Thursday 30th December
They say that you will lose your hair when you have chemotherapy. This would indicate that I have no idea where my hair is. On the contrary, I know exactly where my hair is. It's on my pillow, it's in the shower plughole, it's on everyone I hug, it's on my scarf, it's on the collar and shoulders of all jackets and jumpers and in a supreme act of revenge, it's on the cats!!!
So given that I was starting to resemble scrofulous degenerate I decided to shave my head. Or rather let Hannah do it. So I had a number 3, (those of a male persuasion will be more familiar with this term). Anyway, I am fairly certain that Hannah will never be a hairdresser because at no point did she ask me how my Christmas was or where I'm going for my holidays! I am assuming that the rest of my hair will eventually fall out and then at that point I shall let my delightful husband, Terry, have a go at it with his razor.
I have decided that I will not be wearing a wig, as my head gets very hot when I wear a hat, which I can at least remove without too much fuss. I suspect that taking off a wig in public will probably cause more of a stir.
On the whole I've already got used to my "egg head", although I really do now look like my big brother, which is slightly disquieting. I shall just have to invest in some Bet Lynch style earrings so people can tell us apart.
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Thursday, 23 December 2010
Every Cloud...
Thursday 23rd December
Fascinating Fact Number 1
One of the numerous side effects of my chemo is that all of my mucous membranes are particularly not "mucousy". This means that before I even open my eyes in the morning I have to roll my eyeballs around so that they are a bit more lubricated so that when I do open my eyes it doesn't hurt. I also have to do roughly the same with my mouth as my gums are stuck to my teeth and my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Fascinating Fact Number 2
The snot produced when you have a cold is a result of your immune system trying to rid itself of the cold virus. The more snot produced the more vigorous your immune system.
Fascinating Fact Number 3
I have little or no immune system. I currently have a cold. However, as a direct result of the above two fascinating facts I am not in the least bit snotty. I do however have a very dry cough but have not had to blow my nose once. So although I feel quite rough I can at the very least breathe easily and am not keeping Kleenex in business!
Who knew that having a cold with no immune system would actually be better than having a cold with a fantastic immune system?
Fascinating Fact Number 1
One of the numerous side effects of my chemo is that all of my mucous membranes are particularly not "mucousy". This means that before I even open my eyes in the morning I have to roll my eyeballs around so that they are a bit more lubricated so that when I do open my eyes it doesn't hurt. I also have to do roughly the same with my mouth as my gums are stuck to my teeth and my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Fascinating Fact Number 2
The snot produced when you have a cold is a result of your immune system trying to rid itself of the cold virus. The more snot produced the more vigorous your immune system.
Fascinating Fact Number 3
I have little or no immune system. I currently have a cold. However, as a direct result of the above two fascinating facts I am not in the least bit snotty. I do however have a very dry cough but have not had to blow my nose once. So although I feel quite rough I can at the very least breathe easily and am not keeping Kleenex in business!
Who knew that having a cold with no immune system would actually be better than having a cold with a fantastic immune system?
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
Cold...
Wednesday 22nd December
Well no chemo for me today. I have been coughing and spluttering since yesterday.
I called the chemo department and they told me that not only do I have a cold but my neutrophils are low again, probably as a result of my cold.
I have to keep an eye on my temperature, 35C degrees or below or 37.5C degrees or above and it's off to A & E for me.
So I will be having chemo on New Year's Eve instead!!! Consequently I shall definitely not be seeing in the New Year as I will be fast asleep. Hey Ho!
Still at least I can enjoy Christmas with my nearest and dearest.
Well no chemo for me today. I have been coughing and spluttering since yesterday.
I called the chemo department and they told me that not only do I have a cold but my neutrophils are low again, probably as a result of my cold.
I have to keep an eye on my temperature, 35C degrees or below or 37.5C degrees or above and it's off to A & E for me.
So I will be having chemo on New Year's Eve instead!!! Consequently I shall definitely not be seeing in the New Year as I will be fast asleep. Hey Ho!
Still at least I can enjoy Christmas with my nearest and dearest.
Saturday, 18 December 2010
Side Effects and Stasis
Saturday 18th December
You will note that it's been nearly three weeks since my last update, this is because life is pretty much normal and repetitive, in a three kind of way!
Most of my side effects are to be honest irritating rather than debilitating.
Obviously my hair is falling out and although I have a distinct lack of body hair (my armpits are as smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom), the hair on my head is just getting thinner and thinner. If it stays like this I shall consider that I have got off very lightly. Mind you given the current Arctic weather, wearing a hat is actually a necessity to avoid complete brain freeze.
The most irksome of the side effects is the cardboard mouth, as I like to call it. Basically, everything I eat during the middle week of the 3 week cycle, tastes and feels like cardboard. Moreover this sensation remains even when I am not eating. A curious result of this is that I seem to want to eat more and more. I think that this is because whilst I am actually eating the taste and flavour of the food is "correct" but the moment I have swallowed what is in my mouth, the cardboard sensation returns with a vengeance.
Another, slightly more painfully side effect is the skin on the tips of my fingers and the soles of my feet has become very hard and consequently cracks and then bleeds, which is, at times, excruciatingly painful and feels like I am walking on needles. However, Hannah has attended to my feet and lavished huge quantities of cream and kindness upon them and this seems to be doing the trick. Sadly my fingers are still suffering and I think this is because I am constantly washing my hands and can't always put hand cream on.
With regard to stasis, I find I am constantly saying "I'll do that when I have finished my chemo". Although, clearly I am getting on with things, I find that a lot of stuff I am putting off until then. Mainly because trying to fit things in to the 3 week schedule, when one week I am knackered and one week I am infectable does tend to reduce the window of opportunity somewhat.
Still, come the middle of February I shall be the original gadabout and social butterfly.
You will note that it's been nearly three weeks since my last update, this is because life is pretty much normal and repetitive, in a three kind of way!
Most of my side effects are to be honest irritating rather than debilitating.
Obviously my hair is falling out and although I have a distinct lack of body hair (my armpits are as smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom), the hair on my head is just getting thinner and thinner. If it stays like this I shall consider that I have got off very lightly. Mind you given the current Arctic weather, wearing a hat is actually a necessity to avoid complete brain freeze.
The most irksome of the side effects is the cardboard mouth, as I like to call it. Basically, everything I eat during the middle week of the 3 week cycle, tastes and feels like cardboard. Moreover this sensation remains even when I am not eating. A curious result of this is that I seem to want to eat more and more. I think that this is because whilst I am actually eating the taste and flavour of the food is "correct" but the moment I have swallowed what is in my mouth, the cardboard sensation returns with a vengeance.
Another, slightly more painfully side effect is the skin on the tips of my fingers and the soles of my feet has become very hard and consequently cracks and then bleeds, which is, at times, excruciatingly painful and feels like I am walking on needles. However, Hannah has attended to my feet and lavished huge quantities of cream and kindness upon them and this seems to be doing the trick. Sadly my fingers are still suffering and I think this is because I am constantly washing my hands and can't always put hand cream on.
