reasonable time to start the day. The trouble is, when you start the day that early, you need a nap by nine, and so I spent most of the morning sleeping. The surgeons came round and were pleased with how I looked and so left me to sleep. After lunch Mum visited for a short while, whilst Russell took Freya & Morgan to a birthday party ... my own personal Mary Poppins!

Friday evening was when it all started to go horribly wrong! One of the two drains I'd had insterted seemed not to be working, and on closer inspection it was evident that it was only being held in by sticky tape. So the lovely charge nurse removed it and applied a dressing, ressuring me that one drain alone would be fine. By ten that evening, and after a visit from Russell, a second nurse came to redress my drain sites, and managed to dislodge the remaining drain ... and so there were none!

The weekend passed without event, with a regular stream of visitors. Thanks everyone who visited, it really does help to pass the time between eating hospital food, studying the ticking clock and counting sheep! Slowly I noticed that after the drains had fallen out I was accumilating fluid behind my scar & under my arm, so was surprised to hear the nurses discussing my discharge on Saturday morning. It seems that drains out equal patient home in our great modern NHS, regardless of the fact I was only 36 hours post-op, so I soon put them straight. The fluid wasn't so much painful, as uncomfortable & strange. Mum visited on Sunday afternoon and I showed her what was happening, and when my booby not only wobbled but sloshed around too, she really did go a whiter shade of pale.

Late Sunday night they took away my water, and put a nil by mouth sign on my door. The swelling had taken on epic proportions and was begining to resemble something from Alien! They'd decided it was likely that I'd need another drain inserting under general anaesethetic, so wanted me good & ready. As it happened, the next morning the surgeon decided that they could easily drain it with a needle, which they kindly did for me without even moving me from my bed. Almost 300mls later they packed me off to collect my nice new foam boob, and Russell came to take me home. It was lovely to be home, and both Freya & Morgan seemed glad to see me too.

My breast surgeons have obviously never been parents to small children, as they gave me strict advice about what I can & can't do, especially where lifting the children and doing things for them were concerned. Thankfully, I've had practical help from both my Mum & Russell's parents to make things easier, but it's going to be a long haul for sure. Five times in the past eight days they've had to aspirate the accumilating fluid, and have so far collected well over a litre & a half!

Freya seems to be pretty unbothered by my absence & return and until yesterday she had only made one observation about my surgery. One morning she found my lovely foam boob whilst I was getting dressed, and asked why I had a new pillow. Yesterday she caught sight of my healing scar, covered in steri-strips and asked if the sticker on my poorly boobie was to make it better ... if only things were so simple.

Morgan is missing out much more than Freya as I'm finding it hard to give him a cuddle or do all the usual things, but whilst I was away he managed to get another new tooth & is still going from strength to strength.

Tomorrow, Russell & I are back to see the surgeon. We should get the results of the analysis of my lymph nodes, and will hopefully have more ideas where we go from here with regards to more chemo or radiotherapy, so watch this space, but remember ... everybody needs a pillow for a bosom!

6th June '08

Where has the time gone since I last updated everyone, certainly it doesn't seem like three weeks! For the first time in ages I feel like I have a little control back in my life, not a lot you understand, but just a glimmer of hope.

After my last session of chemo I was really wiped out, I think that the previous cycle had knocked me so badly that I'd not really had a chance to get back on my feet, so the next cycle really floored me. This was compounded by some unexpected news from my chemo nurses that I wasn't scheduled for any more chemo. Despite how horrible chemo makes you feel, it's a safety net, and without it, I felt very much adrift without a direction, or should that be up a creek without a paddle!

It took me a whole week, and a fair amount of persistance & tenacity to get a straight answer from my oncologist, who finally conceeded that further chemo probably wasn't in my best interests and that we should plan for surgery as soon as my blood results were back to normal. An appointment with the surgeon was booked for 4th June, with the expectation of surgery on either 9th or 10th.

