An Update - Finally!

Forgive me followers, for it has been 2 years since diagnosis and 10 months since my last treatment.  It's also been 19 months since my last entry and I imagine some of you, those who don't know me in RL, thought I might not still be around!  I am pleased to announce that I am.  Well, parts of me are anyway....

At my last entry in April 2012, I was coming to the end of chemo, my hair was growing back and the chemo side effects were coming to an end - or so I thought.  My son turned 18 on April 27 and, typically, I was due my last chemo about three days beforehand.  I explained how we were throwing a party and I wanted to be there, as "normal" as possible for him and it was agreed that my chemo could wait a couple of days.  So, my last EC was on 30 April 2012 and then it was the wait for the scheduled mastectomy.

This took place around the 15th of June (the exact date escapes me, can you believe it, I can't actually remember the date my boob came off?  I could go and find the paperwork for you but I can't be arsed).  Anyway, the op in itself was straightforward.  I was last on the theatre list so was in a bit of a state by the time I was wheeled down.  As usual, Mum came with me to keep me company and hold my hand.  There were some great ladies on the ward and we had quite a laugh both before and after. One lady was in for a hysterectomy and said we were a cruel bunch for making her laugh, a girl about 20 years younger than me - with a family history of BC, was in for an exploratory operation.  She was a character and had lived quite a full life in her 20 something years.  Sadly, they discovered the lump she had been complaining about for some time, was in fact an aggressive tumour.  Despite promises for us all to stay in touch, of course we never did and I often think about that young girl and hope everything turned out ok for her.  There was another lady, a similar age to me, who'd had BC some years earlier and she made a point of coming over to try and reassure me, which I really appreciated.  

I was fine until I was wheeled into the anaesthetic room, then I lost it - big time!  I was shaking so much that the trolley wouldn't have been out of place in the percussion section of the Philharmonic Orchestra!   My pulse was racing and I think my heart was trying to escape my chest.  If I could have, I would have got off that trolley and done a runner - even though the closest exit is through the Costa Coffee shop, believe me, I wouldn't have cared who saw my naked ass and I'd have probably ordered a vanilla latte to go!  

I was just about to make a run for it when my surgeon came through the doors - grinning away as usual and asking what all the commotion was about.  I don't know if they had sent for him (trying to get a line into my arm was proving quite difficult as I was so distressed) or maybe he visits all his patients before he mutilates them, all I know is that his presence calmed me down almost immediately.  I woke up an hour or so later, minus a boob but with a clicker in my hand which administered morphine when it was activated - well, it would have done if I had been doing it right.  I really don't think giving you such detailed instructions ie. "hold it like this and push this button", when you just coming round from a GA is such a good idea - do you?  Anyway, a couple of hours later, after I was properly awake and able to say "arrrrghhh this morphine ain't working nurse", she patiently explained the intricate operating instructions again.  This time the morphine hit the spot and I think I had some quite vivid dreams and some very weird imaginary conversations!  At least I hope they were imaginary...

I was sent home the next day - yes, you read that right, one night is all the NHS will allow you - they want you out just in case you spread your nasty germs about.  I had a new fashion accessory - a Sainsburys Bag for Life containing my drains, which had to accompany me whereever I went for the next 5 days. Now, for someone who doesn't "do" blood or other bodily functions if I can help it, these drains and their removal were the most unpleasant part of my recovery.  They are necessary because they remove any build up of fluid from your chest area in order to try and prevent seromas, which, if they occur can be quite uncomfortable and will need treatment.  I was visited each day by a district nurse, who checked the output and my dressings.  On day five they came to remove them and I had got myself into quite a state about this part - daft cow!  I won't go into too many details suffice to say I ended up coming to with my legs raised on about 5 cushions and my husband on the phone saying "yep, she's gone back to a normal colour now".  Not at all pleasant and an experience I am dreading having to have again when I finally get my reconstruction done.

I recovered quite quickly and twelve days later I took part in our local Race for Life with my lovely family and friends - who supported me all the way round.  I walked it, of course, but my daughter, Hannah and her friends ran it and did very well.  My sister Kate and my sister-in-law, Trina almost never made it due to traffic problems but they managed to tag onto the end of the race and, after running all the way, they joined us at the finish line.  I wore a pink wig, which I removed half way round as my head got all hot and itchy and, on my numberplate I said I was running in memory of my right boob, which caused a few giggles on the way round.  We raised an impressive amount of money for a very worthwhile cause.

