Hello Auntie, how's your Cancer?

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.

3rd April 08

... and my lump is getting bigger again, so chemo was cancelled today , and probably for the first time I am really quite scared.

My oncologist has transfered my care to Northampton, which is our regional centre, and I'll start on a different kind of treatment tomorrow afternoon.

I've been warned that this regime will be tougher than the last, and I kind of find that reassuring to be honest. I'm working on the idea that if I'm feeling bad, the cancer is feeling even worse.

My new motto today (borrowed from a book I'm reading) is,
I'm not a cancer sufferer (I've never suffered anything quietly ), I'm a cancer FIGHTER!

Let the next battle begin.

2nd April 08

I can't believe that it's been over two weeks since I updated everyone, and what a busy couple of weeks it's been.

My last chemo went as well as I could expect. To be very honest I thought that I'd be feel far worse, but have managed to get away with just nausea & overwelming tiredness. I think the hardest thing is the feeling of coming down after the steroids which makes me feel very down in the dumps.

Freya is coming on in leaps and bounds and seems to accept the regular visits from the health visitor and district nurse, where as I feel like someone receiving care in the community! When they arrive she finds her "nurse kit" and ably assists them. I must remind her that healthcare never did pay very well.

My syrup finally got an outing in readiness for wearing at a wedding in a few weeks, and I was quite suprised that I didn't feel more uncomfortable, and if anything just a little hot. The evening was lightened a little by a small friend of mine greeting me with the words, "Nice wig!". It certainly broke the ice for the adults.

My toughest challenge at the moment seems to be keeping my Hickman line working. Every Wednesday my lovely district nurse, Joanne, visits to re-dress and flush my line, and I can see the dispair as soon as she arrives. This is only compounded by the fact that taking blood from my veins, really is like getting blood from a stone. Every time the line blocks it means a trip off to the hospital for it to be re-checked and unblocked. Funnily it's these little things which upset me more than anything, the big things I can manage.

My crisis for this week is that the site of my bone scan injection from a month ago has flared up and become inflamed, so Monday saw me in the phone queue for the doctors, who's answering machine was still on GMT whilst the rest of the UK was on BST. When I eventually saw the doctor he decided I have flea-bite-us, well actually phebitis which is inflamation of a vein. This wouldn't usually be too much of a worry, but in my compromised state I am now happily throwing antibiotics down my neck four times a day along with all my other pills and potions.

We had a tough day yesterday as it was the funeral of Russell's cousin. Adrian sadly died over Easter at only 37 years from throat cancer. It was hard for everyone to lose someone they loved at such a young age, but I was heartened to see that he was so well loved with a congregation of well over a hundred celebrating his all too short life. For me, it reminded me how hard my fight could be, which was leveling, but I got lots of hugs and words of encouragement which was lovely.

Well, another cycle starts tomorrow, as I receive the last dose of my FEC chemotherapy, and I'll be half was through my treatment.

Onwards and upwards I say!