With regard to stasis, I find I am constantly saying "I'll do that when I have finished my chemo". Although, clearly I am getting on with things, I find that a lot of stuff I am putting off until then. Mainly because trying to fit things in to the 3 week schedule, when one week I am knackered and one week I am infectable does tend to reduce the window of opportunity somewhat.
Still, come the middle of February I shall be the original gadabout and social butterfly.
Friday, 3 December 2010
Half Way There!
Wednesday 1st December
This must be the first time that I felt worse going in than coming out!
My appointment was at mid-day and I developed a really grotty headache during the morning. It was also freezing cold, so I felt extremely sorry for myself as I went in.
Fortunately my neutrophils were up to 5.14 so the chemotherapy went ahead.
I did not, however, use the cold cap. I was cold enough already. My hair is really quite thin and I suspect I would have had to be treated for hypothermia if I had gone ahead with it.
The department was quite cold due to the freezing weather so fan heaters were drafted in from all over the place. So by the time I was half way through I was getting quite warm, especially as I had the heat pad on my arm as well.
Just as I was finishing the hospital suffered a power cut. No doubt caused by all and sundry plugging in every heater they could lay their hands on. Now much of a problem for the chemotherapy unit, but I suspect a bit of bind for those in the operating theatres and the ICU! Fortunately the power was back on fully within about 10 minutes.
The after effects were much less than previously. I was quite tired and went to bed at 7pm but I have not thrown up - hooray! So I suspect that the after effects of the cold cap may be more than just reducing hair loss.
I am considerably less tired than before. Using my trek to the paper shop as my tiredness barometer and given the weather is less than clement, I feel pretty good although very cold. Mind you I'm probably not the only one!!!
This must be the first time that I felt worse going in than coming out!
My appointment was at mid-day and I developed a really grotty headache during the morning. It was also freezing cold, so I felt extremely sorry for myself as I went in.
Fortunately my neutrophils were up to 5.14 so the chemotherapy went ahead.
I did not, however, use the cold cap. I was cold enough already. My hair is really quite thin and I suspect I would have had to be treated for hypothermia if I had gone ahead with it.
The department was quite cold due to the freezing weather so fan heaters were drafted in from all over the place. So by the time I was half way through I was getting quite warm, especially as I had the heat pad on my arm as well.
Just as I was finishing the hospital suffered a power cut. No doubt caused by all and sundry plugging in every heater they could lay their hands on. Now much of a problem for the chemotherapy unit, but I suspect a bit of bind for those in the operating theatres and the ICU! Fortunately the power was back on fully within about 10 minutes.
The after effects were much less than previously. I was quite tired and went to bed at 7pm but I have not thrown up - hooray! So I suspect that the after effects of the cold cap may be more than just reducing hair loss.
I am considerably less tired than before. Using my trek to the paper shop as my tiredness barometer and given the weather is less than clement, I feel pretty good although very cold. Mind you I'm probably not the only one!!!
Tuesday, 30 November 2010
Wig Trimming - This is not a euphemism!
Tuesday 30th November
So I went to get my wig trimmed today.
Just getting there has been a bit of a struggle, it took a few attempts to get a mutually convenient appointment, mainly because everything seems to happen at the same time. Then to top it off the weather decided to snow. Fortunately not enough to stop me and more importantly the hairdresser from getting to our destination.
Anyway, Karen is the Trevor Sorbie trained wig trimmer. (See previous post regarding the charity My New Hair) and a top professional she is too. Not only did she thin out my wig brilliantly but she also tidied up what is left of my hair.
Overall I am highly impressed with not only Karen but also Trevor Sorbie for starting up and running this very needed charity. Apparently, wigs in general have 40% too much hair. Still I suppose that it is easier to thin it out than add more in.
However, I'm not entirely convinced that Karen is actually a real hairdresser because at no point did she ask me where I was going for my holidays!!!
Tomorrow, all being well I will attempt to have my third round of chemotherapy. I can only hope that my neurphils are up to scratch.
So I went to get my wig trimmed today.
Just getting there has been a bit of a struggle, it took a few attempts to get a mutually convenient appointment, mainly because everything seems to happen at the same time. Then to top it off the weather decided to snow. Fortunately not enough to stop me and more importantly the hairdresser from getting to our destination.
Anyway, Karen is the Trevor Sorbie trained wig trimmer. (See previous post regarding the charity My New Hair) and a top professional she is too. Not only did she thin out my wig brilliantly but she also tidied up what is left of my hair.
Overall I am highly impressed with not only Karen but also Trevor Sorbie for starting up and running this very needed charity. Apparently, wigs in general have 40% too much hair. Still I suppose that it is easier to thin it out than add more in.
However, I'm not entirely convinced that Karen is actually a real hairdresser because at no point did she ask me where I was going for my holidays!!!
Tomorrow, all being well I will attempt to have my third round of chemotherapy. I can only hope that my neurphils are up to scratch.
Wednesday, 24 November 2010
What's worse that chemotherapy?
Wednesday 24th November
Answer: Not having chemotherapy!
Apparently my neurophils are not up to muster.
They were 1.22 yesterday and today are 1.35 they need to be 1.50.
So I have to to back next week instead.
Possibly the most annoying aspect of this is that the path lab used to do the blood count while the nurse waited, usually about 10minutes or so. But now the manager of the lab has decided that this is no longer possible and the wait is now about 1 hour. So I sat with my IV dripping saline twiddling my thumb (couldn't do both as my right hand was tied up!) until the very apologetic nurse came with my test results.
Had I been able to have my chemotherapy this would have put everyone back by about 1 hour. Clearly this is what happened on my first visit as I had to wait about 1 hour after my appointment until they could deal with me.
No doubt the manager of the path lab has improved the path lab's service for everyone's benefit!
Answer: Not having chemotherapy!
Apparently my neurophils are not up to muster.
They are the most abundant type of white blood cell and can kill and ingest bacteria.
They were 1.22 yesterday and today are 1.35 they need to be 1.50.
So I have to to back next week instead.
Possibly the most annoying aspect of this is that the path lab used to do the blood count while the nurse waited, usually about 10minutes or so. But now the manager of the lab has decided that this is no longer possible and the wait is now about 1 hour. So I sat with my IV dripping saline twiddling my thumb (couldn't do both as my right hand was tied up!) until the very apologetic nurse came with my test results.
Had I been able to have my chemotherapy this would have put everyone back by about 1 hour. Clearly this is what happened on my first visit as I had to wait about 1 hour after my appointment until they could deal with me.
No doubt the manager of the path lab has improved the path lab's service for everyone's benefit!
Saturday, 13 November 2010
Tedium, Wigs, Free Prescriptions, Pregnancy...
Saturday 13th November
You will note that my posts are currently few and far between. This is because chemotherapy is a very tedious three week Groundhog Day.
My whole life is dictated by the three phases of chemotherapy.
Week One - ill and tired.
Week Two - avoid the great unwashed for fear of contracting some quite ordinary disease for which I have no immunity.
Week Three - almost back to normal, ready to start the whole process again!