Some weeks later, after a period of healing I had two appts, one with my surgeon and the other two days later with my Onc.  I am used to my surgeon being friendly and jokey, so the big grin on his face as I walked into his office didn't give anything away.  He checked his handywork and announced himself proud of it - as well he should, plastic surgeons have since told me it's one of the neatest mx scars they have seen - round of applause for my surgeon please!  He then produced my pathology results, I hadn't been expecting these so was suddenly all ears and wishing I had taken Alan with me.  He said they had found no cancer cells in any of the tissue they had taken away.  There was some evidence of dead cancer cells in some of my nodes but this was being queried.  He was very excited and said my results were fantastic, far far better than expected and I had done very well - yay, round of applause for me to please...  However, he still wanted me to have rads as this was a "belts and braces" treatment.

Two days later I was waiting to see my Onc, I could hear her on the phone but didn't realise she was talking about me at the time.  This lady is very different to my surgeon, she is extremely kind but also very professional and brisk - a no nonsense lady.  The person I saw that day was wearing a bigger grin than the Cheshire Cat and the cat that had got the cream put together.  She announced that my path results were fantastic (there was that word again) and in the top 20 percent of results from chemo.  She was literally bouncing in her chair as she shook my hand and said she was very pleased but that it was not totally unexpected, as I had reacted so well to the Paclitaxol early on in treatment.  I mentioned the dead cancer cells in the nodes and she said she had just come off the phone from the Pathology department.  Their feeling was that the dead cells weren't cancer after all, just normal cells that had been killed by the chemo - which was even better news.  A BCN walked in a couple of minutes later and she too was beaming and said it was brilliant news and "if you have to be in the top 20 percent of anything, then this is the one you want eh?".  I left the office that day feeling a lot happier than I had in a long time.  Also, I was relieved that I had taken their advice and gone for neo-adjuntvant treatment as they had recommended.  

In August I finally got my tatts done and 15 doses of radiotherapy commenced.  I found rads very easy compared to chemo, the tiredness didn't really kick in until a couple of weeks after they had finished and my skin behaved itself all through the treatments.  It was a pain in the ass timewise, as they took place duing the school holidays so poor Hannah had to come with me most times.  I asked for early appointments so the whole day wasn't wasted and, on the whole, they kindly obliged.  Hannah and I visited Westfield, the new shopping centre in Stratford, where we gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "shop till you drop"!  My favourite day out though was to Kensington Palace, where they had an exhibition about Queen Victoria, Hannah's favourite.  We picnicked in the park before going inside and spending a few hours mooching about.  Queen Victoria was so tiny and the love story between her and Albert was incredibly moving.  Then we did some shopping before meeting Alan for dinner in the evening.  An exhausting but memorable day.  

Mid-way through my rads I was checked over by a nurse and she commented on how well my skin was coping.  I explained that I was juicing every day instead of having proper meals.  I totally believe that upping my intake of fruit and veg during those three weeks and a week after, helped my skin cope with the damaging effects of rads.  I had heard some awful tales of scarred, red raw and puckered skin but I was lucky and I only went a bit pink at first which later developed into a sort of iron shaped tan.  This has faded quite a lot now, though the skin is harder in that area and I use cream each and every day to try and keep it as supple as possible.

On the last day of rads we flew to Spain in the afternoon for a weeks holiday.  This hadn't gone down too well in the rads unit but I promised to keep covered and stay out of the midday sun - and I kept all those promises.  We were staying at a private villa, leant to us by a lady Alan works with, it was in the mountains in the middle of nowhere and was lovely.  I usually like to sightsee when I go away but this time I intended on doing absolutely nothing apart from healing, sleeping, reading and eating  - with the occasional dip in the pool.  Mum, Dad and my five month pregnant sister, Kate came with us.  I think it did us all the world of good to just relax for a week after all the stresses of the previous months.  I came home refreshed and ready to continue my Herceptin treatments.  The last one of which was in January 2013.  I was finally finished with my treatments and cut loose - which is more terrifying than actually being diagnosed.  

So, that's the close of that chapter - a little late in the re-telling but at least you know what happened now.  I will try and be a bit more frequent with my posts from now on.

Until next time, Onwards & Upwards!

Debs x