Thursday 21st July
As previously predicted this "even" round of Herceptin went without a hitch, relatively, and indeed was considerably quicker than usual. I have learned that Herceptin is put in a bag of saline, the amount of saline is 250ml, obviously the addition of Herceptin increases the amount of liquid in the bag. The pump is programmed to push through the given amount of liquid in a set time, in this instance 90 minutes. Previously, once the 90 minutes was up there was always some liquid left. The nurse who administered to me this time normally works at the Royal Marsden. She said that they always weigh the bag to get the "correct" amount in the bag and then use this figure rather than the nominal 250ml. Quite sensible really. Anyway, she estimated that it would be about 300ml and lo and behold the whole bag was done in the requisite 90minutes. I do hope that someone, somewhere shares this information.
As part of the Persephone trial I have to complete a form detail any side effects if any. The only side effect I seem to suffer from is unbelievably hot, itchy cheeks. My face feels and looks as though I have been deeply embarrassed, however this tends last for approximately 24 hours, so in the grand scheme of things it's not too bad.
With regard to going without a hitch, relatively, the veins in my arm are now in a truly parlous state, the ones in my hand are non-existent. Anyway, the nurse had to do a bit of wiggling of the cannula before she was happy that is was well sited. Consequently I now have the most spectacular bruise on my arm and I think that it might be even better than the one from last time when "tissue" was pushed through.
Those of you who have been paying attention will note that it is almost exactly a year since I was diagnosed. It's very hard not to dwell on everything that has happened over the past 12 months and indeed reading back through my blog there are so many things that I have forgotten about. Having said that at no time have I ever felt that I would be anything other than absolutely fine. I have another 12 rounds of Herceptin to go which will take me to April 2012, two years after I first discovered the lump, which wasn't the problem at all.
Sunday, 24 July 2011
Thursday, 7 July 2011
Wimbledon, Anniversaries & Irksome People
Tuesday 5th July
I had an appointment for a mammogram today so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and get my hair cut as well.
Whilst I admit it is not that long, the bits that didn't fall out are much longer than the new growth, obviously. So I went to see Karen again, who not only trims wigs but also sorts out post chemo hair. We did discuss holidays this time but only because I'm off soon and she had noted my previous comment regarding being a proper hairdresser. During the course of the hair cut I discovered I have more in common with Marina Navratilova than I first thought. Not only has she also had breast cancer, but she has also had her hair cut by Karen. During the Wimbledon fortnight, Karen and some other hairdresser "do" the competitors' hair. Other people lead such interesting lives.
I then went to have my mammogram. It is very nearly a year since this whole escapade started and to be honest the feeling of de ja vu was quite unsettling. The only difference now is having only one breast, it takes have the time and half the discomfort. I went home having been told that the results would be sent to my consultant.
Wednesday 6th July
Back again at the hospital. Soon they will start charging me rent. I am so glad that I live relatively close to Northwick Park Hospital as this makes my frequent trips there much less time consuming.
The nature of my cancer means that I have to have an MRI as well as a mammogram. I get there in plenty time fill in the numerous forms confirming my lack of metal bits and pieces both internally and externally and then wait. As I rest my head against the waiting area wall I notice that it is vibrating, clearly the giant magnet down the corridor has an effect on the whole building.
Eventually I get called in and told to remove all my clothes and put on the very fetching navy blue hospital gown, with the opening at the front. I have to have an injection of contrasting dye. As you will be aware I can only use my right arm and it is rapidly running out of useful veins. The nurse makes his first attempt near my elbow. Fails. He then questions me at length about why he cannot use my left arm and who told me that it couldn't be used. Whilst his manner was not aggressive it was somewhat patronising. I point out why it cannot be used, lack of lymph nodes, and who told me never to use my left arm for anything including blood pressure cuffs, the surgeon who removed the lymph nodes. I cannot believe that I am the first person he has come across who has this issue. I wasn't entirely certain that he believed me but I kept my left arm well away from him. His second attempt is the vein just below my right index finger, where there is very little padding and the skin is, apparently, quite tough. Success, albeit rather painful.
