Monday, 9 Jan 2012 – No Nodes is Good Nodes?

Monday morning, we got in the car, buckled up and said loudly “Southend Hospital please” – we both expected it to drive itself there, but, it’s had a week off between visits, so maybe it forgot the way, Alan had to drive instead.  Yep, I am still not back behind the wheel (keep your comments about the roads being safer to yourself please Kevin!)   My arm is playing up again and I think I have a touch of “cording” no I’m not going all arty crafty – it looks like a rope going from under my armpit, along the ole bingo wings down towards my elbow.  I have been doing my exercises – promise – but the beggar still got me.  I’ve increased my reps and also did some ironing (it’s ok, I checked the Do’s and Don’ts chart first) in the hope I can stop it in its tracks.  My next physio appointment isn’t until the 23^rd and I’m hoping to be signed off (I’d like to save petrol!), but will have to wait and see now. 

Anyway, back to the day in question.  This was the day of my SNB results – remember?  Our meeting with Casper was booked for 10.00, so naturally, with Alan driving, we were there just after 9.15 !!   (Bless him; you have to respect his eternal optimism).   I was nervous of what Casper was going to say (although I already knew deep inside – my inner voice and I had been having quite a chat).  Two hours later numb bum syndrome was beginning to set in and we’d read the paper and watched Homes Under the Hammer (thank goodness they can’t get ITV on their telly – Jeremy Kyle and his gormless, toothless, feckless guests would be enough to depress SpongeBob Squarepants – let alone a bunch of women sitting in a breast clinic).  Other people in the waiting room were beginning to set my teeth on edge.  There was a couple sitting opposite us.  Both were reading, he the paper and her Private Eye.  She was sitting with her head on the side, like a bird and kept putting her glasses on, taking them off, sticking the end in her mouth and chewing it, pointing out funny bits on the page to her husband with the wet end (I mean the wet end of her glasses, not that her husband had a wet end – oh I am getting myself into trouble here – you know what I mean) and guffawing – loudly  - it really bugged me.  She did this over and over again.  The result was that I felt like snatching the magazine off her, rolling it up and smacking her over the head with it whilst shouting “read-it-to-yourself-stupid-woman” and I’m not usually a violent person. Honestly, I swear I have never attacked a stranger with a rolled up newspaper before, no matter how annoying they were – she had a lucky escape when her name was called, I can tell you.  Then the next village idiot arrived.  The row of chairs behind ours was empty, in fact the whole clinic was quite empty, we had a row to ourselves - so I am not sure what the delay was today.  A woman decided that out of all the empty chairs in all the empty rows (do your Humphrey Bogart impression here) she would sit on the one right behind me.  Why?????  It’s like when you go into public toilets, I hate them and, if possible, always choose the stall where there is nobody either side.  Then, you hear someone come in, now sometimes you are the only person in the place – but this woman chooses the stall right next door to you – again - Why?   Once this happened to me at Bluewater Shopping Centre – there are about 20 stalls on each side of the room in their posh toilets.  On this occasion, I was the only person in there and wasn’t feeling vey well (it’s ok, I’m not going into detail – don’t pull that face).  A woman clip clopped in and I could hear her getting closer,  I seriously could not believe it when she chose the stall right next door to me.  Well I couldn’t help myself and before I knew it or could stop it, I was yelling out “what’s the matter love, do you get lonely”, funny enough she didn’t reply!  But I felt better. 

Anyway, back to this woman now sitting behind me.  She kept moving about in her seat, which in turn bashed into mine, bumping me forwards and back.  I “ahemed” a few times, I think I even growled at one point, I know I definitely muttered under my breath (Alan just rolled his eyes at me, as usual) – finally I made a big show of leaning forward to get my bag and bumping back into my chair thereby knocking hers – the bloody woman had the audacity to tut at me!!! Oooooh I outta…  Looking back, I think I was stressed – yes; I’m sure that was it.   These things would probably normally irritate me but not to the point where I feel the need to commit an act of violence with a rolled up newspaper.  I blame the Cancer.