My hair is starting to fall out although it still looks relatively normal, but it is getting very thin and that wind sure does whistle around my head. As a consequence of this development I have decided to dispense with the cold cap which is heavy, cold (obviously!) and generally a bit of an endurance exercise. So I am looking at having a bald Christmas, maybe I'll write a song...
Anyway, since my hair is falling out I have looked again with renewed depression at my "lovely" free wig. The main problem with it is that it has way too much hair. So having seen an article in The Mail on Sunday, You magazine I looked at Trevor Sorbie's website. He has started up a charity called My New Hair which deals with medical hair loss in that he has trained hairdressers around the country to style wigs so that they are a little more presentable. Fortunately there is a lady in Harrow who does this so I will let you know how I get on.
For your information here is the website. www.mynewhair.org
I also learned that because I have cancer I am entitled to free prescriptions. I filled in FP92 form at my doctors, they complete the rest of it and send it off. Ten days later I have my exemption card which lasts for 5 years. This covers all prescriptions not just those associated with cancer, which is nice.
As for pregnancy, no I am not pregnant, but I find that chemotherapy is similar to being pregnant in that, it is constantly there, it occupies my every waking moment, even when I am feeling relatively normal. Like pregnancy, however much I might wish to, I cannot "give" it to someone else for a while and have time off. Still unlike pregnancy this will last only 4 months and will not result in a little financial sponge which sucks all my money out off my wallet!
You will note that my posts are currently few and far between. This is because chemotherapy is a very tedious three week Groundhog Day.
My whole life is dictated by the three phases of chemotherapy.
Week One - ill and tired.
Week Two - avoid the great unwashed for fear of contracting some quite ordinary disease for which I have no immunity.
Week Three - almost back to normal, ready to start the whole process again!
My hair is starting to fall out although it still looks relatively normal, but it is getting very thin and that wind sure does whistle around my head. As a consequence of this development I have decided to dispense with the cold cap which is heavy, cold (obviously!) and generally a bit of an endurance exercise. So I am looking at having a bald Christmas, maybe I'll write a song...
Anyway, since my hair is falling out I have looked again with renewed depression at my "lovely" free wig. The main problem with it is that it has way too much hair. So having seen an article in The Mail on Sunday, You magazine I looked at Trevor Sorbie's website. He has started up a charity called My New Hair which deals with medical hair loss in that he has trained hairdressers around the country to style wigs so that they are a little more presentable. Fortunately there is a lady in Harrow who does this so I will let you know how I get on.
For your information here is the website. www.mynewhair.org
I also learned that because I have cancer I am entitled to free prescriptions. I filled in FP92 form at my doctors, they complete the rest of it and send it off. Ten days later I have my exemption card which lasts for 5 years. This covers all prescriptions not just those associated with cancer, which is nice.
As for pregnancy, no I am not pregnant, but I find that chemotherapy is similar to being pregnant in that, it is constantly there, it occupies my every waking moment, even when I am feeling relatively normal. Like pregnancy, however much I might wish to, I cannot "give" it to someone else for a while and have time off. Still unlike pregnancy this will last only 4 months and will not result in a little financial sponge which sucks all my money out off my wallet!
Saturday, 6 November 2010
Ding, ding! Seconds Out, Round Two!
Wednesday 3rd November
Well I had my second bout of chemotherapy on Wednesday. The cold cap was very cold. I think that might be because my hair is getting thinner although not very noticeably.
Having chemotherapy in the morning is preferable mainly because the feeling cr*ppy bit happens during the afternoon and evening allowing a reasonable night's sleep.
Once again I threw up copiously but felt better soon after, although eating dinner was a bit beyond me,so I had bread and water.
Overall I feel better this time than I did at this point after the first bout. Not quite as zonked but definitely a bit out of it.
I think that the worst bit is that I do feel tired but simply cannot sleep very well. So I have a near constant feeling of fatigue. Still at least I am not feeling nauseous.
As for the other side effects such as constipation I have been taking Psyllium husks which should help, although it is akin to drinking sawdust mixed in water. So far I cannot say it has had any definite effect. Maybe I'll do a consumer report of "Things To Keep You Regular". Next up, dried apricots!
Well I had my second bout of chemotherapy on Wednesday. The cold cap was very cold. I think that might be because my hair is getting thinner although not very noticeably.
Having chemotherapy in the morning is preferable mainly because the feeling cr*ppy bit happens during the afternoon and evening allowing a reasonable night's sleep.
Once again I threw up copiously but felt better soon after, although eating dinner was a bit beyond me,so I had bread and water.
Overall I feel better this time than I did at this point after the first bout. Not quite as zonked but definitely a bit out of it.
I think that the worst bit is that I do feel tired but simply cannot sleep very well. So I have a near constant feeling of fatigue. Still at least I am not feeling nauseous.
As for the other side effects such as constipation I have been taking Psyllium husks which should help, although it is akin to drinking sawdust mixed in water. So far I cannot say it has had any definite effect. Maybe I'll do a consumer report of "Things To Keep You Regular". Next up, dried apricots!
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Anatomy 101
Sunday 31st October
You will note that I have not posted for a while, this is mainly because there has been little or nothing about which to post.
However, about 10 days ago my lower left rib began to stick out. It felt as if I had bashed it and it was bruised. I assumed that it was a result of where the drain was positioned after my operation and that the scar tissue was "catching" or otherwise being irritating. My rib was sticking out a lot and was sore enough that I couldn't sleep on my left hand side and raising my left arm was uncomfortable. Anyway the sticking out and the pain subsided after a few days.
On Thursday of last week I went to see my doctor about something quite unrelated to my current condition and happened to mention my rib to her. Being the thorough top professional that she is, she decided to have a quick shufti. Pressing on the rib caused no pain at all, however when she pressed gently underneath the rib from my solar plexus I thought she had dislocated it, the pain was excruciating. Apparently, it's not my rib but my spleen which is swollen, possibly as a result of the chemotherapy. So it's off to hospital for yet another scan to see if everything is tickety boo! This is the same doctor I saw back in June about the original lump. I did mention that I might stop seeing her as she has a habit of finding things that are really wrong with me!
So I have now learned that my ribs (and for that matter yours as well) not only cover my lungs but also my spleen and on the other side my liver. So you really do learn something new everyday.
You will note that I have not posted for a while, this is mainly because there has been little or nothing about which to post.
However, about 10 days ago my lower left rib began to stick out. It felt as if I had bashed it and it was bruised. I assumed that it was a result of where the drain was positioned after my operation and that the scar tissue was "catching" or otherwise being irritating. My rib was sticking out a lot and was sore enough that I couldn't sleep on my left hand side and raising my left arm was uncomfortable. Anyway the sticking out and the pain subsided after a few days.
On Thursday of last week I went to see my doctor about something quite unrelated to my current condition and happened to mention my rib to her. Being the thorough top professional that she is, she decided to have a quick shufti. Pressing on the rib caused no pain at all, however when she pressed gently underneath the rib from my solar plexus I thought she had dislocated it, the pain was excruciating. Apparently, it's not my rib but my spleen which is swollen, possibly as a result of the chemotherapy. So it's off to hospital for yet another scan to see if everything is tickety boo! This is the same doctor I saw back in June about the original lump. I did mention that I might stop seeing her as she has a habit of finding things that are really wrong with me!
