A very different than planned, but lovely New Year!

At the end of my last post I said the next one would be about my meeting with Mr Paclitaxel – well I fibbed, blame it on chemo brain (I am using that excuse for everything these days  - it comes in rather handy at times).

I totally forgot about New Year and it would be criminal to leave that out.  A few months ago we were invited by friends to spend it with them in Gibraltar and we were so looking forward to it.  We’d booked to stay in The Rock Hotel, a beautiful 1930s Art Deco Hotel with fantastic views of the harbour and neighbouring Spain.  I love the Art Deco period, the clothes, the architecture and the house décor – all of it.  Most of the Hotel rooms have balconies and the first time we stayed there I opened the curtains to find a Barbary Ape with her baby clinging on casually strolling past our patio doors – a wonderfully moving sight.  I scrabbled to find my camera and managed to catch a couple of shots of her as she ambled along the wall, totally oblivious me.

We were due to fly out from Stansted with Sleazy Jet on Friday 30^th December and return home on Sunday January 1^st.  On the Saturday we had planned to take Hannah up The Rock to meet the famous Barbary Apes, we weren’t sure how she would deal with this, as they are ahem a rather tactile bunch.  On our last visit in 2009 we met Michael, the oldest Ape, but sadly he passed away last year – mind you he was 30+ years old – a ripe old age.  He was quite a character and I have photos of the beggar sitting on my head nit-picking (I hasten to add he was disappointed there so took to raiding my trouser pockets instead.  I was wearing combat trousers full of treats, placed there by our jokey taxi driver, Albert, so Michael was occupied for some time – he even had me in a headlock at one point!)  There are many more “Michaels” on The Rock though, all ready to steal your lunch, camera or handbag – so take note of the warning notices, they’re not there for the hell of it.  On New Years Eve we were booked in for a Five-course dinner at our Hotel with our friends and their families.  Being in British governed Gibraltar (they still have traditional Bobbies on the beat - albeit with a slight accent lol), The Rock celebrates New Year twice once at midnight their time and again an hour later with the UK– sounds like a good idea to me!

Well the diagnosis of The Git put paid to all this fun and frivolity as my Onc (Honk Honk) said she would rather I didn’t leave the country during treatment.  (Hence we have also had to cancel our ski-ing holiday in February, which I am really peeved about as Lisa and I had our Après ski-ing all planned out – bloody cancer).  However, as I was still recovering from the allergic reaction, NYE in Gib would have been a wash out for us anyway.  I am a bit peed off with myself though as, for the first time ever, I forgot to buy travel insurance – I can’t blame chemo brain for that though as I booked the trip in August – donut!

So, this years NYE was a totally different from planned, quieter but very lovely, evening, spent with family and good friends.  We went to see Alan’s Mum, who, due to my being comatose for most of Christmas, hadn’t seen us at all.  We exchanged presents; one of my favourites was a gift box of Soap & Glory perfume and body butter.  Now, chemo makes you stink – it’s a fact (sorry but it is), your body, your bodily functions, up your nose, your hair, yuck yuck yuck.  I hate the smell and it makes me feel as though I am officially ill – so as I love the Soap  & Glory products, I am going to slather myself in it on every visit – I just hope it doesn’t put me off the stuff when the battle is won!  Another gift was a bottle of Vintage Moet & Chandon Champagne, which she bought us with the instructions that it is to be opened when The Git has been vanquished – a cork popping I am looking forward to with gusto!

After leaving Irene’s we visited our friends Jason and Lisa, who we usually spend raucous, wii karaoke, fireworks which have a mind of their own (sorry neighbours), drunken sleepover filled New Years Eve’s with!!  We’ve known them for over 20 years now, but always revert to our teen-selves when we are together – partly because Jase still thinks he is a teenager and it kind of rubs off on you….   Lisa mentioned she had gotten worried as there had been no FB or Blog update for a while, so had resorted to texting me to find out if all was ok.  I explained that my right arm was still painful if I wrote or typed for any length of time (you should have seen my present labels at Christmas….).  Jase started giggling to himself so we knew he was brewing a plan (or wind, you can never tell with him).  He eventually shared his thoughts - thank goodness!  What if he made me a headband with a drumstick on the front – that way I could type (very slowly of course) with my head, but it would save my arm – I am still waiting for an odd shaped package to arrive with the Postie.  Lisa told him off but we were all falling about laughing – definitely the best medicine.  After a few hours, we left there stuffed, relaxed, chilled and, unusually, sober – unheard of but it won’t be a regular occurrence I’m sure, as Lisa is famous for her Long Island Iced Teas – just ask Jase’s football team’s parents!!!

