Since I last posted I have been to have my alternative therapy at the hospice. It consisted of a massage to my back, which was very lovely, my knees, which had some very interesting knots in the muscles and my numb feet, which did alleviate the numbness. Apparently I get 6 free treatments but I'm not sure what happens after that. Given that currently I cannot really go every week due to my side effects, I suspect it will be quite a long time before I get to use up my six visits.
My peripheral neuropathy ebbs and flows and is more irksome than debilitating. Given that it is a side effect of the docetaxel (the chemotherapy element) and I am not having that now, I am hopeful that this will get better. I am also hopeful that my hair will start to grow back.
Yesterday was my 7th treatment and the first without the chemotherapy element. Since I did not have the docetaxel, I did not have to take the numerous steroids before and after. I have now discovered that the side effect of the hot, very red, very itchy cheeks, which I and the medical profession attributed to herceptin, is actually attributable to the steroids. So I am delighted.
On many occasions I have waxed lyrical about the delights of the portacath. I have now discovered that all is not necessarily sweetness and light with it. At the beginning of each session the portacath is flushed with saline and then a syringe is connected and some blood is drawn out. Unfortunately this time no blood came. In spite of nearly an hour of flushing, anticoagulant, and general "fiddling about", (a technical medical term!), there was no blood. Stuff went in quite happily but nothing came out. The blockage, which I assume to be a bit like the hinged flap on the top of a juganaut's upright exhaust pipe is caused by fibrin, an insoluble protein formed during the clotting of blood, which forms a fibrous mesh that impedes the flow of blood. Clearly a portacath is a foreign body and as such the human body reacts to it. The nurses seemed unconcerned about the lack of blood coming out and I appear to have suffered no ill effects from it. Although I am a tad worried that there might be a stray blood clot waiting to get me.
Finally, I am frequently asked for how long I will be receiving treatment and my reply is "until I die". I am not being melodramatic or morbid, but truthful, this is my new normal. Every three weeks I will go to the hospital and receive herceptin and pertuzamab for as long as they keep the cancer in check. Once the cancer starts growing again then the wonders of medical science will find something else to give me and so on until all avenues are exhausted. I should point out that there are women who have been on herceptin and pertuzamab for a minimum of 2 years, which given the latter has only been available for a couple of years, gives me great hope. There is a price to be paid for this and that is how little free time I appear to have. Out of twenty one days and day and a half are taken up with blood tests and treatment. After that approximately ten days are devoted to side effects which tend to tie me to my home, (especially the loo!) which leaves me with less than half of my time in which I have to fit in going to work (good job I work part time and I have the world's most understanding boss), visits to my mother, visits from the plumber (the saga of the fixing of my shower would probably merit a blog all of its own), various other hospital appointments, a social life, (which seems to have picked up dramatically of late, probably because my lovely friends appreciate that time is finite) and the other stuff that normal life requires like shopping. This is my new normal.
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