Spots. lumps and hospickle!

Having thought I was through with many things hospickle, my body decided otherwise. While quietly sitting on the sofa watching a Harry Potter film, my face suddenly felt as if it was flaming. My cheeks were red and hot and mysterious red lumps were coming up! I took my temperature a couple of time during the film and my temp was over 37.5oC. Usually 38oC is the number that precipitates calls to the Oncology ward, but continued temps over 37.5 also send alarm bells ringing. Coupling the temperature with my now alarming appearance it was time to call the ward.

A scary sight on a Saturday night.
Twenty questions or so later we were summoned into Northampton. I rapidly packed my nightie and toiletry bag plus meds, along with a number of pastimes (books, ipod, DS). Later I discovered I should also have remembered towel and toothbrush - doh!
Because the Oncology ward was very busy, we waited for the many stages of assessment to be performed. A heart trace was done and bloods taken to check my platelets and white blood cell count. The heart trace was interesting as the machine malfunctioned twice and the tracing looked as if my heart was having a volcanic event. After waiting over two hours and having no evidence of the blood test results, the Staff Nurse decided, at midnight, that I should stay the night at the hospital. However there were no beds on the Oncology ward. A porter was summoned and I, along with my belongings, was piled into a wheelchair and whizzed, with Mr G trotting along side to the other side of the hospital. I found myself in the female bay of the surgical ward. I must say the staff were fantastic and made me feel most welcome, a feat at half past midnight. As I had managed to completely miss an evening meal I was given some cheese and tomato sandwiches and a cup of milk. I was a bit beyond cheese and tomato sandwiches (as very tired) so ate about half and collapsed into bed. My night was a fairly typically hospital night of fitful, interrupted sleep. I was awoken by the haemotologist arriving at 6am to take blood from the other four women in my bay. I then had a LONG wait until midday when the house officer finally arrived from the Oncology ward. I told her I felt fine and wanted to go home. She checked with the Registrar. It was decided I could go home there and then. The paperwork was completed in about 20 minutes! It is utterly amazing how quickly some things can be done.
I'm lucky, I was in less than 24 hours. It was a stark reminder that the fat lady has yet to sing. I won't be over the last cycle of chemo until Thursday or Friday, and will be a bit more vulnerable to infection until my system completely recovers from the battering it has received.

I had a hair cut...

No, no, ... sorry people, this was a one hair cut. Mr G and I popped in to show my lovely hairdresser my fluffy hair and she spotted an errant longer hair and (with my permission) snipped it off. We all laughed a lot!

In other news, I did have to pluck my eyebrows as they have grown with such enthusiasm and abandon. There are quite a few fluffy hairs mixed in with the smooth dark brown grown-up ones. I have tidied up the fluffy ones so I look less like a teddy bear.

The after effects of my final chemo were quite horrid and indeed I can still feel them. I had quite dreadful pain for two days where my skin was sore and ached to the extent I could not bear to be touched. The fuzzy muzzies are still in attendance. However, I can now get my head round the knowledge that this part is over. I shall have to be very careful to avoid infection over the next week or so as I am sure that my white blood cell count is very low. I am gradually allowing myself to acknowledge that I don't have to go for treatment in two weeks time. The relief is enormous. It will be a grand day when I take all the meds I no longer need back to the pharmacy.

Mr G and I are chatting about things we fancy doing - eating some recently forbidden foods features quite highly. I fancy a trip to the seaside but can't risk paddling for a couple of weeks yet. We are really looking forward to seeing our granddaughter, and to meeting the new grand children in time. We might take in some animal watching at a zoo or safari park. There are lots of National Trust properties for us to explore.
The sun is starting to shine once again...

The first day of the rest of my life...

So here I am. It's been a long journey from first symptoms on 7th January, surgery on 2nd March and beginning chemotherapy on 21st April. It has all been going on for thirty weeks so far. I have a follow-up appointment in four weeks time, I guess I will find out then about the procedure for my follow up check-ups. I know I will be seen for five years, with the interval between appointments increasing as long as there is no recurrence of cancer.