Some people might be frightened by the idea of major surgery, but I felt my spirits lift considerably. Call me strange (most people do), but not getting rid of the tumour when I was first diagnosed was one of the hardest things to accept. Knowing that you have a huge & aggressive tumour is tough enough to deal with, but being told you have to live with it for another four months is even harder, so getting a plan for surgery was at least a step in the right direction.

With a provisonal date in mind, we made plans for some additional childcare, and tried to consider all the things that would need managing & juggling over the next month or so whilst I would be out of action. It's hard when you're a Mum, and anticipating not being able to give your own baby a cuddle or even carry them down the stairs, but at least I know it won't be forever. One of our plans was to call on our parents for help, and thankfully my Mum lives close by and knows the children routines very well and Russell's parents were also keen to help. They were busy making plans for the journey from Wales when disaster struck on the form of chickenpox! The day before my meeting with the surgeon we had to rapidly rethink our options, as neither of the children had had chickenpox, & it wasn't something I wanted to expose myself to either (at the time of writing Reg is still spotty, and hopefully Shirley hasn't caught it, but time will tell).

The 4th was always going to be a tough day, when we would finally discuss the surgical options. It was all made harder by our usually childminder being unwell all week, and leaving us needing my Mum to juggle the children whilst Russell & I went to the hospital. The visit turned out to be anything but how we'd imagined. They were in agreement that surgery was my best option, but couldn't give me a date,. To say I was gutted was a massive understatement, and I felt as bad as when I was first diagnosed. What they did agree was that I should have a pre-op assessment the next morning, which of course necessitated rescheduling my herceptin to the afternoon, oh to be so in demand!

The 5th started better that the 4th had finished, when I was given my pre-assessmentr check, and a surgical date, 12th June with admission at 11.45.

The next week I'm sure I'm going to be riding a rollercoaster of emotions. There is part of my that's euphoric to be finally getting rid of my unwanted squatter, but equally gutted that all my pretty underwear probably will never fit again. For those that want the nitty-gritty, I'll be having a modified radical mastectomy with axillary clearance, and will be in Milton Keynes General for about a week. I'll be staying on the Ambulatory Care Unit, in the Treatment Centre, and have been told I'll be having a side room (maybe they've heard I'm trouble)! Visitors are always welcome (3-5pm & 7-8pm), but it's probably worth checking with Russell to be sure I'm back to my usual smiley self first.

In the midst of all this, I heard yesterday that a very dear friend has also been diagnosed with this hateful disease and will also be joining me as a Cancer Fighter, I'm sending you my love and prayers, and will talk when you're ready and have time, (you know who you are, xXx).

14th May '08

Sorry for not updating you all sooner after our visit to the surgeon last week, I know lots of you have been in touch for updates. Despite five days in hospital doing very little, I finally came home late on Wednesday feeling very, very tired. In fact so tired that I've been heading to bed soon after the children most nights.

Some of this tiredness I put down to being away from home, Russell and children, but mostly I think it was because I was being woken at midnight, 2am, 4am & 6am for either my temperature to be checked or drugs to be given! Anyone who says they sleep like a baby, obviously either doesn't have a baby or hasn't stayed in hospital recently! I was warned the tiredness of chemo was cumulative and it certainly feels that way, so I'm thinking the next six or so weeks I may be doing lots of resting & not too much else.

The visit to the surgeon was very positive. She believes that my tumour has finally started to shrink, probably in part because of the Taxotere, but most likely in conjunction with the Herceptin (a monoclonal antibody if anyone's interested), which hopes to block the cells ability to reproduce (hope I've got that right!)

