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

HOW THE DEVIL ARE YOU?

Life has finally calmed down and my days of driving back and forth to the hospital for various appointments has reduced drastically - thank God.  My visits are now once every three weeks for Herceptin with the odd ECG and Oncologist appointment thrown in just to keep me on my toes.

This week Alec went back to College and is now in his final year and my "baby" started senior school.  The school run, which have dominated my days for the past 10 years, are a thing of the past and I now find myself with plenty of time on my hands.  I will miss standing at the school gates having a natter with my friends but, as these are the ladies who have been by my side during the ups and downs of this annus horribilus, we won't be losing touch - they can't get rid of me that easily!

And so, I finally find I have the time to update you all on what has been happening since April - blimey, was it really that long ago - time sure does fly when you are having fun....

When I left you I had two more doses of EC chemo remaining.  I am happy to report that I tolerated EC far better than the awful Mr Taxol.  The main side effect was a constant feeling of nausea, only relieved by eating - hence I gained nearly two stone during my treatment.  There were times when I worried that  my lack of severe side effects with this regime meant the chemo wasn't working.  There were also many times that I panicked that by choosing the neo-adjuntvant treatment ie. chemo first, that I had made the wrong decision.  Each time these worries took over, Alan had to calm me down and reassure me that I had made the right decision based on the facts and advice we were given at the time of diagnosis.  Part of me also believed that Hannah would have been able to handle everything a lot better if the offending breast had been removed at the start of treatment, rather than being left to hang around like the spectre at the feast.

My last dose of EC was scheduled for a few days before Alec's 18th birthday, for which we were planning a family "do.  Despite the fact that I have a very good friend, Alison (Ali-Makes-Cakes), who is an expert in this field and in high demand, Hannah insisted we do it ourselves.  When I told Alison about the cake Hannah had planned, she saw the look of sheer panic on my face and very kindly offered to help out.   The result was a wonderful concoction of chocolate cake decorated with Cadburys fingers and large chocolate buttons, Alec, a secret chocoholic, loved it.   I asked my Onc if it would be possible to delay my treatment until the  Monday after his Birthday as I didn't want to spend the day with my head over a bucket.  The main side effect I had with EC was a constant feeling of nausea and I wanted to enjoy Alec's coming of age.  The only reason I would be unwell would be if I had over indulged during the celebrations!  Thankfully, my Onc agreed with me and happily arranged for me to have treatment


From the very start of this it was always made clear to me that, due to the size of my "lump" and the way it presented itself, I would need a mastectomy followed by radiotherapy.




Alan has lost most of the weight he put on during my treatment (comfort eating was his way of dealing with it all) and I lost a breast - careless, I know but I've had the house upside down, searched down the back of the sofas and its definitely gone.

Remember me?

Not an awful lot has happened since my last entry, hence why it has taken so long for me to put fingers to keyboard.  I asked my Onc to delay my last chemo for one week so that I would be able to celebrate my son, Alec's 18th Birthday and she very kindly agreed.  So, I was given my last chemo on 30th April,  I had imagined that I would feel a sense of relief about that part of the treatment being over.   However, as the weeks have gone I have gone from feeling relieved to concerned.  Although I have restarted on Herceptin, you can't help fearing that the Git has snuck under the radar and moved on to invade another party of my body.

Two weeks ago I had another mammogram and ultrasound, these showed that the chemo has done a bloody brilliant job in reducing the size of the mass in my breast.  The Sonographer (or "scan lady" as I was calling her until I googled her proper title) said that the mass was so small now that it was hardly visible on the ultrasound.  I have to hope, therefore, that the chemo and the Herceptin stopped it in its tracks and prevented it from escaping, although the knowledge that it is in my nodes plays on my mind continually with every little ache and pain causing me to have cold sweats and nightmares.  The most recent of these panic attacks took place last week.  Over Jubliee weekend a small lump appeared under my armpit followed by a second the next day.  Obviously, being an extended Bank Holiday, it meant I had to wait until Tuesday before I could get to my Drs.  I had already been feeling very low for about a week, crying for no particular reason, shaking internally and having bad dreams - these lumps did not improve my mood.  On Tuesday morning I called the Drs surgery to be told they were running an emergencies only clinic.  I explained my situation and was told to come in, give my name and wait my turn.  I arrived about 10.00am and, after checking in at reception I went through to the waiting room.  I noticed that although the room was packed to the rafters, there was a row of empty seats by the door.  I sat down, got out my kindle and prepared to wait for "up to two hours".  About five minutes later I was almost kicked in the shin by the little sod angel lying on the floor in front of me - I now knew why these seats were empty.  He was the proverbial pain in the butt!  Aged about 4 years, he was bored rigid having been there since 9.30 with his nan and older siblings.  No one had thought to take a toy for him so he spent his time winding up his sister, whingeing, crying and throwing himself around the waiting room.

YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE A NUMB BUM AFTER READING THIS ONE.....!

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 was still able to cartwheel I would.....  Finally, my Taxol days are behind me and gradually all the nasty SEs are receding.  The feeling is coming back in my toes and feet, the rash on my face is going and – at last – my stomach and chest are not feeling so swollen and painful.  I no longer feel as though I have an elephant on my chest.  However, I am getting ahead of myself so grab a coffee and a snack, you will need it to get through this lot and here goes; 

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.  I booked this year’s show back in September when I was, to my knowledge, as “fit as a fiddle” – when, actually, all the while The Git had been doing its thing and turning my cells against me – the bugger. 

I gave the group too many shows to choose from this year.  In the end 5 went to see Blood Brothers and came back raving about the show and their good seats, but minus their mascara……  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.  Mum had been whisked back to her early teens and knew all the songs so sang her way through show.  At the end the cast come out and performed another couple of tracks, they ask you to get up and dance as they know you have been wanting to do that all along.  I am the sort of person who normally waits until everyone else is up before I join in but, I was enjoying myself so much that I thought “sod it”, grabbed Mum and said “come on”.  The rest of our group was soon up too (apart from Kate and Trina who refused point blank – mind you, the trombonist noticed their lack of bopping so gave them a close up and personal demonstration of his instrument!!! – that’ll learn em).  

After the show I had made reservations for dinner at The Strand Palace Hotel carvery.  They kindly gave us tables in an alcove on one side of the restaurant, so we were able to make as much noise as we wanted without disturbing the other diners.  The starters section is a fish /seafood lovers delight and most of us ate more of that then our main courses – oink oink…. I was seated with Kerry, her Mum, Pat and my mum-in-law, Irene.  Both Irene & Pat know all about trials and tribulations of reflux and stomach ulcers and gave me some fab advice on how to cope with it.  Irene had a pack of Zantac in her bag and gave me some, which I took there and then.  Kerry had some Rennie Ice and I took one of those too – what the heck, in for a penny, in for a pound eh!  In my view, something had to flipping work.   A couple of hours later, the bill was settled, Dad had been called and we were back on the coach heading home.  The noise level would probably have smashed the sound barrier – 20+ women cracking jokes, telling stories of their day and giving Dad some stick - I had a ball.  I took “Lola” off to give her a rest and give my head an airing.  I seemed to get a second wind on the journey 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 all day and had then added, Zantac & Rennie Ice to the mix – it definitely wasn’t alcohol cos I’m not really allowed to partake at the moment – but anyway, I was feeling good. 

For the previous couple of weeks, I had been worried that I would not be able to make the trip.  I hadn’t wanted to go along then be unwell and spoil the day for others.  My stomach/chest pains had been almost unbearable in the week leading up to it and, when I wasn’t walking around clutching my stomach and looking six months pregnant, I could be found lying prone on the sofa as it was the only way to get some respite.  I was a tad concerned that the only place to lay down in London would be a park bench and I didn’t want any tourists feeling sorry for me and dropping their spare change in my decaff vanilla latte, neither did I fancy getting into a fight with a homeless person for nicking their turf!  I was gutted that I might miss it as it’s a brilliant day with a fantastic group of women who get on so well - we laugh from beginning to end.   In the end I decided to make my decision on the day and, seeing as Dad was driving, I thought that I would at least go up on the coach but come home with him if I realised it was going to be too much.