My brother Kevin & his fiancé Trina had invited us all over for the evening. Being parents themselves now to my gorgeous two year old nephew, Freddy – they have realised their traditional  NYE celebrations ie. tripping and stumbling from pubs to clubs until the wee small hours have had to go on hold for about uhmmm 16 years!  So about 9pm we turned up to find Mum, Dad, Kate & James already in situ – and well on their way to Plastered Ville.  Fred was in his element running about strutting his stuff to an appreciative audience – I didn’t realise I knew so many verses to “The Wheels on the Bus” – I am sure Mum was making them up as she was going along.

Now, I forgot to say, before we went to Kev's we popped home first to offload presents.  Alec and his girlfriend were already home and I had forgotten the cardinal rule: text them when we are on route – oops!  So I did the next best thing and I texted them as we pulled up on the drive!  Alec, after a lot of knocking and ringing finally opened the door to us.  It was Hannah who noticed that his T-shirt was on back to front and inside out – she cracked up laughing and he ran upstairs very embarrassed with our laughter ringing in his ears – GOTCHA!

So, obviously when we arrived at Kev's, we filled the family in on our earlier discovery.  The result – everyone quickly turned their shirts & tops inside out and back to front – Dad even disappeared and returned with his trousers on back to front – classic.  We took bets on how long it would be before Alec rumbled us – it took him about two minutes – cue a very red face – well in our family, you have to learn to take it on the chin love!

Obviously the past month has been very stressful on us all; not least my mum and dad who have had to standby by helplessly and watch their normally healthy daughter fall apart at the seams.  They have done, and continue, to do a wonderful job of being supportive, loving and positive – even when I was back in hospital feeling like crap they were there with Alan cheering me up.  However, it has had a deep effect on them, as it has on all my family and close friends.  NYE was a way to let some of this stress out – and boy, did Mum do that in style.  I won’t embarrass her – too much (don’t worry Mum I won’t post the photos or that video but I did keep Gill in Geordieland fully informed image-wise as the show unfolded lol),  I will just say she let her hair down.  She kept insisting that apart from one Rum & Coke, a rather potent cocktail a-la Trina and a small glass of Champagne at NY – she had drunk nothing else so couldn’t work out why her legs and mouth were betraying her!  Seeing her sitting on the floor and lean against the armchair, totally missing and falling backwards between the armchair and the sofa was priceless.  Watching my equally pie-eyed brother and sister trying to put her shoes on was hilarious to the point of side splitting.  All the while Mum was trying to work out what happened to her to end up like this after “just three drinks”……. Hmmmm no idea mum!

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Alan, James and Trina had discovered the culprit – three quarters of a bottle of Mums favourite tipple of the moment “Mount Gay Rum” – the butt (no pun intended) of many a joke in our house!  Three drinks my eye!!!  Evidently, all the stress mum had been feeling had now been transferred to this empty bottle.  Warning: Nobody open that bottle!!!

The transfer of Mum from house to car was a pantomime in itself – a very bemused and entertained Dad, grabbed a handful of the back of her coat and half carried her to the car – her feet weren’t working very well at this point so this was the best, funniest and safest way. She left the house with cries of “it’s a puppet” and “when you get home take two paracetamol with a pint of water” ringing in her ears.  Finally, she sat in the car giggling and waving to us all like The Queen and after they drove of we all said it was the best laugh we had had in a long long month – so thanks Mum – you’re a star! 

The next day we all left her to sober up a bit before we called to remind her of her antics of the previous night – the jammy woman did not have the slightest hangover, she had been up since 9am (earlier than any of us), breakfasted, dressed and was full of the joys of Spring!  Now, I ask you, is that fair?

I on the other hand need to listen to my body a bit more carefully now I suppose, as I spent the next day in bed recovering – and I had been stone cold sober.  Not how I plan to spend NYE 2012 I can tell you!  Anyhoo, I spent the day either prone on the sofa or prone in bed catching up on my blog, feeling like a pile of poop.

It was a lovely way to spend NYE, but I must admit I did find it a bit tricky when it came to midnight and everyone was kissing and hugging saying “Happy New Year.  Knowing this is going to be one of the most difficult years of my family’s lives, and mine it choked me up a bit.  However, although it will be a year of challenges, ups & downs, it will also be a positive year with a positive outcome and that in itself is worth putting at the top of my list of New Year’s Resolutions!

1.              I will smash The Git into smithereens

2.              I will learn Italian – it's on there every year, I live in hope!

3.              I will eat less chocolate – pah!

So, although this post hasn’t really been about my treatment, it has been about how the treatment is affecting our lives – at the moment.

The next post WILL be about the days of anticipation leading up to my date with Mr Taxol, promise!

As always, Onwards & Upwards

Debs x

Making the Breast of it......: I don't even like rollercoasters that much!

Making the Breast of it......: I don't even like rollercoasters that much!: What was it Julie Andrews sang to those annoying Von Trapp kids? Oh yes, I know "lets start at the very beginning, it's a very good place to...

Poison IV(y).....

