My final chemo

The day had come for my tenth and final chemo.  It was 24 October 2017,  a full 19 weeks since my very first infusion.

When I woke up, my stomach and mind were churning with a mix of emotions: I was happy and excited but a little apprehensive as I knew the regular therapy sessions (in more ways than one) would be coming to an end.  I was about to be set free from chemo, which despite being a quite horrible treatment, was actively keeping me alive.  I was beginning to feel quite vulnerable again. 

Things started off well when I went and had my pre-assessment that morning.  The nurse was able to get blood out of my PICC line to do my blood tests which meant that it was working OK.  I breathed a sigh of relief, especially as the day before the line had not played ball with the District Nurse.  It also meant that I could at last get my PICC line completely removed after the chemo.  The thought of being able to have a big, deep bubble bath again was so enticing.  No more pulling stupid shapes to try to keep my dressing dry.

Chemo time

I came back later that afternoon to get my chemo and brought in a big tub of chocolates as a thank you gift for the nurses.  I chatted to the chemo patient in the chair next to mine and started to feel myself tear up at the thought of this stage of my journey coming to an end.

Whilst I was waiting, the oncologist came to see me and said that my blood test that morning had showed that my red blood cells were low and that I needed to come back on Friday to have them tested again.  If my red cells were still low, she said, I might need a blood transfusion.  WHAT?!  

My chemo was thwarted at the 11th hour.  The nurse couldn't get blood out of my PICC line.  I was gutted.  It had worked fine that morning.  By now it was about 4 pm and it was too late for the nurse to give me a clot buster - it needed at least an hour to work and then I would need a further two to three hours for the chemo.  By then the Treatment Unit would be closed.  

I was given a choice:

a) get another x-ray, a clot buster and come back the next day, or 

b) get chemo through a peripheral vein (a vein that's not in the chest or abdomen).

I was under pressure to make a decision as it was getting late in the day.  Oh shit.  SHIT!!  What should I do?

I didn't know what to do and started to feel a wave of panic wash over me.  I wanted to get it over with as I'd built myself up, but the thought of getting chemo through a cannula and a peripheral vein was not an attractive option.

'I'll go peripheral.'

'Are you sure?' said the nurse.

I looked over at the patient next to me for moral support. Her eyes showed a tiny element of doubt.

'No.  I'll come back tomorrow!' I blurted out.

As soon as I'd said it, I knew I'd made the right decision.  I felt a sense of relief.  There was no point in rushing the final chemo and knackering another vein for the sake of a few more hours.

I went home and on the way, I thought sod it, I'm going to have a chinese takeaway.  When I got home I realised I'd been walking around the hospital all day with only one eyebrow.  I'd clearly rubbed one of them out by accident.

Sleep was elusive that night. 

The next day

I returned the next day at 9.00am, hoping that the PICC line would deliver its required dose of blood before I could get the treatment.

It did.  It was all systems go.  As usual, I fell asleep during the infusion, woke up in time for a cup of tea and by 11.30am it was over.  

Getting ready to start chemo

As I left the chemo bay, I gave each of the nurses who had treated me over the last number of months a big hug.  I got quite emotional.   'No offence, but I hope I never see any of you again!' I said through the tears.

Chemo's done

I walked out of the hospital into bright, autumnal sunshine.  It felt bloody brilliant. 

The nurses

I can't write this blog without saying something about the chemo/clinic nurses.  They are amongst the most charming, warm, funny, patient and caring people I have EVER met in my life.  They make the horrible experience of treatment so much more bearable and are like a surrogate family.  Without their passion, people skills and expertise, the last four months of brutal poisoning (and that's what it is) could have been a heck of a lot worse.  

The nurses brought a lot of sunshine and hope into my life. They are truly remarkable people and are a credit to the NHS.  They are the only thing I'll miss from my time getting treatment. 