I go into the MRI room the nurse tells me to lie face down and place my breasts in the two hollows, I point out rather tersely that I have only one! The scanning begins. It is very noisy and again I have that unsettling feeling of de ja vu. The last time I was here was to have the biopsy which confirmed the spread of my cancer. It's hard not to dwell on what has happened over the last year especially when all I can do is lie face down with my eyes shut.
The scan or rather scans take about 30 minutes, I am then told to get dressed and go home and the results will be sent to my consultant.
I am hopeful that this now yearly event will get easier as my veins recover.
I had an appointment for a mammogram today so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and get my hair cut as well.
Whilst I admit it is not that long, the bits that didn't fall out are much longer than the new growth, obviously. So I went to see Karen again, who not only trims wigs but also sorts out post chemo hair. We did discuss holidays this time but only because I'm off soon and she had noted my previous comment regarding being a proper hairdresser. During the course of the hair cut I discovered I have more in common with Marina Navratilova than I first thought. Not only has she also had breast cancer, but she has also had her hair cut by Karen. During the Wimbledon fortnight, Karen and some other hairdresser "do" the competitors' hair. Other people lead such interesting lives.
I then went to have my mammogram. It is very nearly a year since this whole escapade started and to be honest the feeling of de ja vu was quite unsettling. The only difference now is having only one breast, it takes have the time and half the discomfort. I went home having been told that the results would be sent to my consultant.
Wednesday 6th July
Back again at the hospital. Soon they will start charging me rent. I am so glad that I live relatively close to Northwick Park Hospital as this makes my frequent trips there much less time consuming.
The nature of my cancer means that I have to have an MRI as well as a mammogram. I get there in plenty time fill in the numerous forms confirming my lack of metal bits and pieces both internally and externally and then wait. As I rest my head against the waiting area wall I notice that it is vibrating, clearly the giant magnet down the corridor has an effect on the whole building.
Eventually I get called in and told to remove all my clothes and put on the very fetching navy blue hospital gown, with the opening at the front. I have to have an injection of contrasting dye. As you will be aware I can only use my right arm and it is rapidly running out of useful veins. The nurse makes his first attempt near my elbow. Fails. He then questions me at length about why he cannot use my left arm and who told me that it couldn't be used. Whilst his manner was not aggressive it was somewhat patronising. I point out why it cannot be used, lack of lymph nodes, and who told me never to use my left arm for anything including blood pressure cuffs, the surgeon who removed the lymph nodes. I cannot believe that I am the first person he has come across who has this issue. I wasn't entirely certain that he believed me but I kept my left arm well away from him. His second attempt is the vein just below my right index finger, where there is very little padding and the skin is, apparently, quite tough. Success, albeit rather painful.
I go into the MRI room the nurse tells me to lie face down and place my breasts in the two hollows, I point out rather tersely that I have only one! The scanning begins. It is very noisy and again I have that unsettling feeling of de ja vu. The last time I was here was to have the biopsy which confirmed the spread of my cancer. It's hard not to dwell on what has happened over the last year especially when all I can do is lie face down with my eyes shut.
The scan or rather scans take about 30 minutes, I am then told to get dressed and go home and the results will be sent to my consultant.
I am hopeful that this now yearly event will get easier as my veins recover.
Friday, 1 July 2011
Oddness Of Problems, Problems of Oddness
Thursday 30th June
Now that I am on the Persephone trial I have to have more tests and stuff. So I meet with the Persephone lady at the blood clinic to have some blood taken.
My favourite phelbotomist is in attendance and once again performs the miracle which is getting blood out of a stone. Duty done, the Persephone lady takes away the two test tubes of my (hard won) blood.
I then have to have an echocardiogram. The clinic is located on the 9th floor. I decide to take the stairs, probably not such a good idea as when I arrive at reception I feel as though I'm about to have a heart attack.
I have to lie on my left hand side and the woman who wields the ultrasound probe is behind and leaning over me so I cannot see the screen. Last time the clinician was in front of me so I could see what was happening on the screen. Slightly frustrating but at least I can rest. I assume that everything is OK with my heart.
I then descend 3 floors to the chemotherapy unit to have my fifth round of Herceptin.
There are two new nurses in, who usually work up at Mount Vernon, consequently everything takes just a little bit longer. I am given all my pre-meds to stop the allergic reaction and then I have to wait about 30 minutes for them to "kick in" before the Herceptin can be given.