So I have now learned that my ribs (and for that matter yours as well) not only cover my lungs but also my spleen and on the other side my liver. So you really do learn something new everyday.
Saturday, 23 October 2010
Hooray for Ade Edmonson!
Saturday 23rd October
In today's Daily Mail Weekend magazine is an interview with Adrian Edmonson. In it he insists that he is quoted verbatim.
"No one battles cancer", neither is is "a rollercoaster ride". "It's just a long, slow, miserable grind."
"This is just a really inconvenient, horrible kind of treatment. It was a miserable business and extremely undignified."
He is absolutely right. I am not battling cancer, I am undergoing treatment, which currently is really quite bearable. I have felt a little nauseous, been sick once, got a bit of a sore mouth and occasionally feel totally whacked out. The vast majority of the time I feel really quite normal, or at least normal for me, which is something of a moot point! I realise that this state of affairs will not continue as I progress through my treatment.
Anyway, I am just so glad that someone in the public eye has told it like it is. It's good to know that I haven't "missed the point" and that what I am experiencing appears to be what, at least, one other person and her family have gone through.
In today's Daily Mail Weekend magazine is an interview with Adrian Edmonson. In it he insists that he is quoted verbatim.
"No one battles cancer", neither is is "a rollercoaster ride". "It's just a long, slow, miserable grind."
"This is just a really inconvenient, horrible kind of treatment. It was a miserable business and extremely undignified."
He is absolutely right. I am not battling cancer, I am undergoing treatment, which currently is really quite bearable. I have felt a little nauseous, been sick once, got a bit of a sore mouth and occasionally feel totally whacked out. The vast majority of the time I feel really quite normal, or at least normal for me, which is something of a moot point! I realise that this state of affairs will not continue as I progress through my treatment.
Anyway, I am just so glad that someone in the public eye has told it like it is. It's good to know that I haven't "missed the point" and that what I am experiencing appears to be what, at least, one other person and her family have gone through.
Monday, 18 October 2010
Back To Normality?
Monday 18th October
I went to work today which was more or less tiring than I expected, in that the walk there and back was as tiring as I was expecting and the work was a little more taxing than I was expecting. I find I have to concentrate quite hard, clearly the cotton wool in my brain hasn't quite cleared yet.
The side effects of one of the anti-emetics are now being felt with a vengeance. I think I have eaten my body weight in prunes today! Enough said!
It has only recently dawned on me that it is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I thought I was just being more sensitive to breast cancer articles in the papers and magazines.
What I do find interesting is other cancer patients' and their relatives' reaction to diagnosis. Some have literally thrown up for hours after being told.
I am put in mind of Rudyard Kipling's poem "If..."
If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs...
Maybe you've missed the point!
I don't think I am underestimating what is happening to me, but I do think that I have complete trust in the medical world and what they are doing for me and telling me. At no point during this whole experience have I felt uninformed or that not everything was being done that could be.
In general I feel extremely grateful that I had a cyst, that I had a GP who was keen to send me for a mammogram, that I had a keen eyed consultant radiographer...
I went to work today which was more or less tiring than I expected, in that the walk there and back was as tiring as I was expecting and the work was a little more taxing than I was expecting. I find I have to concentrate quite hard, clearly the cotton wool in my brain hasn't quite cleared yet.
The side effects of one of the anti-emetics are now being felt with a vengeance. I think I have eaten my body weight in prunes today! Enough said!
It has only recently dawned on me that it is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I thought I was just being more sensitive to breast cancer articles in the papers and magazines.
What I do find interesting is other cancer patients' and their relatives' reaction to diagnosis. Some have literally thrown up for hours after being told.
I am put in mind of Rudyard Kipling's poem "If..."
If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs...
Maybe you've missed the point!
I don't think I am underestimating what is happening to me, but I do think that I have complete trust in the medical world and what they are doing for me and telling me. At no point during this whole experience have I felt uninformed or that not everything was being done that could be.
In general I feel extremely grateful that I had a cyst, that I had a GP who was keen to send me for a mammogram, that I had a keen eyed consultant radiographer...
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Someone Has Moved The Newsagents!
Friday 15th October
The day started much the same as the day before but without the headache. In general I feel much improved.
After breakfast I make my usual trip to the newsagents at the end of my road. Clearly someone has put it back to where it was. I know for a fact that it was moved much, much further away yesterday, it took me ages to get there and clearly someone moved while I was in there, because it took me even longer to get back! Happily everything is getting back to normal.
I spend Friday doing much the same as Thursday although I manage to complete the plethora of crosswords, sudokos, etc. Not at my usual speed but at least I manage to get through them all. Obviously the cotton wool in my head is thinning out.
The day started much the same as the day before but without the headache. In general I feel much improved.
After breakfast I make my usual trip to the newsagents at the end of my road. Clearly someone has put it back to where it was. I know for a fact that it was moved much, much further away yesterday, it took me ages to get there and clearly someone moved while I was in there, because it took me even longer to get back! Happily everything is getting back to normal.
I spend Friday doing much the same as Thursday although I manage to complete the plethora of crosswords, sudokos, etc. Not at my usual speed but at least I manage to get through them all. Obviously the cotton wool in my head is thinning out.
Friday, 15 October 2010
The Morning After The Day Before
Thursday 14th October
Having spent a fairly rough night I wake up not feeling nauseous but still with a slight headache.
I demolish my bowl of porridge followed by two types of anti-emetics and one steroid, all washed down with warm milk. My stomach doesn't feel like it would like anything cold.
Everyone, especially my mother, tells me to rest and take it easy. To be honest it is physically impossible to do anything else. Not only is the flesh weak but the spirit is also unwilling. Even doing my usual crosswords, sudukos, ken ken and code word puzzles is far to taxing on my cotton wool brain. I watch a bit of TV and then go back to bed.
Lunch consists of lots of Marmite and toast, which tastes a little metallic. I have to eat in order to take the next round of drugs. One emetic and one steroid.
More TV and then bed again.
I get up when Nick and Hannah return from school. Sitting on the sofa is too tiring so I have to lie down. The cats think this is the way everyone should be and one of them joins me!
For supper I have tomato soup and lots of bread. Bland is currently my favourite food. Followed by the last lot of drugs for the day, two anti-emetics.
I manage to stay up until 10pm and then pass a fairly good night. No headache or nausea - hooray!!!
Having spent a fairly rough night I wake up not feeling nauseous but still with a slight headache.
I demolish my bowl of porridge followed by two types of anti-emetics and one steroid, all washed down with warm milk. My stomach doesn't feel like it would like anything cold.
Everyone, especially my mother, tells me to rest and take it easy. To be honest it is physically impossible to do anything else. Not only is the flesh weak but the spirit is also unwilling. Even doing my usual crosswords, sudukos, ken ken and code word puzzles is far to taxing on my cotton wool brain. I watch a bit of TV and then go back to bed.