Final blood test

My red blood cells were tested again on Friday morning and thankfully they were fine.  I was absolutely delighted.  It meant that I was able to get my PICC line removed too as I wouldn't be needing it any more.   Happy days.

PICC line after removal

What next?

My journey isn't over yet.  It's just the end of the chemo chapter (with any luck).  It'll probably be a couple of weeks before I start my radiotherapy trial and I'll be starting hormone therapy soon too.  

Stay tuned.   There's more 'fun' to come.

Much love x

Cancer treatment: week 16

This is a bit of a longer blog than usual as quite a few *interesting* things have been happening over the last week.

PICC the dick

The district nurse came out to flush and dress my PICC line on Monday but we hit a bit of a stumbling block.  She measured how long the external bit of the line was and it was just over 2 centimetres longer than when it was originally inserted.  Hmm, that apparently was beyond an acceptable increase.  

The nurse tried to flush the line and draw out my blood to test that it was working OK.  Nothing.  She couldn't get anything in or out no matter how hard she tried.  I even lay down on the bed, sat up, walked around.  Still nothing.  We rang the Oncology helpline for advice. 

To cut a long story short (probably not) I had to go into the Cancer Centre to get an X-ray and, if necessary, a 'drain buster' infusion which would help to dissolve any possible blockage.  The X-ray showed that the PICC line was still in the right place inside my chest so they weren't worried about the extra external length.  

The nurse then gave the line one more go before resorting to the drain buster and hey presto!  It worked.  There was no explanation.  Even moving around can help to make the line work again.

Assessment/chemo day

I've been making a few PICC line covers to keep myself occupied plus I know that many people with PICC lines have been keen to locate some. So on my way into my assessment appointment, I took a load of covers into the Friends of the Cancer Centre to see if they could sell them to raise money.  They were absolutely delighted.  

(Shameless plug alert: if you're interested in a PICC cover please leave a comment below.)

Some of my PICC line covers

I've lost a wee bit of weight this week, despite the amount of cake I ate at the Macmillan coffee morning.  Get in!  One of the nurses overheard my excitement and told me that they had reset the scales to be 14 pounds lighter before I arrived.  I told him to get lost (in a nice way).

I also got a new butter-free banana cake recipe from one of the nurses. 

It's amazing the *fun* one can have when getting bloods taken.

I then went to see my oncologist for my chat.  She examined my toe/fingernails and disappointingly she told me I would lose them but I would end up with lovely new ones.  Which is nice.

Chemo

When I went to get my chemo, my PICC line started playing up again. The nurse could get the liquid flush in but could not get any blood out.  It was absolutely imperative that the nurse got blood out before giving me chemo otherwise the chemo could accumulate in my arm and create a hole.  Bloody hell!

We tried all sorts of things to get blood out, for example coughing, waving my arm around, letting my arm hang loose, turning my head from side to side.  She kept putting in new syringes and trying to draw out the blood.  I started to get quite worried as it felt like my PICC line was being pulled out, although it was firmly locked in place.  I was also dreading the thought of having to get chemo through a cannula into my now tough veins.

Having got a second opinion, the nurse asked me to march up and down reception.  Everyone stared at me as if I wasn't right in the head.  And it STILL didn't work.  As a last resort, another nurse came over to see if she could do it.  She sat me more upright, raised my arm and - weyhey - out came blood.  

Chemo was then very uneventful in comparison.  I fell asleep.

Radiotherapy - trial or not to trial?

I mentioned in my last blog that I had been invited to take part in a trial where they would test if radiotherapy could be given over five days instead of 15.  I've been dithering about whether to do it or not.

Well, I had my radiotherapy planning appointment today where I met my oncologist and a number of trial clinicians.  I asked them loads of questions for nearly an hour about the pros and cons of the trial and the data they had from previous human/non-human tests.  My husband came with me to be devil's advocate and also in case he thought of things to ask that I hadn't.

