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