The picture above is of a significant date for me. Those who know me well will know that it is my birthday. This year, I will be 55 years old. I am going to have a big party, one to celebrate my birthday but also to celebrate being here. There have been moments this year when I wondered if I would make it... when they thought I was riddled with cancer, when I faced major surgery, when I wondered if I could cope with the rigours of chemotherapy. But I'm here, my scan showed no cancer, my cancer marker is absolutely normal - just now there is no visible cancer. The watching and waiting begins. I need to work out how to be watchful without being obsessive. I need to wait without allowing my life to drift between checkups.
This is part of the reason I'm having my party, It is to be on 5th November as my birthday falls on a week day. It will definitely go with a bang with all the fireworks around.

Mr G and I are going to spend some quality time having fun, once I come out of the dark side. We are going to relish not having to work out good days and bad days. August 25th will see me feasting on the foods I have had to avoid for months - soft cheese, pate and bagged salad for me! September 5th is the day I return to work.
Life here I come, cancer will live in the back seat... not rule my life.

Work, Hat and chemo talk.

Today I had my interview with Occupational Health. I was very sceptical about it, as the literature they had requested I read, had focused very much on stress related long term absence from work. As you all know my absence has solely been down to a huge operation and adjuvant chemotherapy. The woman who interviewed me was actually quite fair and was perfectly happy with my return to work plans. It appears that my line manager just wanted reassurance that the plan was feasible. I was pretty sure it was as I had researched what was acceptable before I wrote my plan.

Flushed with success, Mr G and I headed into town to look round the shops. After we parked the car, I had a narrow escape as two men lost control of a trolley loaded with packs of paper. Fortunately most of the paper had fallen off before the trolley hit me on my calf. The men were very apologetic and looked horrified at nearly injuring a bald headed woman. I've got a bit of a bruise but as I bruise if you look at me just now, no real harm done. I KNOW they will be more careful in future.
We had almost finished our tour of the shops when I spotted yet another sale. I went in looking for a bag. As I scanned the racks, what should I spot but an off white, chiffon and georgette ruffled flower confection in the sale. It is made of soft and gentle material for a softly fuzzy scalp. I reached it down and nearly trembling with excitement tried it on. It fitted beautifully and will look amazing with my frock. I shall still take the little crochet cap in case it is windy, as I can't use hatpins yet!

We headed back to the car and set off for petrol and food fuel for us. Now Mr G and I have some games we play when on car journeys. They consist either of finding cars in all the colours of the rainbow or by scoring points for colours of vehicle spotted. I believe it began as Red Lorry, Yellow Lorry many moons ago. Pink rates very highly and the bigger the vehicle the more points. As we came out of the car park and drew up at traffic lights I saw a bright pink stretch limousine - in my chemo head excitement at outstripping Mr G,
I squealed ' Mine, pink, my points there!' To his credit, he completely understood that my chemo brain could not at that moment find the words stretch limo, or even car, but could shout pink and mine!

This is a perfect example of one of the invisible side effects of chemo - word loss!
Today has been a good day. Cancer was put in its place.

All the bad stuff...

Today I'm fed up - sooooo here goes...

Yup, in all their glory - the BAD BITS.

Losing and growing hair hurts - nasty tender scalp.
Your skin does not fit anymore - it peels or becomes tight.
You can't rely on your digestion at all, crippling constipation or raging runs.
Your favourite foods taste horrid.
There is no let up - there are no holidays from treatment.
Everything is exhausting - sitting down, standing up, all of it.
Everything is confusing. It takes enormous effort to understand what is going on (see above).
It makes me cry - I hate uncertainty. I have nothing but uncertainty.
It hurts - treatment hurts, it makes you sick and sore, in ways you never imagined.

... and yet, through all this, my friends, my family and the much and always beloved Mr G, see in grumpy, snotty, tear stained me, someone that they love, and they carry me...

Thank you xxxx

Full steam ahead...

Today is the day before Chemo number Five. This 'good week' I have had a fabulous time doing lots of living. The first thing was a Wedding Party in Essex. The success of my previous head decoration led me to put fake tattoos on my head once more.