Lunch consists of lots of Marmite and toast, which tastes a little metallic. I have to eat in order to take the next round of drugs. One emetic and one steroid.
More TV and then bed again.
I get up when Nick and Hannah return from school. Sitting on the sofa is too tiring so I have to lie down. The cats think this is the way everyone should be and one of them joins me!
For supper I have tomato soup and lots of bread. Bland is currently my favourite food. Followed by the last lot of drugs for the day, two anti-emetics.
I manage to stay up until 10pm and then pass a fairly good night. No headache or nausea - hooray!!!
Thursday, 14 October 2010
Chemotherapy - One Down Five To Go
We arrive at my appointed time, but evidently someone is taking longer than anticipated so we eventually get in an hour late. Although to be honest I really didn't feel as though I had waited all that long.
First my arm is put in a bucket of warm water to bring the vein up. The cannula is inserted and a saline drip is started. I am also injected with anti-emetics and steroids. The interesting effect of the steroids is as the nurse said a sensation in my bottom, although the Jeremy Clarkson description of "front lady bottom" would have been more accurate. This strange tingling/ itching lasts only a few minutes, but it is strange.
At this point I have the cold cap or Elasto-Gel cap put on . It is cold but I've had worse. This is left on for 25 minutes and then replaced with another one, which is also left on for about 25 minutes. This is then replaces with yet another cap which is left on for an hour.
I am then ready to receive the 8 very large syringes of chemotherapy. The first four in are red and about half way though the first one I feel really nauseous. So the nurse pauses and then I am fine. The whole procedure takes a little over 2 hours, including going to the loo and having a cup of tea.
I leave the hospital feeling fine.
As the evening progresses I become increasingly zonked. Even watching Midsomer Murders is a little too taxing. I go to bed but cannot sleep. My head hurts and I feeling very bloated and burpy. It is as though I have the worst hangover ever.
At about 1.15am my burpiness finally gives way to throwing up. Fortunately I feel much better once I have thrown up. Although I do wonder how I would have felt without the anti-emetics.
I pass the rest of the night fitfully.
First my arm is put in a bucket of warm water to bring the vein up. The cannula is inserted and a saline drip is started. I am also injected with anti-emetics and steroids. The interesting effect of the steroids is as the nurse said a sensation in my bottom, although the Jeremy Clarkson description of "front lady bottom" would have been more accurate. This strange tingling/ itching lasts only a few minutes, but it is strange.
At this point I have the cold cap or Elasto-Gel cap put on . It is cold but I've had worse. This is left on for 25 minutes and then replaced with another one, which is also left on for about 25 minutes. This is then replaces with yet another cap which is left on for an hour.
I am then ready to receive the 8 very large syringes of chemotherapy. The first four in are red and about half way though the first one I feel really nauseous. So the nurse pauses and then I am fine. The whole procedure takes a little over 2 hours, including going to the loo and having a cup of tea.
I leave the hospital feeling fine.
As the evening progresses I become increasingly zonked. Even watching Midsomer Murders is a little too taxing. I go to bed but cannot sleep. My head hurts and I feeling very bloated and burpy. It is as though I have the worst hangover ever.
At about 1.15am my burpiness finally gives way to throwing up. Fortunately I feel much better once I have thrown up. Although I do wonder how I would have felt without the anti-emetics.
I pass the rest of the night fitfully.
The Blood Test
Tuesday 13th October
The day before chemo, every time, I have to have a blood test to make sure I am well enough to receive all those toxic chemicals!!!
The best bit about it is that there is no waiting around. Just turn up and effectively jump the queue.
Obviously I endured the glares of the waiting crowd of about 10 people, but the looks on their face change immediately as the blood technician says "Chemo patient?".
The woman who takes my blood from my non-receptive right arm is truly a genius not only does it really not hurt but she finds the vein quickly and efficiently. Top professional!!!
The day before chemo, every time, I have to have a blood test to make sure I am well enough to receive all those toxic chemicals!!!
The best bit about it is that there is no waiting around. Just turn up and effectively jump the queue.
Obviously I endured the glares of the waiting crowd of about 10 people, but the looks on their face change immediately as the blood technician says "Chemo patient?".
The woman who takes my blood from my non-receptive right arm is truly a genius not only does it really not hurt but she finds the vein quickly and efficiently. Top professional!!!
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
The Wig
I was going to overlook this activity because to be honest I didn’t think it merited an entry all of its own. However on reflection…
I took the Bakerloo Line from Kenton to Paddington. I would gladly have availed myself of the joy of purchasing a ticket from a person in the ticket office, but he was on his break (Bob Crow take note!). So I used the touch screen machine. Evidently you need a fairly hefty touch! Still I managed to get a ticket eventually - £6.30 return!!! I only wanted a seat, not the whole train!
The journey was uneventful, but did have the mandatory berk with their ipod playing just loudly enough to irritate. The train passed through such exotic locations as Harlesden, and Willesden Junction. In about 30 minutes we arrived at Paddington. Going up the escalator I notice that the little cardboard adverts had been replaced with little silent TV adverts. I can distinctly remember watching Blade Runner and finding the concept of TV adverts in public places unthinkable. I really must be getting old.
Anyway, Paddington is a sea of Bureaux de change, tacky souvenir shops, (sometimes these first two are one and the same), restaurants, numerous hotels of very varying quality and some very quaint (and expensive I should imagine) mews.
I wandered towards 34 Craven Road, negotiating the suits, tourists with their wheelie suitcases and a hoard of small primary school children who appeared to be just wandering up and down Praed Street albeit in a purposeful manner.
Raoul (Wig makers since 1899) is the shop front of the building where Tommy Handley lived until his untimely death in 1949 at the age of 57 from a brain haemorrhage. For those of a certain age you will know him from ITMA. For the rest of you Google him.
Raoul, which also does hairdressing, looks like something from the 1963 Peter Sellers comedy “The Wrong Arm of the Law” except not in black and white. It transpired that it had more in common with that era than I had at first suspected.
I entered the empty shop (not entirely certain why I had to have an appointment!) to be met by an ancient man who could well have been the original Raoul himself! I was shown to the back of the shop and put in a curtained off cubicle. A little while later a charming lady came and sorted me out with a wig which although quite a good match to what I currently have on my hair does look a little like a Beatles wig but in the wrong colour. So in the hopefully unlikely event that my hair does drop out I think that wig will be the port of last resort.
Wigs as you would imagine have to be washed etc. with special wig shampoo, conditioner and fibre oil(!) which Raoul will sell you for the princely sum of £16.50. I got my wallet out and proffered my card only to be told that they only accept cash!!! See I told you this shop was stuck in a bygone age. Apparently everyone who comes to get their hair cut there pays cash. Well dear reader I left without the lotions and potions. I’ll just have to hope that baby shampoo and Lenor do the job!
Monday, 11 October 2010
Getting Ready for Chemotherapy
Over the past couple of weeks I have been scanned, dyed, monitored, squeezed and any number of other interesting things that the medical profession can think of.