My date with Mr Herceptin had gone well, we liked each other and arranged to meet again in three weeks.  Meanwhile, being a greedy mare, I thought it wouldn't hurt to keep my options open so I arranged to meet Mr Docetaxol on the 23rd of December.  Unfortunately, our first date was an unmitigated disaster. Talk about Chalk n Cheese ...

The meeting place was the same as before, the space age hub that is our local hospital's chemotherapy unit. And, as before, the bit I dreaded most was the flipping cannula - the sooner I get the PICC line the better - for all of us - I'm sure the nurses are fed up with me swooning as soon as they say "can you make a fist please Debbie".   I was put on a glucose drip to prepare me (evidently, Mr D doesn't like saline - to my mind, Mr D is a blooming fussy bugger), once that finished Mr D and I were introduced, very slowly at first make sure we got on.  To pass the time, Alan I started playing card games on our Nintendos (yes, I know - we are big kids).  After about 10 minutes the nurse came back over and said she would speed up the flow as I wasn't showing any adverse reactions ie. my throat hadn't closed up, my tongue wasn't the size of a small country and I didn't look like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Total Recall (you know the bit where he is dressed as a woman and explodes - gotta love that film).  Now personally, I think this just goes to prove that old adage "you should never count your chickens until they are pickled"!  The nurse was right, all was fine at first, although I was I starting to feel quite tired but I hadn't slept at all the night before and so put it down to this.  About 15 minutes later Alan said he was nipping off to the loo and that's, as they say, when the trouble began..... Suddenly I started feeling a bit "out of it", my chest and neck went very red and I got quite hot.  I debated pushing the nurses call button (well, you don't like to disturb them do you?) but, in the end thought, I'd better - just in case.  By the time Alan returned the curtains were closed, chemo had been stopped, the Onc had been bleeped and I had been pumped with Piriton and steroids. "I can't leave you alone for two minutes" was his comment as he stuck his head round the curtain!  I'd had an allergic reaction to the carrier they put Docetaxol in - unbelievable - me who loves sugary, penny sweets - allergic to the syrup they put the drug in, what kind of sick joke is that?   After an hour of observation (most of which I spent asleep, oooh that Piriton is gooood) and yet more glucose the Dr decided to try again.  This time the reaction was almost immediate - in fact she was talking to me at the time and suddenly called "Stop!!" - I thought I was boring her.  More steroids were administered (at this rate I will be able to compete with Jodie Marsh) and I was observed for another 4-5 hours before being sent home with warnings about possible side effects and ambulances ringing in our ears.

Apart from being very tired, I felt perfectly ok that evening, although I was severely peed off that the treatment hadn't worked as this would now put me back by at least a fortnight.  I had been due to finish chemo just before the Annual Mums Wot Lunch day in March, now I won't be finishing until April - nearer to Alec's 18th Birthday - I don't think he will be very impressed at having a bald Mum dancing to "Oops Upside Yer Head" at his birthday party.

The following morning, Christmas Eve, I skyped with my cousins Sue and Geoff in New Zealand.  Being 12 hours ahead they had already started their celebrations with a dinner for visiting family and friends. We had a good laugh - mostly at my expense if I remember correctly eh Geoff lol - there was also something about a bottle of dessert wine Geoff had bought with him, it had a really rude name but I can't for the life of me remember what it was - trust Geoff!  We also chatted about Jenn, Sue's son's partner - who, at 21 is on the other side of the world fighting her own brave battle with Hodgkins Lymphoma.  Jenn is also a blogger (but her site is much fancier than mine - she has pictures and stuff - oh how I wish I was 21 again and understood technology so easily.... I might have to pick your brains Jenn!).  She and I share a very similar sense of humour about this whole Cancer crap, so if you want to read about a talented young woman showing cancer some kick ass moves have a read.  It's title is www.youresuperdelightful.com

Funny enough, I don't actually remember much about Christmas Eve from then on.  I think I slept quite a bit. I know we had Domino's pizza for tea as no-one could be bothered to cook - and my arm was still as useful as a chocolate teapot.   It's tradition that Alan and I wrap presents on Christmas Eve after the kids have gone to bed.  Alan wraps, because if you know me in RL you will know I am not at all arty crafty and my wrapping leaves alot to be desired, I am entrusted with writing the labels and that's it.  So we did this and went to bed.

Christmas morning I woke up very early, too bleeding early - 5.00am!! and felt wrong from the start - I couldn't even blame it on drinking Father Christmas' whiskey as we had forgotten to leave any out.  Poor old Rudolph didn't get a carrot either - they must have had the right raving hump when they left our house.  Alan woke up early too (poor old "early" he didn't get much of a lie in that day.... ) and we decided to sneak downstairs and have a cup of tea before the kids woke up, or in Alec's case - had to be woken up.  Hannah "bat ears" Cambrey (I mean she has the hearing of a bat, she doesn't have little slits in the side of her head) heard us - so no cup of tea until her stocking presents had been opened.