However, on the day despite the crap weather, everyone was so excited, as usual.  Lot’s of my friends kindly offered to sit with me whilst the rest shopped in Covent Garden (I had visions of looking like some mad bag lady surrounded by the others “bargains” lol).  Some even said they would accompany me on the train if I felt the need to go home – not that I would have taken anyone up on this offer, though it was very considerate of them.  In the end Mum, Kate and I joined one of our friends, Jackie and her Mum, Ena (who we hadn’t seen for a long time) for a walk round the Market followed by a lovely lunch in the Crusting Pipe, where we stayed until it was time to meet the rest of the group before the show.  I am SO glad I made the trip.  Thank you for a wonderful 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 exaggerating 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 wind pipe - I was concerned that I may possibly have 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 whinging and complaining and said she would speak to a Dr and call me back. Half an hour later she did so, 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), kindle, Lucozade (my staple drink for the last three months), a washbag, my chemo file and a hand towel.  Just as well I didn’t 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.  Remember the “fun” I mentioned above?... Well, as I have come to expect - they knew nothing about me being told to come in....... quelle surprise! I saw a triage nurse first, who took all my details and said she could see I was in a lot of discomfort and would get me seen by the Dr asap, which she duly did.  She also arranged for an ECG, despite me telling her it was nothing to do with my heart but, because I mentioned those magic words “pains in my chest area” it was deemed necessary to stick those sticky tab things all over me and strap me up to what looks like a lie detector test.  As expected, the test came back normal and I was sent back to the waiting area (I was still finding those tabs in the shower later that day!)  A short while later I was called by Doctor Number 1, he introduced himself and asked what had brought me to A&E today (hmmm did he not read the notes that the triage nurse painstakingly wrote out?) – I felt like being flippant and saying “I came in Rachael’s car” but didn’t think he was in the mood for a quip.  He gave me a cursory examination and said he was going to speak to a different Dr.   Back to the increasingly full, germy waiting area for me until Dr No. 2  summoned me - this one didn’t bother to introduce himself – nice touch!  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 because of my stomach/chest problems which I had been suffering from for FIVE FLIPPING WEEKS.  He asked if I could wait a minute whilst he read my notes " of course" I replied, relieved that at least he wouldn’t ask me any more stupid questions.  LOL, what-a-mistaka-to-make-a!!  A few minutes later, after studying the computer for a while and looking at my scan results, he looked up and said "and 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, wearily, I told him it was BC.   His next question totally floored me........ (and if I had been feeling well, I would have bloody floored him) - he asked "and is that 100%......." the words "definite or confirmed" 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 – woo hoo, what a ride eh!" but the ill, fed up, almost in tears and totally knackered Debbie meekly replied "yes on December 1st".  

Anyway, after examining 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 evidently told him what she thought of this invasive and, in her opinion, pointless procedure 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 bleeping 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 really do for me and that I should just up my medication and he was sure it would all go away after chemo finished in April.  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 and was hoping to God that I hadn’t picked up any nasty germs in the process.

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, a  bit of luck at last!!  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).  Whilst we were enjoying the delights that STW has to offer, my phone rang.  It was the pillock Dr from the day before asking me how I was feeling and had my symptoms subsided.  This time, fuelled by both the good news from the hospital and the Raspberry Chocolate Teacake from STW, I was as sarcastic as could be and told him that I was still feeling crap and that, no, surprisingly, the symptoms I'd had for the previous FIVE weeks had not miraculously gone away overnight after half an hour in his scintillating 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 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 anyone’s guess.  

The following morning, 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 all the nurses were busy in the chemo unit. 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 and tried to ignore the huffs and puffs as I walked past the rest of the patients about 5 minutes later, but, under the circumstances I was grateful for his kindness.  The nurse taking my bloods chatted to me and asked 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 that she had been in the health industry for over 50 years and noticed that she was dealing with an ever increasing number of younger women who had been diagnosed with BC 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 it - not just early detection.   She also told me something very interesting.  A close family member works for the Government in the weapons designing area.  Remember that dust cloud that we woke up to find had covered our cars a few years ago?   Remember the news said it was sand that had blown in on some Sahara wind………?  Well, her family member said that was baloney.  That there had been tests on Salisbury Plains and, well, if they told her what that dust had really been, they’d have to kill her!!!!  Hmmmmmm…… make of it what you will, I am just passing it on – all you cynics out there will have a field day with that one eh?

Things were running unusually 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 day - told me I wasn't on the list and we all know “if you ain’t on the list, you ain’t coming in…”  I explained it was a last minte booking the day before and she grumpily phoned someone and asked 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....  Smile love, it wouldn’t hurt and you might actually enjoy it!