I had a CT scan which involved drinking half a litre of barium sulphate – slightly citrus flavoured and about the same consistency as lemon squash. I was also injected with dye, whilst I was being scanned which has the interesting effect of making you feel as though you are wetting yourself!!! The scan itself involves lying still and holding your breath when told so to do.
The following week I had a bone scan which involved being injected with some radioactive dye going away for 3 hours coming back and then lying down with my feet tied together (I don’t think it was to stop me running away!) and lying very still for 20 minutes.
Overall the scans were quite uneventful, however (you just knew there was going to be a however) I am extremely right handed indeed my left hand is really only used to scratch my right elbow, but it does have one saving grace, it is intravenously very obliging. You can stick hypodermics in to push stuff in and to draw blood out. Sadly not anymore. Since I have had some of my lymph nodes removed I am not allowed to use my left arm for anything even vaguely medical, not even blood pressure. So I have to be injected in my right arm which to be honest has so few useful veins it is a wonder to me that blood circulates at all. Anyway, the only place that could be used for both of the scans’ injections was the side of my wrist just below my thumb. Yes it does hurt and I had a quite decent bruise.
So today I went to see the chemotherapy nurse, who weighed me (thankfully in kilos so I still have no idea how exceptionally overweight I am!!!), measured me, took my blood pressure and temperature. I then had to go for an ECG which involved “sanding” off the hair on my ankles, wrists and chest then sticking very sticky electrodes to the bald patches. Apart from the machine dying (at least I think it was the machine) it was all over quickly but not painlessly as even without hair the removal of the sticky things was quite painful. I now have some very smooth patches in some interesting places.
I start chemo on Wednesday 13th October. Days 1 – 8 I might feel tired (so no housework!!! J) days 9 – 14 I should stay away from public transport, busy shops (quite easy really) and other germ infested places. Days 14 – 21 I think I should be getting back to normal ready for the whole rigmarole to start again.
Interesting side effects:
Nausea for which they give you anti-emetic tablets to swallow assuming you can keep them down.
One of the drugs has a red dye and yes you guessed it I will be peeing bright red for a few days after treatment. I think that by the end of all this I shan’t remember what colour I’m supposed to pee.
Tiredness so plenty of rest but not to overdo it and I must get out for some gentle exercise, this apparently will counteract the tiredness.
Bruising and bleeding, so I must be careful not to bash or cut myself. So no housework!!! J
Reduced immunity so keep away from germ ridden people. Really easy!
Loss of hair, I shall be going to get myself a fetching wig in the next week or so from Paddington (that would be the place rather than the bear!)
To mitigate this I have opted for the cold cap therapy which involves putting a frozen “swimming” hat affair on for the best part of two hours during chemotherapy. I’ll let you know how well that goes!
I have six rounds of chemo and by my reckoning I will be finished by the end of January, which currently seems a long way off.
Post Operation
The next day my shoulder felt as though I had been digging the garden several times over for the previous week! Still a concerted amount of shoulder shrugging, pretending to comb my hair, assisted lifts and other sundry physiotherapy exercises soon sorted that out, and within a couple of days I could move my left arm relatively freely.
The next 10 days or so were spent going with the flow. Doing nothing and sleeping! My most favourite activities. J The only real “pain” was the drain which although was not actually painful meant that I could only sleep on my back or right hand side. Generally I sleep on my front or left hand side, so you can see why it was such a nuisance.
The dressing along with the steristrips was taken off after about 8 days and it looked quite good or at least as good as a foot long scar can.
The drain was removed on the 9th day and it was the most heavenly relief. It was akin to having a foot long flexible splinter removed. I hadn’t realised quite how much tubing they can fit inside you without you really noticing. It went up along the side of my ribs towards my armpit and then turned towards and along my chest. So yes it really was about a foot long.
My scar is, according to Hannah my daughter, awesome and cool, I do wonder about that girl sometimes!
Today I went to see the breast nurse for the post op follow up and all she did was remove a rogue dissolvable stitch which decided to “pop” out and not dissolve. Apparently this can happen and dissolvable stitches only dissolve inside the body.
I also went to see the oncologist who is absolutely nowhere near old enough to be a consultant. I really must be getting old.
Anyway, this is the upshot.
My lymph nodes were definitely clear, and the operation was “curative” so currently I have no cancer in my body. But, and it is quite a big but, the type of cancer I had and the way it was scattered about (I had several small tumours and pre-cancerous “bits” in my breast) means that although I do not need to have radiotherapy I really should have chemotherapy.
Apparently, because I am so young (yes I know, they are well aware that I am 47) and the risk of recurrence and the fact that the cancer is herceptin receptive and hormonally driven means that although I could opt for just taking tamoxifen only, having chemotherapy, followed by herceptin and tamoxifen reduces the risk of recurrence to virtually zilch, and I’d quite like to be around for a goodly while if only to make my family’s life a complete misery!!! J
So first I have to have a complete body CT scan. They aren’t bothering with my head, probably because there isn’t anything worth worrying about in there. This involves injecting me with dye and lying very still for about 20 minutes. I also have to have a bone scan. More dye, go away for about 3 hours and then come back and be scanned not sure with what or how long this will take.
Then in a couple of weeks I begin the first of 6 rounds of chemotherapy, one every 3 weeks, pop into Northwick Park for the morning and then go home and return 3 weeks later. This is then followed by a year’s worth of herceptin therapy which is also intravenous and on a similar protocol.
So there you have it. It’s a bit of a bugger but then stuff happens, c’est la vie! J
Operation Day
Well I lef’ tit behind at the hospital!!! J
My day at the hospital was possibly the longest in my life and not for the reasons you’d imagine.
Got up at 5.30am and drank 3 pints of water before 6am.
Arrive at the hospital at 7.15am.
Got into hospital gown at 7.45am.
Then after being seen by surgeons and anaesthetists we waited and waited and waited. Apparently if it hadn’t have been the bank holiday the day before I would have come in to have a radioactive injection, but I had to have it done on the day (I was not the only person affected by this). So I go to the isotope department get an injection and then photographed.
And then we waited and we waited and we waited.
At 1pm, by which time I was unbelievable thirsty and hungry, I was called for surgery. With out doubt the most painful thing was having an automatic blood pressure cuff on my right calf – excruciating.
Some time later I am asked if I know where I am. I reply confidently “Marsiellan Plage”
Some time later I ask what time it is 5.25 I am told. I had been in recovery for the best part of 2 hours.
I am then sent back up to the ward. Where thankfully Terry, my husband, arrives a little later.
I am visited by the surgeon who tells me that the lymph nodes are clear although there is a small chance that they will be found to be affected later on.
One of the side effects of the aesthetic is that I have absolutely no spit. Thus eating a slice of bread required the consumption of several glasses of water. I drink about 3 litres of water to get one slice of bread eaten. I am then told I cannot go home until I have peed.
I drink, I walk around, I relax, I try and nothing.
I drink, I walk around, I relax, I try and nothing.
I drink, I walk around, I relax, I try and nothing.