What I hadn't known was that the Wedding had a butterfly theme so I was spot on. I had a brilliant time busting some shapes on the dance floor but alas had to leave before the clock struck twelve as I had hit the wall.
Sunday saw us up at six to head out to join the Tube to the Car Show. Lots of Smart cars travelling together = Tube of Smarties, get it? I had a wonderful day, lots of friends, chat and laughter.
Yesterday I had a long anticipated day at school. I had prepared a back to work plan in consultation with my Macmillan Nurse, my GP and my Head teacher. This day was about keeping in touch and looking forward to September. It was a profoundly moving day. Without exception every single child I saw said 'Hello'. Most expressed pleasure at seeing me. Many asked with happy faces if I was REALLY back now? It was with real sadness that I had to say, not yet, I still need more strong medicine. Despite this sadness, it was a joy to be back with much missed children,  friends and colleagues. I've never had so many hugs.
I spent the day separating my belongings from school resources and packed them up ready to be moved for me next week. I won't be well enough to go in and help as I will be deep in chemo week.
I have had such a good time recently that I am quite apprehensive about this next chemo. I have felt well, vigourous, and energised. Yes, I was tired after packing up my room, but as I told myself with the voice of sense that I would have been tired doing that when I am well! What will keep me going tomorrow is this vision of life after chemo I have had. I know going back to work will be a challenge, but I've never baulked at a challenge in my life. I have been reassured that I will be supported and allowed any flexibility I need to help me cope.
Two more chemo's, then full steam ahead!

Back to the future...

Recently I have been giving some thought to the future, The end of chemo is in sight. I have two more, so not out of the dark side yet. When I went to watch my two younger sisters and two nieces run the Race for Life (well, they walked but quite fast) I was an emotional mess. My sister H, was diagnosed with breast cancer four years ago, and has, since then been a tireless campaigner for Cancer Research UK. She and the others all ran with my name on their backs, the other sister and the nieces had H on their backs too. H and I have never hugged each other so tight in our lives. I was profoundly moved by their public support and by the 7496 other women who were running in support of cancer sufferers. I intend to work as an Ovarian Cancer Action Voice, in the future, raising awareness of this particularly sneaky variant of cancer. I really enjoyed the day. We had strawberries and cream and ate jelly sweets. One of my nieces decided that I should have a 55th birthday party. This would not only celebrate my birthday but the fact that I will be there to see it! While we were chatting purple artificial flowers were handed out, I chose to wear mine this way.

The other part of the future I am looking to is returning to work. I am a primary school teacher and have missed work like crazy. Plans are now falling into place. Until the beginning of this week I did not know which year group I was going to teach. To my great delight I found out that I am to be working in Year 3. This is my favourite year group - challenging but fun. I am sharing my class with a student teacher all year, which is really lovely. I am working with a fab Team Leader and super teacher colleague as well. I am going to start back in September, three days a week, for two weeks, separated by a rest day in between. Then four days the next week and full time after that. I know it might seem very early to be looking in such detail but the schools close in two weeks and all this needs sorting.
All this positive looking forward has been very good for me. When in the depths of chemo treatment it is very easy to get bogged down in it and not able to see anything positive at all. The treatment cycles seem endless and the bad week feels interminable too. The good things in the future are a very bright light at the end of the chemo tunnel. I am heading towards that light with a big smile on my face.

Ho hum...

I've not blogged for over a week. I have just not been 'with it' enough to write. I had extra steroids immediately after my chemo. These removed the sickness and nausea, and also meant I did not have any bedbound days. This was all good. However the fuzzy muzzies seem to have gone on longer and this has made me miserable. The muzziness has probably only been an extra 24 hours but has affected me disproportionately. I am wondering if the only issue is one of perception. Without the bedbound days as contrast, maybe the fuzzy days are not worse, just do not appear so good.