Ok, so there we were waiting, we do a lot of this these days.  Finally my name was called and in we went (giving my chair a little shove before I got up though – revenge, a dish best served cold – or when you are making a fast exit).  We were shown into the exam room next door to Caspers office and I had to put one of those pink gowns on, so he could have a look at the wound site and the offending boob.  I had a little giggle though as Alan was sitting opposite me and I noticed he couldn’t watch – I suppose sitting there holding your wife’s coat whilst some bloke (even though he is a Doctor) pokes and prods your her boobs can be a bit err awkward!  I hasten to add that I don’t usually let strangers touch my boobs or anywhere else for that matter.  My mum taught me all about those kinds of people thank you very much!  Casper was happy with the way the scar is healing so told me to get dressed and follow him through to the office.  As we sat down, I think his exact words to us were “Now, Deborah, have I ever given you good news at all whenever we have met?”  Well, yes I said and reminded him about the clear PET and CT scans – he seemed relieved and said that yes that had indeed been a good day.  “However” – oh I knew what was coming next – it was going to be one of those conversations that make me want to run for the hills.  He told us that he had taken six of the nodes (Lymph Glands) and that one had been quite big.  He had marked it up separately and asked the lab to pay particular attention to it as he thought if it had spread anywhere, it was most likely to be that one.  However, it was clear.  The Git had snuck into the smallest node he took and was miniscule, microscopic even, but this bit of news means that I still have to have full node removal when I have the mastectomy.  I asked him if it meant it could be in other lymph glands elsewhere in my body and the answer is yes.  But he reminded me that I am in treatment now, so any odds and sods (for want of a better description) are being killed off as I type – cue Pac Man music here.  I wasn’t totally shocked, as I said earlier – deep down, I already knew.  He told me weeks ago that I’ve had The Git for a long time, I have been so bloody fortunate that it hasn’t spread to my bones or other major organs, but I wasn’t surprised it had travelled to the nodes – it does prove, however, that they are doing their job – good nodes.

Then he dropped the bombshell.  The MRI scan – you know the one where I had to dangle my boobs through the two holes and have Oasis blasted at me?  Well, after a quick look at results, the Radiologist had been happy for Casper to proceed with my SNB op on 16 December but was not happy with what he saw in the left boob and wanted a further examination.  There were about three lumps and a larger (5.5cm) mass.  With the history of my right boob this cannot be dismissed.  The news came out of the left field (ha ha ha get it – left boob, left field – no? oh well I thought it was clever) and knocked me sideways.  Within 15 minutes I was having another ultrasound.  The nurses were the same ladies who had been with me at the first scan, one held my hand and rubbed my back as the Radiologist searched for the lumps and mass, it took quite some time.  He wasn’t offish, but his manner was very professional, then when he told me he’d definitely found something not quite right and now needed to do a biopsy, his whole manner changed and he became very considerate and kind as well.  The nurses are always kind and lovely, no matter what sort of news you are getting, and mine continued to rub my back, hold my hand and explain what was happening, whilst the other one patted my leg whenever she walked past the end of the bed.  I must admit I got a bit emotional and the flaming inner body shaking started up again.  You would think I would be used to all this by now wouldn’t you.  Alan hadn’t known this was going to happen – both of us just thought it was a scan – so he had waited outside and I knew he would be worried at how long this was taking.  The first biopsy hadn’t hurt and I had no bruising, but this one did hurt a bit afterwards, maybe last time I was in shock so that’s why.  This time I had pain later in the evening and had to take paracetamol, it’s still quite bruised now. 

Whilst he was taking the biopsy, the Radiologist said to me that he believed the lumps were cysts and that the mass was a fibro-something-or-other and benign but, with my history he had to make sure.  I felt a bit comforted by that after all he sees these things all the time so he should know right?

Twenty minutes later I went back to Alan, who had been getting concerned that I might have found an open window, and explained what had happened.  He was concerned, but took comfort from what the Radiologist had said to me.  We were called back into Caspers office in record time and he said that he could finally give me some good news – I think he was more relieved than we were!  They had both studied the scan and were happy that lumps were just tiny cysts that would go of their own accord and the mass was a fibro-thingy (the radiologist believes he took most of it out with the biopsy needle anyway – maybe that’s why its so bruised now).  He said my boob looked as its expected to look on a woman of my age (cheek) who is pre-menopausal – ie. dense (and here I wasn’t sure if he was talking about me or my boob so I left it at that).  The upshot is that they are sending it away for tests, as a matter of course, but they do not expect to find anything and I am not to worry – yeah right, does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?