I was still in two minds during the meeting but my intuition was gradually leaning towards taking part.  But what eventually swayed it for me was:

• when the oncologist said, totally unprompted, that she would have no hesitation in doing it herself or recommending it to any of her family members
• the fact that I will also be far more closely monitored than through the normal regime and if there is any delay in my oncologist seeing me, the trial team can get my appointments accelerated.   

I said yes.  Let's be a glass half full not half empty lass from now on.

Radiotherapy planning scan

Later in the morning I went for my planning scan.  This involved measuring me up using a CT scanner and then tattooing my chest in strategic places with small dots.  This will tell the radiographers exactly where to zap when I go for my radiotherapy.   

It was freezing in the scanning room and I had to lay there with my chest fully exposed.  I was so relieved there were no men in there.  I would have felt quite embarrassed but I suppose I should be over that by now.

The radiographers took great care in positioning me on the scanning bed and marking my chest with felt tip pens and wires.  I had to lie there with my arms over my head and stay perfectly still whilst the scanner went over me.  I kept imagining all sorts of itches on my face and had to try desperately to avoid scratching.

Once the scan was done, the radiographer got the little tattooing needle and quickly jabbed it into three places.  It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.  The jab in the middle of my chest was the sorest one probably 'cos there was a little less flesh there.

The scan took less than half an hour and I was free to go.  My first proper radiotherapy session will be next month, all being well.

To finish, here's a picture of Cancer Centre garden which I thought was delightful.

The Cancer Centre garden

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Week 15 of cancer treatment

I've been feeling very emotional today.  I've no idea why.  I've been close to tears and could cry at the drop of a hat.  On the other hand, I feel quite anxious and aggressive, like I want to fight someone.  I reckon it's the drugs but I haven't felt like this before on chemo so perhaps it's nothing to do with them.

I've had my second dose of Paclitaxel this week.  The side effects (except possibly those described above) have not been that noticeable. I've almost felt human.  I still have some effects from the previous drug, for example I've had sheets of skin peeling off from the soles of my feet, gained a few black toenails, and many of my fingernails are now either badly ridged or are lifting off the nail bed.  At least I won't need make up for Halloween.

I've also been able to inject the white blood cell stimulant over two consecutive days by myself.  I've had a few aches and pains as a result (quite common apparently) but generally I've not felt too bad.  It's such a relief to not feel crap all the time.

Radiotherapy - clinical trial dilemma

When I went to see my oncologist, she invited me to take part in a clinical trial for radiotherapy called FAST-Forward.  I meet the criteria apparently.  

The current regime for breast cancer is daily radiotherapy for three weeks (except weekends).  The trial is to test whether this can be reduced to five days.  I've been given a patient sheet about the trial, which includes information about known pros and cons, and have access to a researcher to ask questions before taking a decision.  

When I started off on my cancer journey I secretly wanted the opportunity to take part in a trial.  However I was led to believe by someone I met that if you took part in a trial it was because nothing else had worked.  Not so, apparently!

I really think trials are important but my son doesn't want me to do it.  He wants to be sure that I get the best chance of success and that would be through sticking to the current protocol.  I have no idea what to do.  If women hadn't volunteered for trials in the past I probably wouldn't be lucky enough to get my current treatment regime.  

I have my radiotherapy planning appointment this week (on my bloody birthday too!) and I'm going to grill the research team about what taking part might mean for me.

Macmillan Coffee Morning

The Move More group I belong to held a coffee morning last week as part of Macmillan's 'World's Biggest Coffee Morning' to raise funds.  I even made a simple banana cake for it and helped out as a volunteer. 

The amount of goodies on offer that were made/donated/bought was incredible.  I couldn't resist some of the cakes myself, particularly the rainbow cake in the picture below.  I reckon if cancer doesn't kill me, diabetes might.

We did brilliantly and raised over £800 in the space of an hour and a half.   We also had great fun doing it as well.

Some of the yummy cakes

Me (right) and my friend Sharon (aka the 'Kaz n Shaz comedy duo' 😄)

Onwards and upwards!

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