This week has been one of contemplation too. I have been talking to friends about getting back to the world of work. I am desperate to be part of the world again, but I am quite terrified that my poor battered body will not hack it. The surgery is a thing of the past but the toll taken by the repeated poisonings of each chemo session cannot be denied. I intend to get back to work in September, initially part time, but full time by the third week. I don't have much choice, I run out of full time sick pay and cannot manage on half pay. Looking at life, past treatment, is scary, full of unknowns. I know life is never about certainties, but my confidence in what life might bring has taken a beating. My Oncologist, attempting to reassure me, says I will be monitored and checked. This will not stop the cancer coming back, just let me know if it has! Over the next weeks and months I need to sort out how to live in spite of having cancer. I refuse to let it blight any more of my life. I refuse to live in fear. To this end I'm not writing a bucket list. I'm just going to have a list of things I will do, when I want and because I want to do them. Cancer will not limit me living my life.

Ten things I would not be without during treatment.

This is a highly personal list of things and people without whom my life would be a lot more miserable.

1. This has to be the unflinching support of Mr G, my family, and friends. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart,
2. Lemon and lime squash in bottled water. The only way I can drink water. Strangely the chemo makes tap water taste like chemo!
3. Indian Tonic Water - all of above AND it stops the cramps in the soles of my feet.
4. Lemon grass and oil shower gel - cuts through the chemo smell on my skin (there is a theme developing here!) and the little oily globules sooth the itchy dry skin.
5. Foods I can eat on the 'bad weekend' upon me now - ginger nut biscuits, Jamaican Ginger Cake, fresh pineapple, oatcakes, and raspberries. How bizarre.
6. My lovely comfy bed.
7. Crabtree and Evelyn Hand Cream (No, I don't own shares) Smells gorgeous and melt away on skin.
8. My laptop.
9. The bird feeding station I can see from the sofa. Currently hosting baby sparrows and goldfinches with accompanying adults. Ditto Starlings. A harassed looking Robin. A very fat Wood Pigeon hoovering up the scraps.
10. The library from which, two weeks out of the three, I am avidly reading lots of lovely books.

Never have bad hair day!

Since I lost my hair I have not been missing:

1. The daily wash and condition routine.
2. Driving to work with damp hair.
3. Trying to glue down the sticking up tuft with hair wax.
4. Trying to successfully colour my hair - I ALWAYS miss a bit.
5. Worrying about getting caught in the rain, quick wipe with a tissue
and my head is ready to go.
6. Fitting haircuts in on Saturday mornings.
7. Despairing at the ever increasing greyness.
8. Mislaying my favourite comb - I can always find it grinning at me
reproachfully, showing its teeth.
9. Wishing my hair was curly or swishy.
10.Picking the grey hairs off my black work cardigan.

I have celebrated having no hair today by having this done:

It will come off with surgical spirit, but I'm going to try to keep it until I go for chemo on Thursday.

The worst of times and the best of times.

Although I've tried to be upbeat and cheery in my blog, I think it is only fair on others fighting the same fight as me, to acknowledge that there are bad times. For me, my worst times have been when the chemo has made me feel really poorly. Sickness and nausea are very debilitating. When it occurs at night, the hours drag by, and I can say I've never felt so lonely as during those times.

Another low spot was when I wanted to do my share of chores, and I tried to make the evening meal. I managed to get the meat out of the fridge and into the oven, I managed to peel potatoes and carrots. However when I tried to cut up an onion and the other vegetables for the dish of roast veggies I planned, I could not press hard enough (or safely) with the knife. I was too weak from the chemo to do a simple household task. I wept buckets, it was so disheartening. I do now have a more realistic view of what I can do and when.
This week, I have had one of the best of times. A very large, very old tree in a park near my house was being felled. The 'elephant tree' was between 150 and 200 years old and as an easily climbed tree was very popular and was part of many happy memories. I went to watch along with quite a few others. I sat next to a blonde lady and we started chatting. She used to live in my close, but had moved away. With no hair, it is obvious that I am not 100%, and she asked what cancer I had. I told her, and she said she had lost her Mum to the same thing 18 months previously. We chatted, had a cup of tea, chatted some more, and quickly became friends. We found that there were all sorts of coincidental or synchronous things in our lives from names to dates of birth. Last night, we found out via social media, that one of my chemo sisters was my new friend's Mum's best friend! It is a small, small world.

My disease is awful, the chemo is awful, but I have found wonderful, wonderful new friends and that makes this the best of times.

It's the way you look at it...