I spent Christmas Day asleep on the sofa, I woke up at various points to watch bits of The Nativity - I still don't know what happened at the end - did anyone Sky+ it?, to eat Christmas dinner - cooked brilliantly by Alan, who also washed up and put away (the kids had vanished off the face of the earth) and to eat some Christmas Pud.   I spent the afternoon in much the same way, minus the food.  I missed the Queens Speech but evidently she talked about 2011 being a wonderful year hmmmm I'll catch it next Christmas.   At about 6.30pm I moved (there was a newsflash on the BBC to announce it) from my sofa to the reclining chair at my Mum & Dad's and I slept there instead.  At various points I woke up to watch my nephew Freddy singing "Wheels on the Bus", open presents and watch a bit of Ice Age 3, at least I know how that ended.  

We left there about 10.00pm and by now I was feeling very unwell.  My stomach was hurting with what felt like gastric pains - there were other symptoms but I wouldn't want to put you off your dinner.  Within half an hour of arriving home I told Alan I needed to go to hospital as I was sure something was very wrong.  He called the emergency number we had been given and explained what was happening now and what had happened on 23rd December.  The nurse on the other end didn't instill us with much confidence when she suggested I might have eaten something that disagreed with me hmmmmm let me think........oh yes CHEMO!!!!  Alan put on his "work" voice and she finally agreed that I needed to come in to A&E.  The nurse said she would, as she is supposed to do, notify the staff of my imminent arrival.  The reason A&E need to know you are on your way is so that they can a) alert the on call Oncologist and b) be prepared to see you asap ie. taking bloods etc.  The blood results should be back within one hour and, if you have an infection the medical card you carry has a note of which antibiotics the Dr can give.  An infection whilst you are undergoing chemo can be very serious and needs to be treated urgently by IV antibiotics.

We only live about 10 mins from the hospital and as traffic was light, we were there in record time.  I gave my name at the desk, handed over my card and was told to sit away from everyone else in the waiting room - blimey, you can't catch "chemo brain" you know humph.  A triage nurse came to collect me about 10 minutes later, she took my bloody pressure (left arm please....) and temperature.  We explained I was taking paracetamol for the operation so she knew that might artificially lower my temperature.  Within 20 minutes I was handed over to the 12 year old child who got a Drs coat for Christmas and was in charge of A& E that night.  

Now, at this point I would like to point out that, since I was diagnosed I have had nothing but praise for our Drs and nurses, their professionalism, their compassion (their sense of humour!) and the speed at which my treatment has been sorted has made me feel like I am in safe hands whilst I fight this nasty Git.  However, on this night I must admit I was seriously scared stiff that I was NOT in safe hands.  She was bloody useless and despite how ill I felt, I asked Alan to get me out of there.  However, he ignored me and, for the third time that night we found ourselves explaining about the allergic reaction to the chemo and how I had been given Piriton and steroids to try and combat the effects.  Her first question after she had stood there smiling at me for what seemed like an eternity was "and why are you taking Piriton".....  I could have hit her with a bedpan - but they are made of cardboard, a bit like her!

Two hours, 1 litre of saline and some intravenous painkillers, (we think, because she never bothered to tell me what she was giving me) later, she announced that my bloods had come back.  She explained that if I had an infection my white cells were at the level they were expected to be and would be fighting it!  She told us we could go home and I was out of there quicker than s*** off a shovel!  At that pointed I wanted to die in my own bed! (yes, yes, dramatic I know - I was full of drugs, scared stiff and having weird dreams so indulge me.....!)

Guess where I spent Boxing Day?  Go, on, guess - bet ya can't........ damn, am I that predictable?  Yep, in bed!  Alan came upstairs beaming telling me he had loaded up Sky Go on the laptop so I wouldn't be bored.  I had a quick flick through and fancied "Mars Needs Moms" as I hadn't seen it and everthing else required at least two working brain cells.  I watched it for about 15 minutes and fell asleep - another film I don't know the flaming ending to - this is becoming a habit.

In the early hours of the morning, after another sleepless night, I started getting chest pains as well as the stomach cramps.  It felt as though someone was tightening a belt around my chest (I now believe they were some kind of anxiety attack).  I was now worse than I had been 24 hours before.  Alan called the emergency number again and we were expecting a repeat of the conversation on Christmas night.  This time however, the nurse on the ward told us to get to hospital asap.  He alerted A&E and the on-call Oncologist that I was coming and after triage and an ECG I was admitted to the cancer ward for steroids, meds, tests and observation. See, I told you I was ill......  

