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.