Finally I am able to announce that I am to be a Granny twice more this year. I am absolutely delighted. Rachel, my first grandchild, is a great joy, if a little far away. Her Mum, my daughter in law, is brilliant at posting pictures and videos so I can still enjoy the good bits.
I have known about both babies for a while but was asked not to brag about one of them until after the first scan. That was yesterday, and quite suddenly my life took on a different complexion. Nothing has actually changed, there was no more new good news. I was just able to share my jubilation, pride and joy.

The difference is in the way I'm looking at it. I am now focused beyond my three remaining chemo's to the rest of my life. A life that will contain two happily married children and three grandchildren. I am excited about returning to work in early Autumn. I can see beyond what has to be endured and I am excited. I really hope that I can hang onto this good stuff when the fuzzy muzzies kick in and I'm bedridden again.
During my second chemo cycle, three weeks ago, I shut myself away and was becoming low in spirits. This time I've made an effort to get out, do stuff, give myself challenges. I feel so much better for this, my spirits are higher and I have a better quality of life. All the things I have done this week were there to be done before. The difference is in how I looked at it.

In the bag...

Before you ask, no, I'm not the bag in question.
Since starting chemotherapy treatment I have found my handbag to be increasingly full. I'm not normally a high maintenance girl so I carry a fairly basic kit of purse, tissues, sunglasses, ipod and headphones.

Lately the contents have expanded hugely with:
Chemotherapy Record (Little Red Book)
Antibacterial gel (to beat the bugs)
Lip salve (to stick my lips back on my face as they seem to be removing themselves in strips)
Hand Cream (I actually use this on other parts as well. My skin seems to be trying to impersonate dandruff with vengeance)
Chemotherapy Card ( equivalent to BEWARE OF THIS PATIENT)
Water (gotta stay hydrated)
Meds ( for the roaring ouchies)
Hat (to cover bald head from sun)
Buff (TM) (To keep above head warm in emergencies)
Spare pair of earrings (for instant prettification of chemo self)
Glycerin pastilles (for chronic dry mouth)
Mouthwash (to be used 3x daily, but not when brushing teeth)

I have not resorted to a bigger bag, my fairly trendy sized bag has managed to cope. I have however noticed the extra weight.

The fuzzy muzzies...

I am blogging from the depths of the fuzzy muzzies. They are not as bad as they can be as I 'think' I am making sense and the letters are in the right order. The fuzzy muzzies (aka chemo fog) are very trying. The world becomes a bewildering place. When at their worst, they cause such a slowing of brain function that I can quite literally not know what is going on. The tv is only moving images, I cannot follow what is happening. A book is merely a collection of black marks on a page. I cannot extract any meaning. A question takes forever to answer, because processing the request, then an answer is a labourious effort. I fear I must look entirely witless on occasions. There are many medications (including some I am taking now) that say not to operate machinery or drive whilst using them. Chemo should come with such a warning. I definitely cannot drive, I'm not sure I'd be safe out alone either. When at their worst, the fuzzy muzzies drive me to bed. A dark quiet room removes the mental stimulation that cannot be comprehended, making the world feel safer. The fuzzy muzzies last about 72 hours before they fade.

So when I say , sorry, I can't manage to do that soon after a chemo session, the fuzzy muzzies are why. Add in possible nausea, weakness, and bone numbing weariness and severe joint pain and you'll understand that 'chemo week' is a bind, a grind and something to be endured. See you at the other side.

Alone but not lonely.