So, it was a Good News, Bad News time on Monday.  Poor Alan, I’m afraid Eeyore came for a visit that day.  He tried everything to cheer me up but nothing worked.  We went out for lunch – having spent all morning at the hospital, we were starving and emotionally drained.  I ordered Chili con Carne (which I usually steer clear of if I haven’t cooked it) but, because my taste buds had packed up, I wanted strong flavours to see if I could coax them out again.  Halfway through my meal my blasted coldsore, which WILL NOT HEAL, started bleeding again and I looked like an extra from a horror movie.  I just wanted to go home, curl up and have a “word” with myself.

By Tuesday though Tigger had arrived and kicked Eeyores backside out of the house and I was feeling a lot better.  My best friend, Debbie came for a visit and she bought me lots of different chocolate to see if any would work.  Debs, the 84% Dark Cocoa one did the trick – cheers love!  She also bought me a present of some PINK boots, which have wheatbags inside, you stick the bags in the microwave for a couple of minutes pop them back in the slippers and hey presto – warm feet (she did warn me not to try and walk in them though hmmmm).  We spent the day chatting and laughing about our kids and their latest shenanigans, reminiscing and generally catching up.   The last time she had seen me was the day before my PET and CT scan results so it had been quite a different visit.  Debs left just after 2pm to pick up her kids from school and about 25 minutes later was texting me jokes from the school car park – which when you consider it takes me about 40 mins to get to her house means either she has discovered the secret of time travel or I am a very slow driver ;-).  The only downside to the day was that Hannah was unwell, she is not sleeping because of all this and has a rash all over her head, neck and back – stress, I know.  We have tried everything but are struggling with how to help her.  I took her to my GP who told her to think more positively – yeah, of course that helped NOT – she is 11 years old you daft woman and has just been told her Mum has BC – her little life has been shaken up, tossed about and she has been thrown headfirst into uncertainty – would you think positively???  I ask you.  At the clinic on Monday I saw a notice for a counselor who specialises in helping children and families get through this type of situation.  After all – would any of you know where to begin, cos I certainly don’t.  All I know is that my family seem to be falling apart at the seams and I have to find a way of glueing us back together before I can concentrate on getting me sorted.  I know some people don’t agree with this “namby pamby, touchy feely” stuff but I am here to tell you, I will do whatever it takes to get us through this in one piece and I don’t give a flying fig what anyone else has to say on the subject.  If they suggest we all sit in a tub of custard, wearing paper hats and singing Ging Gang Gooley – we will bloody well try it (well, I wouldn’t go that far  - baked beans maybe, but you get my drift).  First and foremost I am a Mum, my first priority is my kids, not me.  Alan, my children and I have found ourselves, through no fault of our own in a crappy situation that we have no idea how to handle.  We are doing our best but it isn’t good enough at the moment.   I have already met with the lady on Thursday and she made me feel like a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders – and that can only be a good thing right?  The Git doesn’t just affect us, it has had a ripple effect on close family and friends and its bloody awful to watch how it has affected everyone I know, love and hold dear.  If we can sort ourselves out, then maybe it will have a knock on effect for everyone else.  If they see us coping better, hopefully they will relax a bit and therefore they will feel a bit better about this whole horrible, crappy, nasty period of our lives.  OK, I’m off the soapbox now and ready to continue – I did warn you “warts n all” remember.

Wednesday was a Mums Wot Escape Coffee Day – my friends, Tracy, Rachael and I drove to Leigh where we did some browsing and mooching.  Kerry arrived about half an hour later and we met up in Costa.  We spent the morning putting the world to rights, laughing like drains, catching up with each other’s lives and generally having a relaxing time.  When we finally stopped talking we noticed it was almost 12pm so we decided to go to Lunch – yes I know, but we really don’t do this very often and I think we all deserved it.  We moved on to a lovely restaurant called Stop the World – I can highly recommend their Buck Rarebit and Ginger, Lime and Grapefruit Juice – I told you I was looking for strong flavours, and boy that drink had a kick – just ask Kerry – the faces she pulled!  Rachael had the full English as she is doing the Dukan diet – her willpower is amazing and she looks fab (not that she didn’t before but she knows what I mean).  Tracy and Kerry had the Bubble & Sausage – both said their meal was delicious.  Time was getting on and we were stuffed so we will have to have cake next time.  We drove home, arriving about 1pm (far later than we had all planned to be, but time just ran away).  I have to say it was one of the best days I have had since this horrible nightmare began.  The sun was shining, Leigh is right by the sea so quite picturesque, the food was delicious, I had more energy and the company – well that was just what the Dr ordered.  I felt like I had my first “normal” day in a lifetime – Thanks Ladies xx