The day unit staff go home at 8pm so I am sent up to the short stay unit to continue the interminable wait for the passing of urine.
I really want to go home (CSI Miami is on at 9pm)
At long last at about 8.40pm I pee hooray!!!
When they do the operation they inject you with a blue dye to highlight the lymph nodes, interesting side effect your pee turns blue and I mean really blue.
I get home in time for CSI Miami and the best ever scramble eggs and ham.
I still have a local anaesthetic where my left breast used to be so currently I am not in pain. The site of the drain is a little itchy occasionally and other than peeing like a Smurf (I think I went to the loo at least 6 times in the night) I feel absolutely fine, if a little stiff.
Oh yes and on top of all this my dad died on Monday night.
It’s been one hell of a week.
Holiday
We go to France.
I spend the next two weeks eating, drinking, reading, pondering on life, the universe and everything, playing Uno and Hearts, going swimming and to the fun fair.
I find it incomprehensible that I am to have a major operation, to have part of me amputated within a matter of days. I feel fine, I have had no symptoms whatsoever. I vacillate between being resigned to my fate and total rage.
Eventually though I realise that in the grand scheme of things having a breast removed is not the worst thing that could happen. It's served its intended purpose and fed two babies. It's not as though I am losing a limb, an eye or several feet of intestine, all of which, I feel would have a more profound affect on my life than the loss of a breast.
As we travel back to England there is still a teeny weeny bit of me that hopes I'll only have to have a lumpectomy, but I know that's not going to happen.
The answerphone message confirms what I already know. I actually feel very sorry for the Breast Care Nurse who has to leave the message. It really must have been hard for her to give such news to a machine without any way of knowing how the recipient will react.
I spend the time between arriving home and Tuesday morning washing clothes and sorting out everything from the holiday.
Tuesday 5.30am arrives soon enough.
Telling everyone
I decide that I will tell my nearest and dearest by 'phone. The reaction, as you will imagine, is generally shock. I do my best to reassure everyone that I feel fine and that the prognosis is good.
I decide that I will tell everyone else by email. The response is again shock but I also get 'phone calls from people I haven't heard from in ages. Clearly the "I really must 'phone such and such" which we all do and never get around to is spurred into action with the arrival of my email.
I am genuinely touched by all the good will, kind messages and offers of help I receive. I also feel a total fraud as I have absolutely no symptoms whatsoever.
Tests, tests and more tests
For the next three weeks I feel as though I live at Northwick Park Hospital.
First I have an MRI which involves lying on my front with my breasts dangling into, what is best described as two copper wire lined yoghurt pots. The procedure is painless but quite noisy.
A week later I go to the hospital admissions department where they weigh me, fortunately in kilos thus saving me from knowing exactly how overweight I am, measure me, take my temperature, take my blood pressure, take some swabs from my nose and throat and take some blood. They also give me a long list of things I need to do the day before I come in for my operation.
Later the same day I go for another ultrasound. This is because the MRI has picked up some more tumours and they need to take another core biopsy. This is not possible because it is difficult to differentiate between the original tumour and the new one.
It is at this point that the spectre of a mastectomy raises its head! Apparently I have several small tumours and because they are scattered around, a lumpectomy is unlikely to be an option as I would end up looking like Swiss cheese. To say I am in shock would be putting it mildly.
The medical profession are excellent at telling it like it is, if it is bad news they don't flannel you. However, this "bluntness" can really knock you for six, if you have no inkling of the bad news to come. Not sure how they could get round that one.
So I am schedule for another MRI two days before I go on holiday so the consultant radiologist can do an MRI guided vacuum assisted biopsy.
Once again I am lying face down, dangling in the "yoghurt pots". The procedure takes a long time, about 1 hour all told I think. I have to lie very still for the duration of the procedure, even when the delightful consultant radiologist is skewering me. I have had a local anaesthetic but it is still extremely uncomfortable to say the least.
Straight after my MRI I go to see the Breast Care Nurse who goes through lots of stuff about operations, lumpectomies and mastectomies, breast forms, one for immediately after a mastectomy and others for longer term use, breast reconstruction, treatments, the list seems endless. I think I might be suffering from information overload.
The results of the MRI biopsy will arrive while I'm in France. I tell the nurse that she can leave a message as to whether I am to have a lumpectomy or mastectomy on my answerphone. I hope it will be the former but I know deep down I will have to have a mastectomy.
Actual Diagnosis
Monday 26th July
By the time my appointment for the actual diagnosis comes around I am fairly accustomed to the fact that I have cancer. It still seems a little unreal but the fact that I have cancer has sunk in.
Being told by the consultant was uneventful because he just confirmed what I already knew. The date is set for my operation, two days after my return from holiday.
We then go off with the Breast Care Nurse who goes into more detail about what will happen and what the various treatment options are.
Apparently my right breast is "unremarkable", a fact with which my husband takes issue!
We go home feeling confident and reassured.
Sunday, 10 October 2010
The first of many, many visits to Northwick Park Hospital
Thursday 15th July.
I arrive at the Breast Clinic for my 9am appointment.
The breast doctor I see gives me a thorough physical examination of my breasts. Once again I have to point out where the lump is. Once again I am assured that it is almost certainly a cyst. She finds nothing else. I am then sent off for my mammogram.
The highly efficient looking radiographer calls about 5 women in for their mammogram.
I go into a cubicle which has two doors, remove all my top clothes and put on the first of many, many hospital gowns.
The mammogram machine looks like all the others I have seen on the TV. For those of you who have had mammograms you will know what it is like, for those of you who have yet to have this done to you I can assure you that it is nowhere near as painful or uncomfortable as you would imagine. However, breathing and holding your breath is quite difficult when you have large amounts of your "chest" clamped between two sheets of plastic. I should also point out that the radiographer does tuck in as much of your breast as possible for obvious reasons.
I am then sent to the ultrasound department.
The room to which I am called is really very cold. Evidently the previous hot weather had necessitated the switching on of the air conditioning which clearly has little or no thermostatic control. On the screens are the results of the mammograms, which to my eye look like all the other mammograms I have ever seen.
The junior radiologist covers both my breasts and armpits with the ultrasound gel which in the over air conditioned room is very cold indeed. As she passes the probe over my breasts her senior colleague literally elbows her out of the way, saying she doesn't like the look of something. Small, quiet alarms bells begin to ring in my head.
As she passes the probe over my left breast I ask if it is the cyst she is concerned about. Oh no that's fine, she says as she points out the completely black area to me. This she will drain by sticking hypodermic needle in and drawing off the fluid. She is much more concerned about another lump which has shown up on the mammogram. Her suspicions are confirmed by the ultrasound and she decides to to a core biopsy.
A core biopsy uses a long hollow needle apparatus which takes a piece of the lump. Even with a local anaesthetic it is akin to being shot with the blunt end of a pencil. As she takes the sample off the needle to put into a pot she says again that she REALLY doesn't like the look of it.
I dress and return to see the original breast doctor. You can only begin to imagine what thoughts are going through my head.