Having been off work for three months already, I have had to become used to long periods at home alone. I'm lucky as Mr G works in a school so has school holidays off, this has meant that I have had some respite. It was incredibly difficult coming to terms with a life without the routines to which I was accustomed. When I was recovering from surgery, I was restricted by my limited strength and stamina. Now, while I have chemo, I am restricted by the effects and demands of the regime. So, what do I do to pass the time? I am quite capable and able to undertake household jobs and errands during two weeks of my chemo cycle. I struggle during the first week, when my muscle strength is affected. It was quite upsetting to realise I could not even chop an onion!
My lifeline during the last three months has been the Internet. There are unkind souls who suggest that I might be addicted to my facebook games, but they do provide a free, easy pastime. Aside from the games aspect though, I have a lifeline of company through facebook and twitter. I have 'virtual' and real life friends all over the world. This means that there are people to talk to 24/7. I use facebook and twitter in completely different ways. Facebook is for games and for exchanges with people who are in the most part people I know in real life. I chat with colleagues and family, it feels for all the world that we are just chatting about day to day stuff. Twitter is very different - my interactions started first as a professional learning network for my work as a teacher. Gradually this built up, then some of the initially professional contacts became friends, with whom I have 140 character conversations about all kinds of topics from the domestic and bizarre! I now have 185 people on twitter with whom I interact on varying levels. The psychological importance of being able to keep in touch with education and educators during an extended period of absence cannot be overstated. Since I started blogging about my fight with cancer, I have gained new contacts through twitter and my blog. Some of these are people I interact with daily, some only once in a while.
I am also taking the opportunity to read while I have the time. I must admit that I am indulging in 'easy reading'. I can't cope with anything too serious or emotional so my bag comes back from the library full of chick lit and whodunnits! These all take me out of my living room and into other places and countries with engrossing characters. If a book does not grab me by the end of the first chapter it goes back to the library! I tried audiotapes but I tend to fall asleep and miss important parts of the plot. Some might say I have lost the plot!
I have tried to do my embroidery but the numbness caused by the chemo makes it hard for me to hold the needle. This is very disappointing but I hope that after all the chemo finishes I will be able to start again.
I do have days when I am totally fed up and cheesed off. Everybody does. But I really have to say that thanks to the Internet and the characters in the books I read I may be alone, but I'm never lonely.

Bold and bald...

Today I went out in a bandana but my head was so itchy I abandoned it after the first shop. To my surprise, no-one seemed to notice my baldness. This has made me feel a bit ashamed of myself that I should have been expecting comments. Granted we were in DIY shops rather than on the High Street. I have been covering my head all the time, outside the house and garden, prior to this. Some of the reason has been practical, I've either felt cold or have been hiding from the sun. Yesterday my hat blew off, but unusually I had put on a bandana as well, yet I was embarrassed. All this seems to make little sense. I made the decision not to have a wig long before I lost my hair. Having seen those provided on the NHS I am relieved I don't want one. There are a very limited number of colours and styles and they do look awfully like hair hats. I am finding hats more comfortable than the bandanas as they have a bit more ventilation. However my wide brimmed green hat, my favourite, is not suitable for wearing in bed!
My favourite hat.

Keeping my head warm at night was not too much of an issue until after my last chemo. I am feeling the cold much more now, so need to reduce my heat loss. I can pull the duvet over my head but this is not without risk! I've tried wearing one of my 'buffs' but that makes my head itch. A silk scarf tied around my head seemed a good idea but the differentials between bristly scalp, cotton pillow and silk scarf made it fraught with issues. The scarf gripped the bristles, skidded on the pillow and left me half garroted. I was getting frustrated!
I have now found a solution. I have a very soft rectangular scarf that I lay across the top of my pillow which provides a nice draught excluder, but also allows me to pull it over the top of my head if I need it.
Today's experiment has increased my confidence to go out without a head covering. I'm obviously going to be sensible, as the chemo makes me sun sensitive, I shall need to protect my tender scalp. But I'm not going to cover my head just for the sake of it. I'm me, take me as you find me.

As sick as a...