I was taken through to my scan and the scanographer(?) squirted that cold stuff on my tummy and did his thing with the scan whatsit - sorry, I have no idea of the technical terms here, but am sure you all know what I am talking about - it looks like the scanner you use at a self check-out – I kept expecting “wrong weight – please wait for an assistant” or “please place the item into a bag” to appear on the screen.   Thankfully, he told me that it all looked clear to him and that I should tell this to the Dr who had ordered the scan when I saw him, as the written report would take a while. We went back to the unit and the ladies on reception (who are, without fail, always lovely, smiley and very friendly ladies I might add) paged the pillock Dr.   Finally he called back and I spoke to him on the phone and we swapped information.  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), in turn I told him the scan was clear.  He asked me if I was feeling more comforted now? The penny dropped - 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 and action on Monday........  I made a non commital grunt and hung up and went to Costa for lunch with Tracy.  Poor love, she’d spent her morning traipsing around the hospital – I think we went in virtually every unit apart from Materinity and the Morgue!

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 as Alan was changing the dressing and flushing the line.  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.  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. 

The following day Alan came with me to the Unit and we reported the leak – they called for a plumber nurse and I sat and waited for my appt with my Onc.  When we got in to see her she was still pleased at the reaction The Git has had to my chemo.  She asked how I was feeling now and I explained what had been happening over the past few weeks.  She was very angry to hear about my experience with the pillock Dr in A&E and said she would be dealing with him.  From some of the things she said, we did not feel this was just a way of appeasing me.  She took my complaints very seriously and I hope, by now, he has been spoken to about his lack of tact when dealing with a seriously ill and obviously concerned patient.  I asked her if I would still be a candidate for a full mastectomy, since the cancer has shrunk so much with the first round of chemo.  She explained that they wouldn’t know  until after all chemo was finished and more scans had been done.  Then they would have one of their team meetings and discuss the next step.  So, at this point I am still focusing on having a full mastectomy followed by radiation with reconstruction next year.  If the plans change, don’t worry, you will be one of the first to know ;-)

After my meeting with the Onc, a nurse took me away to repair my leak.   This involved snipping some of the length and moving the port further up my arm.  She warned me that due to my height, most of the line was actually inside me, so I would be unable to have any further repairs.  I am not too bothered to be honest and wouldn’t really have minded if she hadn’t been able to repair it.  At that point I had only two chemo’s left and the associated blood tests.  I am already planning on having the line removed as I do not need it for the Herceptin which will be every three weeks.  After my repairs, Alan and I went out to celebrate my belated Birthday – guess where we went……..yep, you’ve guessed it Stop the World – no wonder the scales have gone up each time I have been weighed at the Unit.

Finally (yes you can get back to whatever it was you were doing 3 hours ago when you started reading this update lol), yesterday I had my second EC dose.  It was a late appointment, 3.15pm (but I didn’t get seen until nearly 5pm and was home just after 7pm). My usual chemo buddy came with me, clutching her kindle and her goodie bag.  Later on Alec dropped Hannah off at the unit as I had promised her she could come to one of my sessions.  Her and Mum took it in turns to keep me company.  Unfortunately for Hannah it was her turn when the nurse took my bloods – I thought he was going to have another patient on his hands lol.  However, she shook herself out of it and was fine a couple of minutes later.  She later told me she was glad she had come and would now be able to picture what was happening to me at the next session, when she was at school.  We spent our time designing Alec’s 18^th Birthday cake, which she has persuaded me to have a go at making argh! Alison, I may be calling on your advice hun !!!

Today we are off on a short holiday to see my sister & her family who live oop north.  Can’t wait to see the Little Man who will be a year old next month – blimey, this time last year we were booking flights to fly to Abu Dhabi and meet him for the first time – where does the time go?

I am just hoping I don’t spend the 5 hours journey with my head over a bucket!!!!

Okay, well I have prattled on enough.  Its now 6am and Alan will be up soon – bleeping steroids had me awake at 3am so that’s the last time I have a chemo appointment after midday, I can tell you!

Two more to go……..

As always, Onwards and Upwards

Debs x

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.

GOODBYE TAXOL - HELLOOOO EC!!

