Kadcyla the wonder drug clearly ins't enough of a wonder drug as it hasn't worked for me. What is so annoying is that all the various aches and pains I had were disappearing and thus lulling me in to a false sense of security.
Having said that there is always a little alarm bell that rings, so when the lovely oncoligist gives the bad news, it's not entirely unexpected. Interestingly, the tumours in my lungs appear to have disappeared and my bone tumours are stable, it is only the ones in my liver that are being a pain, both literally and figuratively.
What happens next is yet more, different treatment. I will be on Capecitabine which is an oral chemotherapy, which means 1 tablet, twice a day for two weeks and then a week off. As with all these things there are side effects, very sore hands and feet, dodgy bowels, hair thining and all the rest. Assuming that these don't work then there is yet another line of attack. In the world of cancer treatment "having a plan" is very important.
As you can imagine I am feeling a little sorry for myself. I think what bothers me more than anything else, is that if I were to be killed by the proverbial bus today, I'd have no time to worry, being told that my horizon is not quite as far away (or possibly it is) as I had initially anticipated is bit like having the sword of Damocles dangling above me.
Tuesday, 24 January 2017
Monday, 16 January 2017
The Week From Hell
A day or so after my blood transfusion, the cold that had been lurking in the background decided to make itself felt, with a vengeance.
I managed about 2 hours at work on the Monday before I decided that bed would be a better plance to be.
I spent the rest of Monday, all of Tuesday and Wednesday in bed.
On Thursday I had a long standing doctor's appointment for my very itchy back. I reckon that given my appointment was at 10am I would probably be back home in bed by about 11am at the latest. I arrived at 9.30am and go straight in as the other patients had not turned up. Result! The doctor prescribes various creams and anti-histamines and then checks my blood pressure, temperature and heart rate. It turns out I'm tachycardic. She is concerned. I am not. She wants to run blood tests and all the rest. I am fed up with having needles stuck in my arm. We agree that the practice nurse will do an ECG. It shows nothing untoward apart from a fast heart rate. The doctor says it might be because of an infection. At some point a possible infection is changed to a pulmonary embolism. I have no other symptoms other than a fast heart rate. I very much doubt that it is a PE as I have had a near permenant nose bleed for the whole of the previous week which would indicate that blood clots are not a problem.
After much discussion and negotiation I agree to go to the ambulatory care unit.
I arrive at about 11.30am and have an enormous cannular inserted, badly, into my arm. More blood is taken. I am then sent for yet another ECG. Then I wait and wait. I would like to point out that I like ambulatory care as they do get their patients out quite quickly. As I wait all I want to do is go home to bed. At about 1pm I get to see a doctor who asks me all the usual questions about how I'm feeling, my bowels, aches, breathing etc. He then checks my heart and lungs with his stethoscope. He says that my platelets are a bit low, but they won't give me a transfusion as it's really the oncologist's call. He says I'm fine and can go home.
The same nurse who put the cannular in comes to remove it. In my haste to escape I did not put enough pressure for long enough on the puncture site. As I am walking away from the unit I can feel a warm wet sensation emanating from my elbow. I apply pressure and hope for the best. Next time you are watching some TV or film thriller where the actor rips the IV drip out of their arm and walks off, remember that there should be a trail of blood. I digress. I get home and the blood stain on my jumper is substantial, but at least the bleeding has stopped. I finally and gratefully go to bed.
Friday I have a full CT scan booked in the afternoon, so off I go, having not eaten anything for 4 hours as instructed. I have to have yet another cannular inserted. I point out to the lovely, lovely radiographer the trials and tribulations of the various cannular insertions. He looks at my arm, and oozing the most comforting confidence, says "No problem." He was right, straight in first time.
As the weekend progresses my cold finally begins to abate and by Monday I actually manage to do a whole day at work which fills me with a huge sense of accomplishment.
I managed about 2 hours at work on the Monday before I decided that bed would be a better plance to be.
I spent the rest of Monday, all of Tuesday and Wednesday in bed.
On Thursday I had a long standing doctor's appointment for my very itchy back. I reckon that given my appointment was at 10am I would probably be back home in bed by about 11am at the latest. I arrived at 9.30am and go straight in as the other patients had not turned up. Result! The doctor prescribes various creams and anti-histamines and then checks my blood pressure, temperature and heart rate. It turns out I'm tachycardic. She is concerned. I am not. She wants to run blood tests and all the rest. I am fed up with having needles stuck in my arm. We agree that the practice nurse will do an ECG. It shows nothing untoward apart from a fast heart rate. The doctor says it might be because of an infection. At some point a possible infection is changed to a pulmonary embolism. I have no other symptoms other than a fast heart rate. I very much doubt that it is a PE as I have had a near permenant nose bleed for the whole of the previous week which would indicate that blood clots are not a problem.
After much discussion and negotiation I agree to go to the ambulatory care unit.
I arrive at about 11.30am and have an enormous cannular inserted, badly, into my arm. More blood is taken. I am then sent for yet another ECG. Then I wait and wait. I would like to point out that I like ambulatory care as they do get their patients out quite quickly. As I wait all I want to do is go home to bed. At about 1pm I get to see a doctor who asks me all the usual questions about how I'm feeling, my bowels, aches, breathing etc. He then checks my heart and lungs with his stethoscope. He says that my platelets are a bit low, but they won't give me a transfusion as it's really the oncologist's call. He says I'm fine and can go home.