Chemo cycle 2: I was hoping to sail through this cycle problem free like last time. Day 1 was fine, the steroids supported me. Day 2, I started to feel joint pain and the chemo fog began to descend. Chemo fog, I should explain, is a distinct muzziness and inability to concentrate. It is for me one of the worst side effects especially when combined with intense chemo sleepiness. I feel out of control and can only cope by staying in bed where I feel safe. Having spent the afternoon of Day 2 (Saturday) in bed only feeling muzzy and sleepy it was a shock to come to, at 02.30am, feeling sick. The powerful anti sickness tablets are very effective but I had finished them. In my muzzy, sleepy state I 'might' not have taken the other sickness tabs ( I will sort a system before next time), anyway I was soon sick. I kept being sick for a couple of hours, at which time I told Mr G that we had better seek medical help. He swung into action and soon we were off to the Out Of Hours Service. The doctor gave me an anti sickness injection and a prescription for anti sickness meds that I could dissolve in my mouth without having to swallow anything, and some rehydration salts to be collected when the shops opened at 10.00am. We headed home, where after a short respite I started being sick again. Mr G having heard me, rang The Hospital ( the oncology ward at Northampton). The Hospital told him to bring me in as soon as possible, so off we went. The ensuing car journey, as the one earlier, is best kept veiled in mystery, suffice to say the roads are bumpy and nauseating!
In my muzzy, sleepy and nauseous state, Talbot Butler Ward was quite intimidating and I was glad to have Mr G with me. The ward was very noisy and as each patient has an individual room, lots of closed doors. By this stage I was down to dry heaving as I was dehydrated and exhausted. My details were taken ( because of course my treatment is happening in Kettering) and obs were taken. After what seemed ages, I was moved to a proper room , instead of a treatment room, I sank gratefully onto the bed. The doctor came and took bloods and gave me an intravenous dose of the very strong anti sickness meds. The relief from the nausea was almost immediate and I began to relax a little. We were then left alone for several hours, and I was told to drink as much water as possible. I tried but the water tasted foul and the cup smelt so strongly of chemicals that it was a real struggle. I managed two cups of water in all. At about 3.15pm , the consultant oncologist arrived. He, to my delight, said they were going to send me home with extra, extra strong anti sickness tabs that they kept on the ward. Mr G was dispatched to fill the other prescription before the shops shut as the hospital pharmacy was closed! On his way out, Mr G reminded the staff that my cannula (tube in back of hand) needed removing before I could go home. A nurse appeared to deal with cannula and give me my meds, and I was free to go! Mr G had taken my hospital bag with him, and my bandana too. I've become so used to my lack of hair that I forget my appearance could be a bit of a shock. The surprised glances I received as I walked through the corridors, made me wonder momentarily, then I realised what it was. I put on my most positive, reassuring smile so I did not frighten the visitors!
This experience has taught me to sort out my medicines for the fuzzy, muzzy stage. I will never know if I did forget to take some. Help is at hand, even if it is quite a long way away. Lastly, I always knew to take the vomiting seriously, but it was alarming how quickly I went downhill. I narrowly avoided being admitted to hospital overnight. I really hope this was a blip. I shall tell my oncologist all about it next time I see her.
I'm a third of the way through my treatment, I'll keep facing forward and get this thing done.
PS We liberated some of those very handy hospital sick bowls - by doing this I've just ensured I won't ever need them!

Waltzing with Percy...

(To the tune of Waltzing Matilda)

Waltzing with Percy, Waltzing with Percy
"You'll come a-Waltzing a Percy, with me"
And we’ll sing as we waltz to the loo and have another wee,
"You'll come a-Waltzing a Percy with me".

Those of you who have read previous posts will know that Percy is my drip stand. If I need to use the loo, I need to unplug Percy and manoeuvre him along the chemo suite, exercise a 180 degree turn, negotiate the door sill and then try to use the loo one handed. If I only needed to ‘visit’ once or twice in five hours this really would not be an issue. However the chemotherapy involves the intravenous infusion of about 1460 ml (1 litre and 460ml) over 5 hours. In addition I am expected to drink too, so add in 4 cups of tea and 5 cups of water adding an estimated 900ml of fluids. This total of more than two litres of fluid PLUS the side effect of increased urination means that I get to take Percy for a waltz quite a few times. Why waltz? Imagine, dear Reader, a length of plastic tube running from back of right hand up to a machine (this is a fancy meter measuring speed of flow of infusion, time elapsed and senses bubbles in the mix), this is then connected to six footish high metal pole, holding the bag with meds in. The pole is set into a base which has five arms with castors on the end of each. There are two sorts of base, one with shortish arms (about 20 cm) and the other has arms close to 40 cm in length. It stands fair to note that the one with longer arms is harder to ‘drive’. The first time, as a learner driver of drip stands, I ended up tied to Percy because I exercised too many rotations and twisted my tubing around his pole body. This is when I learned to waltz with Percy. I needed to work out how many graceful turns I needed to execute to free myself from his clutches. I succeeded eventually, not without ‘helpful’ comments from my fellow patients. This time, a wiser and more experienced chemo patient, I was grace personified and Percy and I waltzed with style, many times up and down the room.
Off to the loo, my darlings.