Well, I've finally finished with Taxol he was beginning to annoy the heck out of me so I dumped his sorry ass and, though I am thankful for the job that he did - I won't miss him one bit.  The side effects over the nine weeks gradually got worse until they finally floored me - hence no update on here for about three weeks.  Before you start chemo you are given a fact sheet about the drug they intend on pumping into you and its "possible" side effects - common and less common.   I read the sheet and thought I might be unlucky enough to get one or two of the SEs - how wrong can one person be?  By the end of Week 9 I had ticked virtually all the boxes - oh well, I am nothing if not thorough I suppose!  These included:

- numb/tingling fingers, toes, face and lips (face and lips only lasted a couple of days after each dose, but my toes have been numb for a few weeks now and it's now spread to the balls of my feet - makes walking a bit tricky at times I can tell you.  I do a good impression of a duck first thing in the morning!)
- fatigue - the sofa and I are now extremely well acquainted and I am sure there is a "Debbie Dip" in the cushions
- hair loss - all over.... (but as Hannah "helpfully" pointed out, it is saving me a fortune in waxing lol)
- skin rash - my face looks as though I am reliving my teenage years and my right hand has the Taxol rash starting at the knuckles and going back towards my wrist - my left hand has it too but only mildly.  E45 and Aquaeous cream are not working so I am going to ask what else they can suggest at the unit - probably more bleeding steroids but in a cream form knowing my luck - so now my hand will get fat and bloated!!
- headaches - splitting, banging headaches that come on suddenly but go oh so bloody slowly.
- aching joints - in my hips and legs in particular which feels like a bad case of the flu.  The pains often wake me up in the night which is a bummer because then I can't get back to sleep grrr
- taste change - even water doesn't taste right
- nose bleeds - the lining in my nose has thinned and the little hairs that stop dust etc have gone, so my nose constantly needs blowing and is always full of blood and it's absolutely disgusting
- eyesight - I had laser surgery a few years ago and had 20/20 vision before my chemo started.  Now I have difficulty reading the blurb on the tv and have had to increase the size of the font on my kindle.  I am assured this SE (like the majority of them) is reversible - I flipping hope so or that was a couple of grand wasted!
- insomnia - I used to say "I sleep like a baby" now I really do - I wake every three flipping hours, sometimes for no apparent reason, just that my brain seems to be working overtime.  I often "write" my blog in my head but can't be bothered to drag my sorry ass out of bed to type it up.  I am gutted as this is when I write my best one liners but obviously, by the time I actually wake up in the morning - old chemo brain here has forgotten every word doh!

But, the worst SE has to be the pain and uncomfortable feeling in my stomach and behind my rib cage.  This SE is the one that has made the past few weeks unbearable, reduced me to tears of both pain and frustration and made me seriously think about refusing any more treatment.  I told the unit about the pains etc for three weeks and they thought it was heartburn/indigestion so upped my antacid meds - to no avail.  The only way I can be semi comfortable and get any relief is to lay down, trouble is laying down all the time makes it difficult to hoover, make dinner, put the washing on and generally live normally!  When the pain is at it's worst I feel as though my chest is going to explode - I have had visions of re-enacting that scene from Alien where it bursts out of John Hurts' chest and I've prayed it doesn't happen on the school run!

Finally, two weeks ago the nurse who was listening to me moaning about it yet again, decided to speak to the on call Dr about my problem.  The Dr came over and said that they were unplugging me and sending me for a stomach and chest x-ray.  The reason? to rule out the possibility that the steroids had made a hole in my stomach!!!  What??  Can someone please tell me what good these bloody steroids actually do?  All I know so far is they make me eat like a horse, therefore gain weight, give me water retention and now there was the possibility they had punctured my stomach arrghh!   Kate was with me that day so off we trotted over to the x-ray department where we sat for nearly an hour waiting..... I seem to spend my life waiting in one room or another these days.  My chemo appointment had been quite early that day and, for once, I had been called on time and was hooked up and running - it looked like we were going to get out before 6pm for once - but obviously "someone" had other ideas....