The plan tomorrow is to proceed to my fifth chemo cycle, and in three weeks to the sixth & final cycle assuming there is still a positive change in tumour size & cancer cell markers. It's been just three months since I was diagnosed, but in that time the GP appointments, chemo, blood tests and district nurse visits have all become a new kind of normality. It's strange how quickly we've all adapted to the shift

Freya is a very competant "nurse"with her very specially adapted nurse kit. It's been added to by Joanne, my district nurse, and when Mummy has blood tests, it's Freya who has the plaster! I hope she's the only little girl who tells everyone who'll listen that "Mummy has a poorly boobie", and looks rather quizically when people take medication orally, but I suspect not.

Morgan is coming on in leaps & bounds ... well actually it's crawling & babbling! He's mastered DaDaDad & NaNaNan, why is MuMuMum always last, that boy has no loyalty!

I will try and be more vigilant in keeping you all up-to-date, but please be reasurred that no news really is good news, and I will get a round tuit soon!

6th May 08

It's been a few days since I last updated you all, and this email will probably be the hardest to write, not because I have bad news, but because I am writing it from hospital on one of the patient-line terminals ... technology, but not as we know it Jim!

Prior to my last dose of chemo, I'd arranged to meet again with my oncologist as I was rather concerned my tumour wasn't "behaving" the way we'd anticipated. Dr. Stewart did a great job of putting my worries aside, and suggested that we continue with the Taxotere as prescribed and add in the Herceptin, and that she'd review things after another week with a view to bringing forward my surgical date.

Chemo morning dawned bright, and as I was expecting my hospital transport by 8am, I was ready by 7.30 ... be prepared I was always told! In actual fact, by the time George collected me, he'd already done one round trip to Northampton & back with the radiotherapy patients, so I actually arrived at my echo appointment an hour late. This didn't phase the staff at all, and I was soon seen and dispatched, which my notes sealed in a paper bag (nosey? Me?) to the oncology suite.

Once there, things slowed considerably, but that's no bid deal, I just enjoyed the company of my fellow Cancer Fighters! Eventually my treatment was finished by about 6.30pm, but not suprisingly most of the staff, including the lovely George, had finished for the day, so I was transported home courtesy of a local taxi firm in style. Despite my very long day and the fact I had to take a packed lunch it all passed rather well and gave me renewed hope the chemo might start clobbering the tumour.

The first week after chemo is always the hardest. The relentless exhaustion, the upset tummy and the defunct tastebuds all add up to make a grumpy Rebecca, add into the mix the worry about the chemo not working & planning for surgery and I'm sure I was pretty unbearable some days, but I'm sure those of you who know me well will overlook the temporary loss of humour.

By day seven I was starting to feel much better, the sun was shining and a bank holiday weekend stretched ahead with birthday celebrations, little did I realise I wouldn't be joining them.

Saturday was the usual mix of swimming for Russell & Freya, and shopping for Morgan & I. I managed to fill the morning with buying myself some new pyjamas for my upcoming stay in hospital, and a new smaller camera so that I didn't always have to carry my big SLR around to the park. When I got home, and the children were safely having their afternoon nap, I asked Russell to check my Hickman line site, which was a little uncomfortable, never actually expecting there to be any cause for concern. In fact the site was a little red and sore looking, so I rang our out-of -hours doctors to get some advice.

Despite my careful explaination about my diagnosis, and chemotherapy the doctor was typically underwelmed, and was equally unmoved when I told him my temperature was 37.5. He said he would leave a prescription for Russell to collect, but didn't need to check me over at all. I was horrified by his lack of concern, so disconnected the call and dialed through to the oncology ward at Northampton, their response was very different, and so the Bed & Breakfast stay began!

By the time I was seen on Talbot Butler my temperature was 37.9, and my blood tests showed me to be neutrapenic which mean't it was more difficult to fight infections than usual. They arranged for me to start on IV anti-biotics and be admitted, I finally reached my bed on the gynae ward at 1.30am, but the perk of being a chemo patient is getting a single en-suite room, where my biggest threat is bordem!