The ward I was on had three other beds, two of which were occupied.  The lady in the bed next to me was Gladys.  Gladys was in her late 70s and had been told six weeks earlier that she has untreatable lung cancer.  At the end of November she had gone to the Dr with what she thought was a frozen shoulder (one of her hobbies is needlework and she thought she had overdone it).  Her Dr, however, was on the ball and immediately sent her for tests as he suspected something else altogether.  Gladys told me that she had always been in perfect health, had never smoked a cigarette in her life, kept fit by walking lots and ate a low fat diet - what a kick in the teeth eh.   After her diagnosis she had remained at her flat until she developed breathing difficulties and had to be admitted to hospital just before Christmas.  Far from being upset or sad about this she told me it had been one of her best Christmases ever.  All her family had been allowed to visit (usually only two visitors to a bed) for as long as they wanted.  They had a good laugh and talked non stop.  Gladys and I talked for hours in between visiting times.  I know that her favourite flowers are Sweetpeas (she prefers the wild kind), she likes ground Roses, loves her daughters to pieces and is thrilled that they have all found partners who make them happy.  She said she wasn't sad that her time had come because she has done everything she ever wanted to do in her life - there was nothing left on her "bucket list".  It was a privilege to meet Gladys and I will never forget her.

That first night in hospital I was lying there thinking "argh I am never gonna get to sleep".  The bed was uncomfortable, IV(y) kept bleeping, Joan in the bed opposite was snoring and some woman on the labour ward was screaming obscenities at her other half.  Then Gladys called over - did I fancy a club?  Well, I thought, why not?  IV(y) might set the metal detectors off but I could bluff my way past the bouncers surely?  I hadn't had a good dance for ages. I mentally went through the clothes that Alan had brought up for me earlier - was there anything that would pass for clubbing gear these days - oh of course there was - my nightie, I've seen the young girls in theirs - it's all the rage.  I don't think it mattered that mine has "Wake me at your peril" stamped on it.....  I was just about to answer her, when Gladys leaned over and said "mint or orange" .......  altogether now "If you like a lotta chocolate on your biscuit join our club"...... ;-)

After 24 hours I finally started feeling "normal" again and they said I could go home. I looked like an extra from some horror movie. I had a chicken pox type rash all over my face, head, neck and chest - particularly itchy in my ears - yuck! I was on more steroids than Popeye and lots of other meds to go with the trunkload I bought home a couple of weeks ago. If it had been Halloween I would of been minted!

So, that was our Christmas 2011 - what a pile of poop!  To top things off, I came home from hospital and someone who shall remain nameless - Hannah - had eaten all the purple Quality Streets - her excuse?  She thought they might go off!   

Christmas 2012 will be much better - for one thing, I will be awake for another I will remove all the purple QS from the tin before I let my lot at them.

Anyway, my chemo starts again on the 6th Jan, where I will be meeting up with Docetaxols younger, (hopefully friendlier) brother, Paxotil - he doesn't come in a syrupy carrier so I will be keeping everything crossed we get on.... the way my luck is going, he will probably come in pessary format!  My next post will be all about that little adventure so,

As always, Onwards & Upwards!

Debs x

The night before my date with Mr Docetaxol I couldn't sleep. We all went up to bed at our normal times but try as I might I could not

My Chemical Romance.....Our First Date!

My first date with Mr Herceptin was booked for Wednesday 21st December.  Ok,  I could do this - deep breaths.... I haven't been on a date for over 25 years but I dressed nicely and hoped to impress.  We turned up at the Chemo Unit about 10 mins late (I had got the times mixed up on the letters - oops not a good start) but it was okay, they didn't kick me out and tell me I'd missed my slot.  After a short wait in reception the nurse came to collect us.  My first impression of the Chemo Unit was that it was like something from Star Trek.  There is a short corridor leading to the main hub; two large semi circle desks with low lighting (this is where the nursing staff sit).  Leading off from the hub are 3 small wards, each of which has six reclining chairs (a bit like the seats you get in First Class on British Airways, I imagine), three seats on either side of the ward.  The decor and the lighting are all low level and warm - not at all clinical.  No peeling green paint in here, this is a modern, welcoming area of the hospital.

Obviously, this being my first date I was quite nervous and I was shaking quite a bit.   Alan and I were directed towards a chair at the far end of the ward where everything had been laid out on the left.  This is because after you have an SNB you are not allowed to let that arm (in my case, its my right arm) be used for blood tests or blood pressure readings for some time.  If you do, you put yourself at risk of something called Lymphodema which, put simply, is a problem with the lymphatic drainage system, causes swelling and can be very painful - so, something else to be avoided at all costs - I am compiling a list!  Before all this began, if you had said Lymphodema to me I'd have asked for Jacobs crackers and a glass of red wine with it.

Every other chair was occupied, men and women of all ages hooked up to drips.  Each patient had a relative/friend with them and everyone was busy either chatting, watching tv, reading, drinking tea, doing crossword puzzles but all of them were taking it in their stride.  I was the only one looking like a rabbit caught in headlights.  Alan chatted with me until I no longer felt like running away and then our nurse, Trisha, came over.  She was lovely, friendly, knowledgeable but most of all she was very calm.  Trisha explained what Herceptin is, what it does and what the possible side effects are (very few thankfully with flu like symptoms being the most common).  I had been to the hospital the day before for an ECG as Herceptin can also cause mild, but reversible heart problems - the test had gone well and it had been confirmed that, despite Alan's protestations to the contrary, I do actually have one!

