Sorry for not posting earlier but I have been too busy enjoying myself - yes, you read that right, I have been ENJOYING myself!!!  After 3 months of feeling like something the cat brought in, played with, ate then threw up - I am finally feeling like me again - if I could cartwheel I would.....

Each March for the last four years I have organised a "Mums Wot Lunch" day out.  The numbers have grown over the years and there are now about 25 of us going up to London for the day to shop, lunch, gossip and see a show.  This year, however, I really didn't know if I was going to be well enough to go with them.  I was gutted that I might miss it as its a brilliant day with a fantastic group of women who get on so well - we laugh from beginning to end.   As it was, although my stomach was still bad, I decided that, as Dad was driving, I would go up on the coach but come home with him if I felt unwell.  

I gave the group too many choices this year and they were split on their choice of show.    In the end 5 went to see Blood Brothers and the rest of us saw Dreamboats and Petticoats - a brilliant show with a very young and enthusiastic cast.  We had front row seats and felt like we were part of the show, by the end Mum (who had been whisked back to her teenage years and was singing along) and I were up dancing.  The rest of our group were soon up too (apart from Kate and Trina who refused point blank - the trombonist noticed their lack of bopping so gave them a close up and personal demonstration of his instrument!!!).  We had dinner at the Strand Palace Hotel and then laughed all the way home on the coach.  I had a ball (and I know everyone else did).  I had taken a pillow with me as I am usually asleep by about 9pm but I seemed to get a second wind on the coach home (a different kind of wind than I have been suffering from recently - luckily for my fellow travellers).  I am not sure if it was the company or the fact that I had been popping Gaviscon, Zantac & Rennie Ice all day - but I was feeling good and am so glad I went.  Thanks Ladies and, yes, I am in the process of sorting next year's show so don't worry.

The following week was my "Nadir Week" - the week where my immune system has been beaten into submission by the nasty chemo and is waving the white flag.  I am supposed to live in a bubble, cook all my own food, wash in purified water and wear a face mask if I am forced to interact with the "germy" general public - well, I am exagerating a bit, but you get the drift!  It was also the week of my Birthday - I was to turn 22 (again....) shut it!!

As you will have gathered from my previous posts, I don't do things by halves.  So there I was on Monday morning, feeling pants because my stomach had gotten worse and worse and now no amount of Gaviscon etc was helping.  I was also becoming worried that it was more than inflammation of the gullet, stomach and oesophagus - I was concerned that I had an ulcer caused by the chemo.  In desperation I called the chemo unit to speak to a nurse.  This is when the fun began.....   She listened to my complaints and said she would speak to a Dr and call me back.  Half an hour later she called telling me to "get yourself to A&E, the Doctor would like you to be seen.  Oh and take an overnight bag".  Now, I have read my "Cancer for Dummies" book so I know I am supposed to have an overnight bag packed "just in case" but have I done it?  Have I heck as like - in my book, that's just tempting fate!  So, for the next 10-15 minutes I frantically packed a bag with everything I might need if I was kept in; ear plugs (to blot out the snoring, farting, nurses talking and screams from the labour ward above), a book, Lucozade (my staple drink for the last three months), a washbag, my chemo file and a hand towel.  Just as well I didnt get kept in as I forgot my PJs - Doh!

My friend Rachael did her Driving Miss Debbie bit and dropped me off at A&E.  As I have come to expect - they knew nothing about me being told to come in.......  I saw a triage nurse first - lovely lady who said she could see I was in a lot of discomfort and would get me seen by the Dr asap, which she duly did.  The first Dr introduced himself and asked why I was at A&E today (hmmm did he not read the notes that the triage nurse painstakingly wrote out?).  He gave me a cursory examination and said he was going to speak to a different Dr.  Enter the second Dr (who I later discover is a trainee consultant oncologist).  Again I was asked why I had attended A&E that day - by this time I wanted to scream with frustration, but did not have the energy.  Instead, I calmly explained for the third time that the Dr in the chemo unit had asked me to come in and be examined.  He asked if I could wait a minute whilst he read my notes " of course" I replied.  A few minutes later, after studying the computer for a while and looking at my scan results, he asked me "what type of cancer are we dealing with here" - I looked at him and for a split second I wondered if he was serious - then told him it was BC.   His next question totally floored me........ he asked "and is that 100%......." the word "definite" died on his lips when he saw the expression on my face (and probably noticed for the first time that I have no hair on my bonce).  Now the "normal" Debbie would have said "No, mate, I just heard a lot about this chemo lark and thought I'd give it a whirl" but the ill, fed up and knackered Debbie meekly replied "yes".  Please note that I have since complained about him to my Dr, who was very angry and apologetic.  He either needs a toe up his ass and retraining or he should look for another job - one where tact is not required.  Pillock!