The same nurse who put the cannular in comes to remove it. In my haste to escape I did not put enough pressure for long enough on the puncture site. As I am walking away from the unit I can feel a warm wet sensation emanating from my elbow. I apply pressure and hope for the best. Next time you are watching some TV or film thriller where the actor rips the IV drip out of their arm and walks off, remember that there should be a trail of blood. I digress. I get home and the blood stain on my jumper is substantial, but at least the bleeding has stopped. I finally and gratefully go to bed.
Friday I have a full CT scan booked in the afternoon, so off I go, having not eaten anything for 4 hours as instructed. I have to have yet another cannular inserted. I point out to the lovely, lovely radiographer the trials and tribulations of the various cannular insertions. He looks at my arm, and oozing the most comforting confidence, says "No problem." He was right, straight in first time.
As the weekend progresses my cold finally begins to abate and by Monday I actually manage to do a whole day at work which fills me with a huge sense of accomplishment.
Thursday, 5 January 2017
Beginner's Guide To Blood Transfusions
Firstly let me explain why people with cancer need blood transfusions, or at least one of the reasons. A lot of the treatments given basically make the patient anaemic and no amount of iron tablets will combat it. Hence the need for the transfusion.
The ambulatory care unit in the hospital is the place where transfusions are given.
I arrive just before my appointment at 9am and am told to expect to be in the unit for the day. This is helpful as the disabled parking at the hospital only allows 6 hours with no return within 4 hours. Good job my lovely, lovely husband came with me, so he could move the car at the appointed time.
First the joy of having the cannula fitted. Sadly, the only vein the excellent technician can find is at the side of my wrist, near the base of my thumb. My least favourite spot. On the plus side he did find it first time. Then several vials of blood for much cross matching and the like. This will take at least 90 minutes. About 2 and half hours later the results come back and then we have to wait for the powers that be to authorise the transfusion, another 30 minutes or so. I am asked whether I would like 1 or 2 units. I opt for 2 as I don't really want to go through this again any time soon.
3 hours after we arrived the transfusion begins, after much checking of me, the blood and everything else. I thought that they were thorough in the chemo unit, but the ambulatory care unit are extremely thorough.
The transfusion is given over 3 hours and my temperature and blood pressure are checked a lot. This is in case I have a reaction to the blood. So in spite of the fact it is cross matched and the correct blood group there is still a risk that something could go wrong. During the 3 hours I snooze on and off. Reading the paper proves too problematic with my right hand wrist being pretty much incapacitated,
At one point I open my eyes and everything in the ward seems brighter and more in focus, clearly being anaemic affects more than just one's ability to breath.
After the 3 hours are up, the next unit arrives and we then begin the negotiation to have this unit put through in less than 3 hours. After the first hour or so and no reaction the time is reduced by about 40 minutes.
My transfusion finishes and I pop to the loo which is about 10 yards away. No puffing or panting. Result! Whilst I do feel full of beans, relatively, spending the day laying around is actually quite tiring. I sleep really well that night. However, I wake to find that the cold that has been lurking in the background now appears in the forefront with a vengeance, but I still feel considerably less shattered than I had the previous morning. I am hopeful that I won't have to have another transfusion for quite a while yet and am also aware that iron tablets are a complete waste of money when dealing with chemotherapy induced anaemia.
The ambulatory care unit in the hospital is the place where transfusions are given.
I arrive just before my appointment at 9am and am told to expect to be in the unit for the day. This is helpful as the disabled parking at the hospital only allows 6 hours with no return within 4 hours. Good job my lovely, lovely husband came with me, so he could move the car at the appointed time.
First the joy of having the cannula fitted. Sadly, the only vein the excellent technician can find is at the side of my wrist, near the base of my thumb. My least favourite spot. On the plus side he did find it first time. Then several vials of blood for much cross matching and the like. This will take at least 90 minutes. About 2 and half hours later the results come back and then we have to wait for the powers that be to authorise the transfusion, another 30 minutes or so. I am asked whether I would like 1 or 2 units. I opt for 2 as I don't really want to go through this again any time soon.
3 hours after we arrived the transfusion begins, after much checking of me, the blood and everything else. I thought that they were thorough in the chemo unit, but the ambulatory care unit are extremely thorough.
The transfusion is given over 3 hours and my temperature and blood pressure are checked a lot. This is in case I have a reaction to the blood. So in spite of the fact it is cross matched and the correct blood group there is still a risk that something could go wrong. During the 3 hours I snooze on and off. Reading the paper proves too problematic with my right hand wrist being pretty much incapacitated,
At one point I open my eyes and everything in the ward seems brighter and more in focus, clearly being anaemic affects more than just one's ability to breath.
After the 3 hours are up, the next unit arrives and we then begin the negotiation to have this unit put through in less than 3 hours. After the first hour or so and no reaction the time is reduced by about 40 minutes.
My transfusion finishes and I pop to the loo which is about 10 yards away. No puffing or panting. Result! Whilst I do feel full of beans, relatively, spending the day laying around is actually quite tiring. I sleep really well that night. However, I wake to find that the cold that has been lurking in the background now appears in the forefront with a vengeance, but I still feel considerably less shattered than I had the previous morning. I am hopeful that I won't have to have another transfusion for quite a while yet and am also aware that iron tablets are a complete waste of money when dealing with chemotherapy induced anaemia.
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