Because this was my first visit to the Chemo Unit I had been told to allow at least 7 hours.  This was so that the Herceptin could be given slowly and then I could be monitored over a period of a few hours to make sure there were no adverse reactions.  Trisha set up my cannula and yet again I heard those words "you're veins are rubbish"  Of all the procedures and tests I have had to undergo since this ride began, the thing I have the biggest problem with is the cannulas.  I absolutely hate anything to do with blood or veins.  The nurse will be merely tapping my arm to find a vein and I am on the point of passing out.  Whereas Alan is fascinated with anything like that (a throw back to his St John's Ambulance days) and is virtually on my lap trying to get a better look.  Because my veins aren't that good and chemo will probably make them worse, Trisha suggested I consider having either a PICC or a Hickman Line put in place to make life easier all round.  She gave me the paperwork and I passed it straight over to Alan and told him to choose for me (see, I really am a wuss).  Later, after a little light reading, he explained that a PICC line is a permanent cannula which is placed in your arm for the entireity of your treatment.   A local anasthetic is given and a thin tube is inserted into the vein, fed up through the arm into one of the major veins that feeds the heart.  An X-ray is then taken to make sure it has been correctly placed.  From then on any bloods that are required and any antibiotics or other drugs that need to be administered can all go through this one port.  I wonder if I can get them to hook up a nice bottle of Sancerre on my birthday?

A Hickman Line (also known as a Central Line) is a bit more invasive - suffice to say, just the thought of it makes me feel ill - in fact, I have had to stop typing twice in the past few minutes and stick my head between my knees until the whooshing sounds stopped!

Ok, after a sip of water, I can continue.  The Herceptin was being administered without problem.  I had a sandwich and a cup of tea whilst Alan nipped over to the Pharmacy to drop off my prescription.  They told him to leave it with them for about an hour and return after lunch.  About 2.00pm Alan went back over to collect my medication.  They had omitted to tell him he would need a wheelbarrow to put them all in!  I had two courses of steroids, two forms of anti sickness drugs, sennokot, an antacid and a partridge in a pear tree!  I could have made a killing down Southend seafront that night.....

The next problem came when I needed the loo.  They had given me a large bag of saline before the Herceptin and that, coupled with the cups of tea and bottles of Lucozade I was guzzling, had the normal effect.  The only problem was I was hooked up to IV(y)!  How on earth was I supposed to visit the Ladies.  There followed a few minutes of me crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to ignore the signs.  Alan eventually asked what the problem was and I explained, quietly.  He looked as perplexed as I did.  Eventually, I could bear it no more so sat up and swung my legs over the side of the chair.  Twenty pairs of eyes followed me, conversations stopped and crosswords were forgotten, pens poised in mid-air.  The Newbie was on the move, the old hands were looking for some entertainment - they had waited long enough.  Not a nurse in sight.  I sat there a minute and pondered - could I wait another 3-4 hours? Nope, I was actually getting desparate now.  Eventually, a voice from the other side of the room called "unplug it", other voices muttered, probably disappointed at how quickly one of their own had given in.  I looked at the back of IV(y) but the plug was one of those moulded ones.  Then Alan saw the lead trailing from IV(y) to the wall behind the chair.  He unplugged me and I was free....  I stood up and started walking across the floor, getting a thumbs up from my saviour in Bed One.  Just as I passed him, IV(y) started bleeping - loudly.  I heard the rest of the ward laughing as I headed off to the loo.  That damn thing bleeped continuously until I was back from my visit and plugged back in.  Crikey, I can't even go to the loo in peace.

An hour or so later Alan decided the other residents needed more entertainment so got hold of the banjaxer (remote control) for the chair.  For about five minutes I went up, down, forward and backwards - until I confiscated the banjaxer off him.  We put the tv on and played Pointless with the bloke from Armstrong and Miller.

At about 6.30pm I was given the all clear and we were told we could go home.  The nurse validated our parking ticket (thankfully you do not have to pay for parking when you are undergoing these sort of treatments) the Valet retrieved our car (I'm joking) and we made our way home.  We were very tired but relieved it had all gone so well.

In two days I would be back for my first date with Mr Docetaxol - this date had gone so well, what could possibly go wrong?

So, as ever, Onwards & Upwards....

Debs x

Am I the Weakest Link?