Anyway, after examing me he said he thought I should have a camera down my throat to see what was happening and went away to discuss this with my Onc.  She told him what she thought of this invasive and, in her opinion, pointless suggestion and he came back telling me that, on no account, were they going to stop my chemo as 'your cancer is potentially curable" - boy I felt so comforted.  Actually I was bloody angry by now.  I had NOT even hinted at stopping my chemo so I hoped he had NOT said this to my Onc.  In the end he told me there was nothing he could do for me and that I should just "up your medication".  So, after 3 hours of waiting in a crowded, germ ridden A&E department, I finally went home, laid down and wept.  What a waste of bloody time and effort.  I now felt worse than I had that morning.

The following day I had to go back to the hospital, this time to see a dermatologist about a mole that has started misbehaving.  Thankfully, she told me its a something-or-other wart and nothing to be worried about - phew!!  My friend Debbie had come with me and we went off to Leigh for cake and coffee at Stop the World to celebrate (I had been convinced I had skin cancer - you can't help yourself, you think every ache and pain is something sinister now).  Whilst we were enjoying the delights that STW has to offer, my phone rang.  It was the pratt Dr from the day before asking me how I was feeling and had my symptoms subsided.  This time, fuelled by good news from the hospital and chocolate from STW, I was as sarcastic as could be and told him that I was still feeling crap and that, no the symptoms I'd had for the previous FIVE weeks had not miraculously gone away overnight after half an hour in his company.  I think he was a bit put out - bloody tough, now he knew how I had felt the day before.  He told me he had a arranged an ultrasound for me the following day at 10am and reminded me that these were "very difficult to arrange and usually had a waiting list of 3-4 weeks".  Was I supposed to feel grateful to him I wondered...... hmmmmm let me think.  Before we hung up he told me not to be late for the appt and to get my bloods tested at the chemo unit first.  When I put the phone down I fell about laughing - the chemo unit is always running at least an hour late even from first thing in the morning, how on earth he expected me to get my bloods taken BEFORE a 10am ultrasound was anyones guess.

When my friend Tracy and I arrived at the unit just after 9am, I was very surprised to discover that the Dr had called ahead and let them know I was coming in (all being he had called after the unit had closed and had to leave a message on the answerphone).  He had requested my bloods be taken before my scan and I was sent over to the normal blood testing department.  As expected, it was absolutely rammed but the nice guy on the reception said that as I was in treatment I really shouldn't be sitting amongst the other patients so got me jumped up the list.  I must add, I never asked him to do this and did feel quite bad about jumping the queue but, under the circumstances I was grateful for his kindness.  The nurse taking my bloods asked me what cancer I had and was there any history in my family.   I explained that two  Aunts on my Dads side had fought - and won - their own battles with The Git a number of years ago.  She said she was seeing more and more younger women coming in with breast cancer, in fact she explained that she had been in the health industry for over 50 years and it was only recently that she had started hearing of cancer affecting tonsils, tongue etc. and she found it very troubling as to what might be the cause.  We both agreed with my surgeon that additives in our food and the crap being pumped into our enironment must have something to do with the increase in cases - not just early detection.

Things were running unually to plan and Tracy and I were waiting for someone to put a spanner in the works.  We didn't have to wait long!  We arrived at the ultrasound dept and the receptionist - who had obviously left her good humour at home that morning - told me I wasn't on the list.  She grumpily phoned someone and asked them if they knew about me - nope, they didn't either.  She, more grumpily, asked a colleague who came to the desk if she knew about me - again no.  Just when we were about to give up a Dr came out and she asked him.  He said that yes, I was on the list and hey presto, she turned the page and there I was - obviously she was ill the day they taught "check both pages" on her "How to be a Grumpy Receptionist" course....

I was taken through to my scan and the Dr squirted that cold stuff on my tummy and did his thing with the scan whatsit - sorry, I have no idea of the technical term here, but am sure you all know what I am talking about.  He told me that it all looked clear to him and that I should tell the Dr who had ordered the scan this when I saw him.  We went back to the unit and the ladies on reception (lovely, smiley and very friendly ladies I might add) paged the twit Dr.  Finally he called back and I spoke to him on the phone.  He said my bloods had come back fine (I could have told him this as my bloods were tested every week up until this point), I told him the scan was clear.  He asked me if I was feeling more comforted now? Oh, I see, so I had spent another three hours in hospital - in a week I was supposed to stay away from germs - just to appease his feelings of guilt about his lack of compassion on Monday........

The next day was my Birthday and I was determined NOT to go anywhere near the hospital.  You can imagine my reaction then when my PICC line sprung a leak that evening.  Alan was changing the dressing and flushing the line when I realised my leg was all wet - as he was pushing the saline through the canula, it was peeing out the line all over my leg.  We knew it was either blocked or split but couldn't tell which one.  Hannah was insisting that I should go to A&E - I acted like a four year old instead of a forty-four year old, stomped my foot and said "absolutely-no-beeping-way, it's my BIRTHDAY".  I had an appointment with my Onc the following morning so would wait until then.