Before I sign off, remember weeks ago I told you how naïve I was?  Well, here is a prime example.  I have a couple of friends on FB – Julie & Jane, who have been very supportive during this.  Both are ahead of me in this game, one by a year (diagnosed almost exactly a year before me) and one about six months.  I have seen them both mention getting their “Tatts” done.  Now, I have nothing against tattoos, I considered getting one when I was 30 but chickened out (I hate needles remember), then I thought about it again just before 40 but decided on a belly ring instead – yes I know, but I was told it didn’t hurt (it didn’t at first however, when it went septic a month later it hurt like billy-oh - what a waste of money).  Anyway, I thought they were getting tattooss done to celebrate milestones on this journey we are all on. DOH!  At the counseling meeting on Thursday the lady mentioned she had been a radiographer for 15 years and she told me what to expect when it starts later this year.  She mentioned getting my “tatts” done.  Hey, hold your horses – do I have to have a tattoo? Is it part of my treatment plan which hasn’t been revealed to me yet?  What if I don’t want one – help!  I explained my fears and she started laughing  - lots – I hope to goodness she was wearing her Tenna Lady!  She composed herself, then kindly pointed out to me that “Tatts” are small blue crosses/dashes that are inked onto you just before you start your radiation treatment, so the radiographer knows where to line up the x-ray – Ohhh!  Maybe I should be reading my “Radiaton for Dummies” book now eh?

The next treatment was booked for Friday 13 January – a big day was planned at the Chemo Unit.  When booking the appointment, I hadn’t noticed the date at first, so I realised I began to wonder what would that bring?  You will just have to check in for the next installment to find out won’t you!  Laters.

As always, Onwards & Upwards!

Debs x

Taxol, Taxol, Do the Paclitaxol (You have to sing this title)...

As usual, the day before my next “ date” I had to make sure I was in tip top physical condition (ha ha ha - forgive me whilst I choke on my Syrup of Figs, 8 steroids, anti gastric tablet and numerous anti-sickness meds….), this means trotting off (oh if only… yes, I am jealous of your bowel movements dear reader)  to Draculas  - sorry, the Drs for a full blood count.  If your blood test comes back iffy then they can’t give you the chemo  simples!  So, with my right arm still being as useful as a one armed trapeze artist with an itchy ass, I had asked my friend Rachael to drive me about that day – I would like to point out she now refers these trips as her “Driving Miss Debbie” duties. 

Stabbed and plastered (a bit like a Saturday night out in Southend), we left the Drs, our next stop being the hospital, where I had an appointment with the Rehab Physio to check up on my SNB recovery.  Despite the setback at Christmas, I am pleased to report that my scar is healing nicely and I have nearly full movement in my arm – yah boo sucks Alan – I told you I was doing my exercises.  The physio gave me a couple of different exercises to include in my routine, which will stretch the muscle a bit and stop it feeling like I have a tight elastic band strapped around the top of my arm.  So, if you spy me “walking up a wall” don’t worry, I haven’t suddenly decided to try out for the new Spidey film, just doing my exercises.

The following day was “D Day” and after my disastrous date with Doce Taxol, I wasn’t too sure if his brother Pacli and I were going to fare much better.   I’d asked Mum to come along to this one to keep me company.   She and Dad picked me up about 10.45 and we headed off to what is fast becoming our second home.  I had my “chemo bag” all packed with enough goodies to keep us going for the day – chocolate, Kindle, wordsearch, slippers, fruit (honest), chocolate, crisps, chocolate, and biscuits  - all that was missing was the Frisbee, the dog and the kite!  (I can supply the wind…..)