The next stage in The Battle of the Git was to meet my Onc (I love that word, makes me giggle every time I say it) and I had been assigned to Dr Anne Robinson's team (hence the title of today's post).  Now various terms had been used to describe her to me, "determined", "passionate about her patients", "dedicated" to mention just a few, but there was one that put the fear of God into me.... "Committed Arsenal Fan"!!  Was this someones idea of a sick joke?  Alan is a die hard West Ham fan, all our family support The Hammers to some extent.  Once she knew this (and I am sure she would be able to sense it  - after all desperation has a scent all of its own doesn't it?), would she even be prepared to take me on?  For those of you who don't know, West Ham and Arsenal are both big London football teams and are huge rivals.   Over the weekend I tried desperately to get Alan to switch allegiance - but he was having none of it.   I even considered taking his best mate Jason to the appointment with me instead because he lives, eats & breathes Arsenal.  Was I doomed?   I began to worry that I would be given my chemo via a blow dart rather than the traditional intravenous method!

The date of the meeting arrived and after sending Alan back indoors to remove his Hammers top, scarf and hat, we finally set off for the hospital.  We were taken into Dr R's office, where I had been warned the walls were covered with Arsenal memorabilia (I'd packed Alan a pair of sunglasses and some Kalms, just in case he found it bit too much) and we met her team, one of whom is called Debbie Reynolds (I kid you not!)   In all my imaginings about what might or might not be said at this meeting, the one thing that had remained constant was on which side of the desk the power lay and I'll give you a clue - it wasn't mine.  The following scene is what I expected:

Dr R: "OK Debbie, we are the experts and we have decided we are going to give you A B C"
Me: "OK Dr, when do we start?"

However, it soon transpired that patient choice is a BIG thing these days (well in that case I choose NOT to have cancer!)  And this is what actually happened:

The treatment routes were explained - twice, both with and without doodles.  Minutes passed and we found ourselves sitting there - all staring at each other rather awkwardly until a tumbleweed rolled past.....  Finally Dr R, probably thinking that everything she had ever heard about Hammers fans was right,  said "This is a very important decision Debbie, so err would you and Alan like to discuss it in private?"  Alan and I looked at each other blankly - discuss what in private?  Then the penny dropped..... they were waiting for me to decide which route I wanted them to take.  Wow!  I felt overwhelmed, I'm not the expert, I was relying on them to point me in the right direction - what if I made the wrong choice?  Just look at the time I told Alan that painting the hall, landing and stairs blue & white would be a big mistake - I couldn't have been more wrong!   There followed a rather convoluted conversation where I tried to trick the Dr into telling me which route I should take and she, being too clever for me, dodged it and instead tried to get me to commit to a choice and stick to it.   In the end we finally ascertained that it would make no difference whatsoever to the outcome so we made our decision (much to their relief) and decided on Option A - chemo followed by a mastectomy then radiation.

Once a decision had been reached we were given the names of the drugs I would be taking and in what order.  Herceptin, which latches onto the cancer cells and prevents them from regenerating.  It also helps prevent new cancers forming.  This would be given intravenously every 3 weeks for 9 weeks.  Docetaxol, the chemotherapy, which would be given every 3 weeks for 9 weeks (again intravenously).  EC, a different blend of chemo, which would start after the Docetaxol, again every 3 weeks for 9 weeks.  Then, finally, after the EC finished the Herceptin would start again and continue for a year.  I was told that, due to Christmas and all the Bank Holidays, the chemo unit was chocka-block so my treatment would start in the New Year - "great" I thought, at least I get to enjoy my Christmas dinner!!! (ha ha ha how someone up there must have been laughing that day....)

There was one other very important question that I needed answered that day.  I had uhmed and ahhed about it but finally I could hold it in no longer and.... "Dr, will you hold it against me that Alan is a Hammers fan?" I cried.   There was a deep intake of breath, the room went icy, the nurses couldn't look me in the eye and then she replied "No, Debbie, it's not your fault" Phew!  I also felt that I had to ask one other question, did she think my cancer was survivable?  Her response both immediate and definite was a resounding "Yes, Debbie, we are looking to cure you, not put you into remission".  To this day, I am not sure which answer calmed me down the most.

Before I could start the chemo, the Drs needed to know whether or not the Git had spread to my lymph nodes so I needed a Sentinel Node Biopsy (SNB).  This information would not affect my treatment plan but it would make a difference to the mastectomy operation later on in the year.  If the nodes were found to contain cancer, not only would the breast be removed but all the lymph glands too - quite a big operation which would leave me with an arm more prone to infections from cuts etc for the rest of my life.  If I am lucky and there is no node involvement, only the breast needs to be removed.  I am due to get the results on January 9th 2012.

On Friday 16th December I was booked in for a Breast MRI at 1.10pm and an SNB in the afternoon - I was going to have quite a busy day!

As Alan had to go back to work, it was arranged that Mum would come with me for the Op & MRI and that Dad would drive us to and from the hospital.  They arrived at mine about 10.30am and found me in a state of shock.  The Postie had just delivered an early Christmas "present" - two letters from the Chemotherapy Unit telling me they had managed to fit me in earlier than expected and my first Herceptin dose would be on 21st December followed 2 days later by my first Docetaxol on 23rd December - thanks Santa but I asked for a Kindle!  As you would expect, everyone's reaction to this latest news was "Good", "Great", "Excellent - lets get this show on the road" - funny enough though, when I asked if anyone fancied a swap  - there were no takers!