After the designated 30 minutes the pump makes a persistent beeping sound. This indicates that there is an air lock somewhere in the system and it won't pump until this is cleared. The nurse pushes various buttons, takes things out, puts them back and still there is a blockage. She then gets a syringe of saline and pushes this through the cannular in my arm. This hurts - a lot. Apparently there is "tissue" in the cannular, which given they use the thinnest cannulars available it is hardly surprising that it takes only a very small thing to block them. Anyway, once the blockage is cleared I can feel the cold saline going up my arm. This is a good thing.
Still the pump beeps and refuses to pump. Another nurse comes along pushes some buttons on the pump and all is cleared. The Herceptin can proceed. Hooray!
All of this blockage clearance has taken about half an hour and given that I didn't start being administered to until I had been in the unit for about 45 minutes, together with the 30 minute wait for the pre-meds to work and there is a further 20 minutes or so after the Herceptin has finished spent flushing saline through me, I actually spend very little time actually been given treatment!
I had arrived at the hospital at 10.30am. I leave a little after 4.00pm. It was a long day.
For those wondering about the title of this entry, I shall explain.
I am not by nature a superstitious person, being born on the 13th tends to put paid to that. However, I am beginning to notice a pattern in my visits to the chemotherapy unit.
Visit number 1: Severe allergic reaction
Visit number 2: Nothing
Visit number 3: 5 attempts at locating a vein, and a huge swollen vein in my hand.
Visit number 4: Nothing
Visit number 5: Air locks and blockages
I can only hope that the next 13 visits do not follow the above trend, because I can really do without the excitement.
Now that I am on the Persephone trial I have to have more tests and stuff. So I meet with the Persephone lady at the blood clinic to have some blood taken.
My favourite phelbotomist is in attendance and once again performs the miracle which is getting blood out of a stone. Duty done, the Persephone lady takes away the two test tubes of my (hard won) blood.
I then have to have an echocardiogram. The clinic is located on the 9th floor. I decide to take the stairs, probably not such a good idea as when I arrive at reception I feel as though I'm about to have a heart attack.
I have to lie on my left hand side and the woman who wields the ultrasound probe is behind and leaning over me so I cannot see the screen. Last time the clinician was in front of me so I could see what was happening on the screen. Slightly frustrating but at least I can rest. I assume that everything is OK with my heart.
I then descend 3 floors to the chemotherapy unit to have my fifth round of Herceptin.
There are two new nurses in, who usually work up at Mount Vernon, consequently everything takes just a little bit longer. I am given all my pre-meds to stop the allergic reaction and then I have to wait about 30 minutes for them to "kick in" before the Herceptin can be given.
After the designated 30 minutes the pump makes a persistent beeping sound. This indicates that there is an air lock somewhere in the system and it won't pump until this is cleared. The nurse pushes various buttons, takes things out, puts them back and still there is a blockage. She then gets a syringe of saline and pushes this through the cannular in my arm. This hurts - a lot. Apparently there is "tissue" in the cannular, which given they use the thinnest cannulars available it is hardly surprising that it takes only a very small thing to block them. Anyway, once the blockage is cleared I can feel the cold saline going up my arm. This is a good thing.
Still the pump beeps and refuses to pump. Another nurse comes along pushes some buttons on the pump and all is cleared. The Herceptin can proceed. Hooray!
All of this blockage clearance has taken about half an hour and given that I didn't start being administered to until I had been in the unit for about 45 minutes, together with the 30 minute wait for the pre-meds to work and there is a further 20 minutes or so after the Herceptin has finished spent flushing saline through me, I actually spend very little time actually been given treatment!
I had arrived at the hospital at 10.30am. I leave a little after 4.00pm. It was a long day.
For those wondering about the title of this entry, I shall explain.
I am not by nature a superstitious person, being born on the 13th tends to put paid to that. However, I am beginning to notice a pattern in my visits to the chemotherapy unit.
Visit number 1: Severe allergic reaction
Visit number 2: Nothing
Visit number 3: 5 attempts at locating a vein, and a huge swollen vein in my hand.
Visit number 4: Nothing
Visit number 5: Air locks and blockages
I can only hope that the next 13 visits do not follow the above trend, because I can really do without the excitement.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)