My appointment was at 11.30 but I wanted to get there early as I knew I was being “slotted’ in on an extremely busy day and, after the Doce Disaster, I didn’t want me being late to result in yet another missed chance at blasting The Git.  So, Mum and I were dropped off, checked-in and in the waiting room just after 11.00.  Unfortunately, when I am nervous I chatter – non-stop and nineteen to the dozen, and my poor Mum had to listen to over an hour of me prattling on about everything and anything.  So, if your ears were burning between 11.00 and 12.30 last Friday  - you know someone was thinking of you ;-)

Finally the nurse came to weigh me and take me through to The Bridge (remember the space ship analogy here please) to weigh me and order my treatment.  Surprisingly, despite the fact that where food is concerned, I have recently turned into a human Dyson (thanks to the copious amounts of steroids), I hadn’t actually put any weight on – ooh quick look up there - it’s one of those silver lining thingys.  Thank goodness it wasn’t a flying pig – I’d have eaten it! (in between two slices of thick white (yes Dad, I know I should be thinking of my arteries.…) fresh bread with lots of brown sauce)

Luckily a couple of the nurses that had witnessed my previous misbehaviour allergic reaction were on duty, so we had a chat and I filled them in on all the gory details of what had happened over Christmas.  They are a lovely bunch and reassured me they would keep a very close eye on me at this appointment, just in case I misbehaved reacted again. Hmm I think I am getting a bit of a reputation.

Paclitaxol (“Taxol”), my new drug of choice, is given as a lower dose for nine weeks.  The (only) plus point is that I am less likely to lose my hair though it may get thinner, the downside is that I am pricked weekly - ooer Missus!  Also, it can still cause an allergic reaction each time it is administered and it’s for this reason that you are given half an hour of pre-poison meds before the actual chemo begins.  As I haven’t had my PICC line (or my Central, Northern or Hammersmith & City Line for that matter) put in yet, I still have to have a canula put in place before treatment can begin.  This simple procedure took place in the calm manner to which we are all becoming accustomed.  The nurse tapping and flicking my arm, trying desperately to find one of my “rubbish” veins (this time she admitted defeat and resorted to a heat bag to try and coax the buggers to the surface) and my normal laid back response: feeling faint, going pale, singing to myself and going to my “happy place”  - all the time praying I don’t conk out or throw up on her mid stab.

Finally, after much sweating (me, not the nurse), it is done and I am plugged in.  Let the fun can begin…..

First, I get a bag of saline to hydrate me – this is despite the fact I have been drinking pints of water all morning and am peeing for England – see I may not bother with the instruction manual for my phone or the DVD player, but I do read my “what to do before chemo” notes.   Next to go in is Mr Piriton  – within minutes I can feel my eyes getting heavy and I know that my speech is slurring – giving Mums poor ears a much deserved rest – I swear I heard her sing the Hallelujah chorus.  Then came the steroids (quick lock the fridge…..) then finally anti- sickness and anti-gastric-something-or-other (this one protects my stomach).   After this delicious liquid Appetiser they served the Plat de Jour – Taxol, which was started on a very very slow drip the nurses then stood back and wait for the fireworks…..

For the next hour or so I was subjected to constant calls of “you ok Debbie”, “feeling ok Debbie” and “any reaction Debbie” from every passing Dr, nurse, HCA  - even the cleaner got in on the act at one point.   Mum, meanwhile, sat at the end of the bed pretending to read but watching me like a hawk - just in case I turned a funny colour, passed out or generally started misbehaving in any way.  After reassuring her that I was fine and not planning on doing a runner or causing a scene she finally left to take my prescription to the pharmacy and get herself some lunch and a much needed breath of air.  

I’m not sure if I have mentioned it before, but they give you (the patient) lunch whilst you are having your chemo.  You can have soup, a sandwich (or both), some fruit (freak!) or a Kit-Kat (Note: thanks to my friend Nikki who told me to look out for this little perk).  On this day I chose a Kit-Kat – well who wouldn’t – and happily munched away on it.  Mum returned from her lunch and I remarked that due to the heat on the ward, my Kit-Kat had melted all over my fingers..  Now, there I was hooked up to IV(y) – trapped, unable to escape - helpless.  Mum took a tissue from her bag, licked it and wiped my chin and my neck where the chocolate had dripped.  The woman in the opposite bed and her friend nearly wet themselves laughing and called out “only a mum can get away with that”.   Honestly, I am going to need years of therapy!