Today is two days since I was admitted, and to be honest it's not been too bad. Russell, the children, my parents, sister and nephew have visited so I've been in good company. The antics of a busy ward have kept me amused, including the young lady who came in for routine admission, and refused her lunch (and eventually self discharged), because she had to wait to see a doctor who was delayed performing an emergency c-section! The food isn't The Ritz, but then I came here to get better, not get fat. My white blood count has increased from 0.3 to 0.7, and after huge doses of Meropenem and Teicoplanin my temperature is stable. I'm hoping I'll be allowed home on Wednesday in time to see the surgeon to make plans for my operation.

21st April '08

Just when you think you have everything under control, the ground shifts from under your feet to remind you that you're not really in control at all, the cancer is!

The last two weeks have probably been the toughest of my life. After having my chemo changed at my last cycle I felt that everything really was beyond my control, and I'd lost sight of the light at the end of the tunnel.

The taxotere that I was given is described as being the "Gold Standard" for breast cancer treatment. To be very honest, I had to believe this too, as it made me feel so truely awful that it must be doing some good. A bit like the nasty cough mixture, that your Mum always told you did more good than the nice lemony one, but you didn't quite believe her!

Four days after having the taxotere I actually spent the whole day in bed, it was even an effort to get out of bed to go to the bathroom I felt so weak and tired. Thankfully, that didn't last too long, but the lasting effects of the Tax are that I still have the most hideous upset tummy & diarrhoea, but no weight loss, now that really does seem unfair.

Not only has all my hair now parted company, (no need to wax here this year unless my head needs a shine & polish,) but I've also lost most of my eyelashes and noticed my eyebrows are thinning too, what with the red flush on my cheeks from my enforced menopause and my bloated tummy, I must look a strange sight.

The middle week of this cycle saw us all heading of to a family wedding, despite how thoroughly awful I felt, (and looked too I suspect), I'm very glad I went and did have a lovely time. Other families are the same as ours I'm sure, where we all get together very rarely. This was highlighted only too well, when someone reminded me we'd now had our requisite four weddings and a funeral in the past four years!

The stress on my brain worrying about my change in treatment, and the stress on my guts coping with the drugs all took it's toll whilst we were away too. For the first time I really let myself have a huge rant and rave about how unfair life is. Thankfully it didn't last long, and the tears were soon dried, but poor Russell really did take the brunt of it.

On returning home Russell's parents visited to help out with childcare, and life slowly returned to the pre-chemo hiatus where you begin counting down to the next drug assualt.

Today saw an impromptu visit to my oncologist in Northampton, to answer some of the questions I forgot to ask last time. Even when I go armed with a list of questions, a pad and a pen, I still seem to come away with more questions than answers.

My main concern was where would we be standing with regard to ongoing treatment & surgery after the poor effects of the first chemo drugs. Her response was very blunt, but also quite reassuring. If there isn't good response after Thursday's dose of Taxotere and Herceptin, we'll move straight to surgery. Whilst surgery inself carries the risk of disrupting the tumour and spreading it further, sitting back and watching whilst ineffective chemo does no more than reduce my immunity isn't a positive course of action either. In some ways this was reassuring, as I've always said I'd be much happier to have the breast & therefore the tumour gone so that it couldn't do more damage.

Her honesty also stretched as far as discussing my prognosis and the probablity of secondary spread. Whilst she wouldn't be drawn on real numbers for prognosis, she was honest in her opinion that it's unlikely that I'll get away without secondary tumours, especially bearing in mind the virility and resiliance of the tumour to everything we've thrown at it so far.

I now have a few days to relax and collect my thoughts before we start again on Thursday. I've had hospital transport booked to take me to & from Northampton, and alongside my two lots of drugs I also need to fit in a cardiac echo to be sure I'm well enough to continue with treatment.

It's rather daunting to think that in ten days they'll be making a decision about my suitablity for immediate surgery, but at least then we'll know where we're moving forward to, and maybe the ground under my feet will stop shifting so much.