Nearly three hours later a Dr was finally located and made to stand still long enough to look at my x-rays.  He came over to me and closed the curtains around us "uh oh" I thought "here we go".  He told me that, thankfully, there was no hole - phew - I love you Dr!   However, my stomach was quite inflamed (bloody steroids again grrr) and that I was severely constipated high up in the area behind my chest - my initial response? "WHAT?  No I'm not, I "went" on the way to the xray - honest Doc"  I don't usually argue with Drs but I was sure he was wrong.  He kindly pointed out that he had seen the x-ray and knew what he was talking about.  Well to say my flabber was gasted would be an understatement.  Sorry, I know in the last entry I said I wouldn't discuss my bowel movements until I was old enough not to care but I didn't foresee this turn of events.   He explained that the x-ray showed a severe impaction which had built up over a period of time and I was going to be prescribed a medicine that would help - Movicol (its vile - believe me).  It turns out I probably should have been having this medicine from the beginning of my treatment as constipation is one of the main side effects of chemo - hmmmmm - trying hard not to rant here.  I was given a box of the vile stuff and told to drink one sachet in the morning and one in the evening the next day (Tuesday) and, if this didn't work, I should make up a jug using four of them and drink it during the course of the following day (Wednesday).  So the next morning, after the school run, I set myself up for a day on the sofa; Movicol - check, cushions - check, blanket - check, Kindle - check, banjaxer (tv remote to you) - check, nibbles - lots, I even left the living room door open so I had a clear run to the downstairs loo.  I drunk the dreaded drink and waited - six hours (and numerous texts and phone calls asking if there had been any "movement") later I was still waiting.  The following day was a repeat - although boredom was a big problem as daytime tv is terrible.  This time I made up four of the sachets and drank it through the day.....................nothing!  I was seriously thinking about calling in Dyno-Rod!

Two days later I met up with my Onc for the first time since Christmas.  The meeting didn't start particularly well when she asked me "have you started chemo yet?"  Hmmmm, well considering I am sitting there with no hair, patchy eyebrows, a taxol rash all over my swollen face & hands - what do YOU think Dr?   I gently explained that, yes, I had had EIGHT bloody doses.  We then started discussing my side effects.  I had been told to ask her for some suppositories for the consipation and when I did her answer stunned me.  "Debbie, you can see your GP for things like this you know".  Now all along I had been led to believe that my GP is just a bystander in all this, that ALL my treatment/meds should be dealt with by the chemo unit.  I was dumbfounded, if I had known I could involve him I would have been to see him 3 weeks ago to try and sort the problem, rather than waiting week after week until my next chemo appt to see what they could suggest next.  Oh well, at least I know now I suppose.  I have an appt with him this coming Thursday and am hoping he can sort me out once and for all - no comments please!

We continued chatting about my SEs and it was then she that told me off quite sternly and said that I should have been drinking SIX sachets of the vile stuff EVERY DAY since chemo began and it was at this point I lost my rag!  This, as "they" say, was the straw that broke the camels back.  I was soooo frustrated - why had no-one told me this, why had no-one told me I should be seeing my GP if I needed help between visits, why does one person say take paracetamol for the pains but another say don't because it will mask any infection and add to your constipation.  For crying out loud, I have nothing but praise for the staff at the unit from the tea lady through to the most senior nursing staff - they are all bloody wonderful and do a very difficult and demanding job - always with a smile.  But for goodness sake, surely the advice should be the same from the top down.  Instead, I have often been given conflicting and confusing advice which has left me in tears of frustration and, at times, too worried to call the unit in case I am panicking over nothing and they are already stretched beyond their limits.  Ok rant over.

After I had calmed down and sat down she asked me if I had felt the lump recently.  I told her I don't actually go anywhere near it - in fact I try to pretend that breast doesn't exist (maybe I am preparing myself for the op but I also know that if I was to go feeling around the area on a daily basis, I would convince myself it had gotten bigger and I could do without that image in my head).  She asked if she could examine me and spent sometime doing so.  She was smiling when she had finished and asked me to lie on the examination bed so she could examine me further.  This clueless wally should have been alerted by the big smile on her face but I was too busy repeating a mantra in my head "please don't have grown, please don't have grown"  I hadn't gone in there with any expectation of it getting smaller because I had been told the first bout of chemo doesn't always make a difference, it's the second bout that does the job.  As I was laying there she asked me to have a feel for myself and I tentatively did as she asked.  Trouble was I couldn't feel anything and I said "I can't find it".  The little jig she did accompanied by the punch in the air and the "yesssss" was all I needed.  She said "exactly, you can't feel it because it has shrunk to almost nothing" OMG!!!!  from 10cms to "almost nothing"  I cannot describe my feelings but it was a mix of shock, disbelief and gratitude.  I looked over at Mum who was just about holding it together.  My Onc said "Debbie, you have been through Hell but this shows it has all been worth it" and by God, she was right.  As we left Mum turned to say goodbye and my Onc was grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat and punching the air - I don't know who was more pleased that day!  Mum and I left the unit had a cuddle and burst into tears.  Then we phoned and texted everybody to let them know.  The amount of tears that flowed that day could have solved the South East drought problem this year.