The breast doctor looks at the initial results and points out that it all seems very straight forward and "curable". I'll probably only need a lumpectomy and some radiation therapy. However, nothing is certain until the results come back form pathology. He asks if I have any questions. The only one I can think of is how will this affect my holiday in 4 week's time? He assures me that my holiday is quite safe.
I make an appointment for the results for Monday 26th July.
As I drive home my head is buzzing with thoughts of my imminent mortality. I then stop being morbid.
When I get home I tell my teenage son that he has to be nice to me as I have breast cancer and I am going to die!!! He looks mildly concerned and makes me a cup of tea. I then tell him exactly what I have been told. He surmises that I am going to die but not for a goodly while yet.
I then have to 'phone my husband and ask him to take the 26th July off work to come with me. It's hard to sound nonchalant and upbeat over the 'phone. Clearly he is shocked - aren't we all?
I tell my teenage daughter when I collect her and her friends from the station after her school trip to the theatre, the same thing about breast cancer, dying and being nice to me. She takes in the same spirit as her brother. I do wonder if being brutally and overly honest is the best thing, but then we are like this with everything in our family. Perhaps if they were younger I'd have played it differently.
I tell no-one else at this point. There will be plenty of time for that later.
I arrive at the Breast Clinic for my 9am appointment.
The breast doctor I see gives me a thorough physical examination of my breasts. Once again I have to point out where the lump is. Once again I am assured that it is almost certainly a cyst. She finds nothing else. I am then sent off for my mammogram.
The highly efficient looking radiographer calls about 5 women in for their mammogram.
I go into a cubicle which has two doors, remove all my top clothes and put on the first of many, many hospital gowns.
The mammogram machine looks like all the others I have seen on the TV. For those of you who have had mammograms you will know what it is like, for those of you who have yet to have this done to you I can assure you that it is nowhere near as painful or uncomfortable as you would imagine. However, breathing and holding your breath is quite difficult when you have large amounts of your "chest" clamped between two sheets of plastic. I should also point out that the radiographer does tuck in as much of your breast as possible for obvious reasons.
I am then sent to the ultrasound department.
The room to which I am called is really very cold. Evidently the previous hot weather had necessitated the switching on of the air conditioning which clearly has little or no thermostatic control. On the screens are the results of the mammograms, which to my eye look like all the other mammograms I have ever seen.
The junior radiologist covers both my breasts and armpits with the ultrasound gel which in the over air conditioned room is very cold indeed. As she passes the probe over my breasts her senior colleague literally elbows her out of the way, saying she doesn't like the look of something. Small, quiet alarms bells begin to ring in my head.
As she passes the probe over my left breast I ask if it is the cyst she is concerned about. Oh no that's fine, she says as she points out the completely black area to me. This she will drain by sticking hypodermic needle in and drawing off the fluid. She is much more concerned about another lump which has shown up on the mammogram. Her suspicions are confirmed by the ultrasound and she decides to to a core biopsy.
A core biopsy uses a long hollow needle apparatus which takes a piece of the lump. Even with a local anaesthetic it is akin to being shot with the blunt end of a pencil. As she takes the sample off the needle to put into a pot she says again that she REALLY doesn't like the look of it.
I dress and return to see the original breast doctor. You can only begin to imagine what thoughts are going through my head.
The breast doctor looks at the initial results and points out that it all seems very straight forward and "curable". I'll probably only need a lumpectomy and some radiation therapy. However, nothing is certain until the results come back form pathology. He asks if I have any questions. The only one I can think of is how will this affect my holiday in 4 week's time? He assures me that my holiday is quite safe.
I make an appointment for the results for Monday 26th July.
As I drive home my head is buzzing with thoughts of my imminent mortality. I then stop being morbid.
When I get home I tell my teenage son that he has to be nice to me as I have breast cancer and I am going to die!!! He looks mildly concerned and makes me a cup of tea. I then tell him exactly what I have been told. He surmises that I am going to die but not for a goodly while yet.
I then have to 'phone my husband and ask him to take the 26th July off work to come with me. It's hard to sound nonchalant and upbeat over the 'phone. Clearly he is shocked - aren't we all?
I tell my teenage daughter when I collect her and her friends from the station after her school trip to the theatre, the same thing about breast cancer, dying and being nice to me. She takes in the same spirit as her brother. I do wonder if being brutally and overly honest is the best thing, but then we are like this with everything in our family. Perhaps if they were younger I'd have played it differently.
I tell no-one else at this point. There will be plenty of time for that later.
So it begins - although I didn't know it at the time!
April 2010, I find a lump. It is in my left breast, very high up. In fact were it any higher it would be on my collar bone!
I keep an eye on it. It seems to get bigger and smaller.
May 2010. It's still there and even my husband can feel it!
June 24th 2010 I see my doctor. She cannot find any lump at all until I point it out to her. She says that were it any higher it wouldn't even count as a breast lump. She asks if it gets bigger when I "fiddle" with it - it does. She says it is almost certainly a cyst. As an almost throw away line, an after thought she asks how old I am. I am 47. Well she says, they're going to change the age limits for breast screening to 47 soon so I may as well go.
Northwick Park Hospital 'phones about an appointment for Thursday 8th July. I am out of town that day so it is rearranged for the following Thursday.
At this point I have no clue as to the storm which is about to break.
I keep an eye on it. It seems to get bigger and smaller.
May 2010. It's still there and even my husband can feel it!
June 24th 2010 I see my doctor. She cannot find any lump at all until I point it out to her. She says that were it any higher it wouldn't even count as a breast lump. She asks if it gets bigger when I "fiddle" with it - it does. She says it is almost certainly a cyst. As an almost throw away line, an after thought she asks how old I am. I am 47. Well she says, they're going to change the age limits for breast screening to 47 soon so I may as well go.
Northwick Park Hospital 'phones about an appointment for Thursday 8th July. I am out of town that day so it is rearranged for the following Thursday.
At this point I have no clue as to the storm which is about to break.
Why I am writing this.
When I discovered that I had cancer I found that the quickest and easiest way to tell everyone was by email.
These emails, which kept the selected many up to date, were a very therapeutic exercise for me.
The responses I got to my emails were entirely positive and many people suggested that I should really be writing a blog about my experiences.
So it is entirely their fault that the world at large has now had the dubious pleasure of reading all about my life with breast cancer and my trials and tribulations with the glorious National Health Service!
These emails, which kept the selected many up to date, were a very therapeutic exercise for me.
The responses I got to my emails were entirely positive and many people suggested that I should really be writing a blog about my experiences.
So it is entirely their fault that the world at large has now had the dubious pleasure of reading all about my life with breast cancer and my trials and tribulations with the glorious National Health Service!
Saturday, 9 October 2010
Welcome to my blog.
This is going to be blog about the ups and downs of my experience with breast cancer.
It is entirely personal and is not necessarily what anyone else has or will go through.
At the very least I hope it will provide a little diversion and at most a little help to those unfortunate enough to be in a similar position.
It is entirely personal and is not necessarily what anyone else has or will go through.
At the very least I hope it will provide a little diversion and at most a little help to those unfortunate enough to be in a similar position.
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