Hair today...

One of the major side effects of chemo, that most people know about, is hair loss. It might surprise some people that not all chemotherapy does cause hair loss. However Carbo-taxol treatment, which is what I am having, does. It is the paclitaxel element that makes the hair fall out. Carboplatin alone may cause a little thinning but not complete loss. My hair started falling out in earnest about 10 days after my first treatment. It was only at minor nuisance level but I decided I would get rid of it all in one go. I had already cut my hair quite short, but having heard that someone found their bowl of cornflakes covered in bristles, I decided not to risk leaving it!
Mr G clippered my hair really short then I set about my head with my trusty ladyshave. I have generally been using an epilator on legs and such, so had not used the razor for ages. It was an interesting experience - the noise of the razor echoed around my skull in a rather un-nerving manner. We had tried a wet shave but we chickened out as neither of us wanted me to be walking around with my scalp covered in scraps of tissue on all the nicks. Anyway after about half an hour of buzzing I had reduced my hair to a 'flock' (fuzzy textured wallpaper) type look. It was apparent where the hair had largely fallen out - my head looked like a random new world flock covered globe. So far, so good. What I hadn't bargained for was the velcro like behaviour of what remained of my hair. I have chosen to use multiway neck/head tubes (often known as Buffs (TM), other brands available). These are soft microfibre and very versatile. This property however meant that, as soon as one went near my head, the flock like bristles so attached themselves to the fabric that it was instantly fixed. Trying to arrange the tube in an attractive and satisfying manner resulted in many swears and much aggravation. I have now mastered a stealth approach by shaping my head covering and plonking it on quickly, then removing myself from the mirror before I have time to become critical.
To set off my look, I have taken to remembering to wear earrings all the time. Today I went to the shop in a spotted, pale blue, artfully arranged head covering, with dangly silver earrings. The lady in the queue behind me commented on how lovely my earrings were. Madam, I do not know who you were, but you made me a very happy lady.

Today is not all about cancer!

You need to watch out for...

When one is sucked into the big Chemo machine, it affects all areas of life. The little red Chemotherapy Record (to be carried at all times) not only records the treatment being administered but has lots of other instructions and suggestions. The main aim is to avoid infection at all costs. This is because chemo seriously affects the ability of the body to fight infections. I have been advised not to eat takeaways, soft cheese and bagged salads, undercooked food, wash/peel all fruit and veg. So far so good. I also need to crowded places on days 10 to 14ish, and obviously not go near obviously poorly people. This is tricky when you need to go to the Doctors, I spent this morning playing musical chairs as friendly old ladies came and sat next to me! I tried to move under the guise of changing the magazine I was reading so I did not offend. It must have looked most comical. I went to see my GP today as I have a nasty sore throat. While I would normally ignore this, the little red book says NO! So, off I went. My GP is a super bloke, I only became his patient last September, so we've had to get to know each other quickly due to my current problems. He checked me over, pulse, oxygen saturation, chest, throat etc, a really thorough examination. He said it did not seem too bad, but that he would do an urgent blood test to see how my body was up to fighting the infection. If my body was not able to battle the bug, then I urgently needed antibiotics, in hospital most likely. I had the blood taken and trotted off home. At 4.30 I rang the surgery to see if the results were back. The receptionist assured me that they were and that she had taken them through to Dr N. He rang me back immediately to assure me that my bloods were OK, taking the trouble to tell me what each count was. When I thanked him for his trouble, he said he did not want me to worry over the weekend and said that I would rest easy knowing I could fight the infection. I cannot state emphatically enough how good it feels to have such a caring professional in my care team. He has, at every stage of this journey so far, been absolutely amazing and always carefully discusses or explains my choices and considers my opinions.
Thank you Dr N., you are making a difficult journey much easier.