I have missed out quite a bit of the last three weeks, mostly because overall it has been a horrible time, but it's in the past now.  We had some highlights though, like our family trip to Birmingham to visit Cadburys World, which we all thoroughly enjoyed (despite the fact I can't taste chocolate lol).  Our trip to see Stomp at the Hippodrome the following day - which despite being a brilliant and very noisy show, I somehow managed to fall asleep halfway through (much to the amusement of the lady sitting next to me - I blame the heat and the low lighting lol).  I was woken up by the cast playing steel drums and, if I'd  had the room to fall off my seat, I probably would have done.  However, seeing as my knees were almost up my nose, I settled for a jolt - which alerted Hannah to the fact I had fallen asleep, something she found hilarious.  The Hotel was lovely but in the clubbing district so you can only imagine the sights we encountered on our trips out to dinner.  I must be getting old cos when I saw the young girls in their nightdresses and stilletoes, all I could think was "blimey she must be bloody freezing".  Our next door neighbour was a noisy, inconsiderate git who got a taste of my wrath at 1.30am when I'd been woken up by him singing at the top of his voice.  I yelled out "SHUT UP" - Hannah was in the room otherwise there would have been an expletive in the middle of that sentence.  He went quiet for a while then started singing again.  I was all for going next door and sticking my bald head in his face and my knee in his groin, but Alan reminded me that I am ill - damn I really felt like taking my anger out on someone too.  Instead, Alan phoned reception and they sent up a security guard who told him to shut up or get out - he went very quiet after that.

We did notice something very funny in the reception of the Hotel.  You know they have those notice boards welcoming their visitors to the Hotel?  Well, on the Saturday night, as we were returning from dinner,  Alan cracked up and pointed to the board.  It said "We would like to Welcome The Church of the Living God in Room 101" nothing funny about that eh? but, underneath it said "We would like to Welcome Ruth's Hen Party in Room 102" - oh Lordy, imagine if there was a mix up.  We saw some of the "Hens" in reception enough said!  Well it made us giggle.

Another highlight was my sister Gill and baby James' visit - the previous times I have been too ill to cuddle him but this time I made up for it big time.  We had a lovely weekend and as James is ten months old now his character is really coming through.  He was playing peek-a-boo with me when I was lying on the sofa.  My head was aching so I took off my hat - oh dear, James did NOT like my new look.  He bum shuffled backwards giving me a very odd look, turned round to his mum and promptly burst into tears.  Bless him, he probably wondered why his Auntie suddenly looked like a boiled egg!  I put my hat back on and he soon got over the shock and continued with our game - good lad!!

So, there have been some bright spots over the last few weeks and I couldn't have asked for better news at the Onc appointment.  So I am going to end this post on a positive note.  My new chemo started today - the lovely EC - one of which makes your wee red.  I will post again when I have an update about any SEs this one brings but, I am hoping for an easier ride this time - hmmmm have I just jinxed myself I wonder?

Anyway, as always (and with feeling this time) Onwards & Upwards

Debs xx

Again its been a while since I last posted an update.  So much has happened that its difficult to know where to begin, what to include and what to leave out.

We had our family trip to Birmingham where we visited Cadburys World


The last three weeks have been the worst so far, with the side effects totally flooring me.  I mentioned in a previous post that my rib cage was painful and it felt as though I was 4 months pregnant.  The chemo unit believed this to be caused by indigestion/heartburn so upped all my antacid meds and lowered my steroid dose - to no avail.  Finally, at my 8th chemo (27/2) the nurse who details the side effects I have experienced that previous week, decided to ask a Dr to examine me.