I am happy to report though that Taxol and I got on like a house on fire (the fact that it has left a 2 inch burn mark on one of my veins is testament to that – the official name is Phlebitis – your word of the day) and we have arranged to meet once a week for the next 8 weeks to give the relationship a real chance of success.  Of course, what Taxol doesn’t know is that I am going to continue to meet up with Herceptin every three weeks – just to keep my options open you understand! Chemo Tart I hear you cry!

The nurses were keen to avoid an allergic reaction this time and it was agreed the slower the drip, the better the chance of acceptance, so it took three long hours to administer Taxol on this first occasion.  Finally, at around 6pm I was unplugged and, as Dad was at work, we called my youngest sister Kate who came to collect us and take us home.  Her timing was perfect and she pulled up just as we left the building.   Whilst I had been at the hospital my friend Tracy had been a busy lady.  We arrived home to find that, not only had she taken delivery of my new sofa, but she had also cooked us a lovely meal.  I cannot stress enough how much that was appreciated.  Not having to cook or even think about cooking that evening was such a bonus – thank you Tracy.  Hannah had been collected from school by my friend Kerry who had fed, watered and entertained her and she was brought home later that evening having had a lovely time – so my thanks to Kerry and her family too.

Over the weekend the side effects started to make themselves known – the worst of which being a loss of taste.  Now, I can accept the tiredness, possible early menopause and hair loss – but to not be able to taste chocolate – well that’s just NOT ON!  Gradually everything lost its flavour – even water (I promise you), mind you, I’ve yet to try the chewing gum I stuck on the bedpost overnight!  I can only describe it as though the inside of your mouth has been covered in a layer of lard – disgusting eh?  Why don’t you give it a go and see what I mean – no – didn’t you realize this is one of those “virtual blogs”? Okay then, you will just have to take my word for it.

Sunday was Hannah’s 11^th Birthday, she had asked for a party but, obviously we’d had to explain that I might not be up to entertaining a dozen 10/11 year -old excited girls.  I’ve promised her a BIG party next year to make up for all the crap she is dealing with right now.  Errr on that note, if anyone is friends with the guys from The Wanted, can you ask them if they’re busy next January please (I blame chemo brain for the daft things I am saying at the moment – it’s ok, maybe she won’t remember……). 

Each year we celebrate her Birthday by going to the Panto at the Cliffs with all the family, but this year, due to Shane Ritchie’s commitments to DeadEnders, (ah poor old Pat – I think Roly killed her), the run had ended on New Years Eve.  Therefore, it was arranged that the family would come over to our house instead to celebrate.  Unfortunately, Alan’s mum was taken poorly the night before and one of my sisters, Gill – she of the witty comments - and her family live “Oop North” now, so they were unable to attend in person – we did Skype however and a delighted Hannah got to see her baby cousin, James.  

Everyone else came though, Nanny, Dan Dan, Auntie Kate, Uncle Kevin, Auntie Trina, the whirlwind that is her 2 year old cousin The Fredster, Donna & Sian.  We did the candles (twice - so Fred could blow them out) and the cake, she got lots of presents – the doorbell was going all morning with friends dropping off cards and gifts.  After everyone had left we took her out to a local pub/restaurant for dinner – where she ate THREE desserts – I’m going to have to count my steroids.  So, all in all, she had a very happy and lovely day.

Over the next few days I got used to the side effects, tiredness, my jealousy of your “movements”, nose bleeds but NOT the loss of taste – can you tell how annoyed I am about that?  By Wednesday though that had started to return – phew!   Just in time for my next dose on Friday 13^th (cue Halloween music).

As always, Onwards & Upwards!

Debs x


EDIT:  Just to say that you no, you haven't "caught" my chemo brain, and I have changed the title of this Post.  All week I have been singing that blasted tune in my head but, when Al and I were discussing the name of this Post we were trying to come up with witty one liners (you try rhyming Taxol!!).  The "there's only three guarantees in this life....." quote kept cropping up so we adapted it.  However, I have re-read it this morning and think it looks a bit morbid-y (it's my blog so there is such a word - ok?) and I have changed it to the more bouncy "Taxol, Taxol, do the Paclitaxol" - cos I can!   Debs x

A very different than planned, but lovely New Year!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.              I will smash The Git into smithereens

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

3.              I will eat less chocolate – pah!

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

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

As always, Onwards & Upwards

Debs x

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

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

Poison IV(y).....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As always, Onwards & Upwards!

Debs x

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Debs x