Mum and I got to the hospital and checked in on the General Surgery ward at 11.00am.  I reminded the nurse about my MRI appointment at 1.10pm and she assured me it was all "in hand".  At about 12.15pm the same nurse excitedly told me I was first on the list of that afternoons operations - and would be going down at 1.30pm - hmmm, now I knew the NHS were good, but time travel?  I mentioned the time clash and she ran off to rearrange the list.  Caspar had told me if that if I didn't have the MRI first then he couldn't perform the SNB - it was as simple and as straightforward as that.  So, at 12.30pm I told the nurse that I was going to my MRI appointment and would be back about 2.00pm - please note that it was "noted".

Mum and I navigated the hospital until we found the MRI unit, only to be told we'd gone to the wrong one.  On retracing our steps, I asked the helpful ladies at the WRVS desk (another plug, this time for my favourite volunteer organisation - I am a Meals on Wheels lady, so I'm biased) and they pointed us in the right direction.

An MRI of your breasts is probably as undignified as it gets ladies.  First I had to put on two of those awful hospital gowns - the first one on back to front (leaving your boobs exposed) and the second on the right way round (covering your modesty).  Then I had to have another of those flipping cannula's put in my hand, the nurse had trouble getting a vein (this was becoming a common complaint about me), he asked me to clench and unclench my fist a number of times - after a while he asked me to unclench my fist as I was making him nervous - considering he was the one with the bloody great needle I think he had a nerve!  I was then taken into the MRI suite and the top gown was removed.  Usually with an MRI you lie on your back and slide in head first but, in this case you climb up on to the bed perching on your knees with your back to the machine (at the same time holding the gown closed so you don't flash everyone in the room and trying not to fall off the bed).  Then comes the tricky bit.  At the top end, the bed has two holes cut out - guess what has to hang through there? (I wonder if there is a men's equivalent?).  So there you are lying on your front with your boobs dangling down through the two holes, in a room full of people you've never met in your life!  The cannula is connected up to a drip which, when the operator presses the button, will release a fluid which shows up in your body, making the scan easier to read.  The side effects of this drip can be much like the CT scan - a hot flush in the nether regions - luckily I was spared on this occasion.  The MRI took about 25 mins and would have been painless if I hadn't been subjected to Oasis Greatest Hits on the headphones at full volume!

I got back to the ward just after 2.00pm (as I said I would).  The lady on the admissions desk looked at me blankly when I smiled and said "Hi, I'm back".  The nurse who had assured me "everything is in hand" then came rushing over - it transpired they thought I had done a runner!  Caspar had arrived on the ward, they had taken him into my room and presented him with......... an empty bed!

Luckily, Caspar had realised what the confusion was and returned a couple of hours later.  He spent a few minutes going through the paperwork, drew a picture on my boob and said he would see me later - honestly, he didn't even buy me a coffee!

The porters came for me about 4.30pm and I was wheeled off the ward, into the lift, through the main corridor via Costa Coffee (honest!) and into Day Surgery.   Now, remember I said this would be warts and all - well, this is the "and all " bit.  So jump to the next paragraph if you are squeamish..............
The SNB is a relatively minor op but it is quite invasive.  At the start of the operation a blue dye is injected into the breast near to the nipple.   This dye travels along the many veins in the breast highlighting the lymph nodes, making it easier for the surgeon to locate and remove them.  To get to them he makes an incision (mine is about 2.5 inches long) into the top of the breast and then digs around until he can remove about 4-5 for testing (he probably has a technical term for it but "digs" sums it up just as well).  This "digging" disturbs the nest of nerves in that area and usually causes an amount of unavoidable nerve damage.  The pain is difficult to describe but imagine burning pins and needles both in your armpit and along your "bingo wings" and you have a rough idea. You also have a lack of strength there for a while too. Over the next 6-8 weeks not only do your nerves have to repair but your muscle as well.  You are given a list of do's and dont's to follow plus an exercise sheet.  All of which will help - if you stick to it!  I must say, I have had two C-sections and found those easier to recover from than this.  So, be warned, do not expect to be up and running within a few days of this op, take your time, take your painkillers and do your exercises.  Before I sign off, I must just share the list of do's and dont's.  In Week One, you cannot drive, dust, iron, do washing, hoover, garden or lift anything heavy.  However, sex is ok!  Anyone else think the list was written by a fella?

Ok, I think this post has gone on long enough so I will sign off now plus I have been preaching about doing exercises so I had better do mine.  My next post will be about my first dose of Herceptin & Docetaxol - let's just say, we weren't a Match.com success story!

As always, Onwards & Upwards!

Debs x