Change to my chemo regime

I went to my pre-assessment this morning where they took my bloods and weighed me.  Phew, my weight has stabilised.

I saw an oncologist (I seem to see a different one every time) and told her about my two trips to A&E, including the blood clot in my lung.  Her face was a picture and she kept telling me that I was 'very lucky' and that I must have a good heart and lungs.  I didn't like to ask how lucky, or if I was lucky because I hadn't actually died.   Sometimes it's best not to ask a question you don't really want to know the answer to.

Brain scan

The oncologist is also going to arrange for me to have a brain scan. This is to see whether there was any damage from when I knocked myself out a few weeks ago (see Games Without Frontiers), not to see if I do indeed have a brain.  Many folk do wonder about that.

You know what?  My body will have been checked out thoroughly as a result of having had cancer and going through treatment.  That's got to be a good thing.

Change of drug

Because of the side effects from the docetaxel, I am now going to be switched to weekly chemotherapy on a drug that will seemingly be less harsh on me but just as good.  It's called paclitaxel.  I'll be getting weekly infusions for the next six weeks.  They are also going to try to merge my day for pre-assessment with my chemo day so that I don't have to go two days in a row to the City Hospital.   That will save me making an extra round trip every week and I won't have to hang around for two consecutive days.   Every cloud and all that.

Blood thinning injections

As for the blood thinning injections the oncologist reckons I'm going to be on them every day for six months.  Six months!  My stomach is already starting to look like I've done ten rounds with Floyd Mayweather (he's a boxer, right?).

PICC line

I also got my PICC line put back in today.  I won't tell you exactly what one of my friends with cancer calls the line, but let's just say it rhymes with PICC as in 'PICC the ****'.  She really makes me laugh and is an absolute tonic.  

The nurse who put the line back in jokingly called me a 'sensitive critter' when she did it to me last time (see Second chemo and its aftermath). So I got my own back and took the opportunity to rib her mercilessly today.  Boy, we had some craic.

There was another nurse in with us and we started to talk about holidays and travel when all of a sudden I felt a sharp stab in my left arm.  The nurse had taken the opportunity when I was distracted to inject the local anaesthetic into me.  'Hey, you didn't warn me!' I said.  'Yep, I knew you'd be distracted by talking, you sensitive critter.'  Cheeky.

Sad songs

There was one incident whilst I was waiting between sessions that did upset me a little.  I went into the ladies loo and could hear gentle singing coming from one of the cubicles.  A young woman then emerged, with red rimmed eyes, and apologised to me.  I told her not to worry as it sounded lovely.  'I sing because it's the only thing that stops me from crying,' she said.  I didn't want to pry but she explained that she had been on chemo and radiotherapy.  

My heart just went out to the woman.  I wasn't sure what to say so did my best to reassure her, probably not very successfully.   I felt so sad. 

A week's chemo holiday

This afternoon after I got home, the hospital rang me to say that my white blood cells were far too low to proceed with my pre-planned chemo the next day.  It would be too risky and so they needed to defer my chemo for a week.  Heck.  

On the plus side I am now getting a week off chemo/side effects, my taste buds will hopefully improve further - and most importantly - I should feel well enough to go the Belfast Giants first home league game of the season on Saturday after all.  Get in!

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What a bloody clot

I now have a blood clot in my right lung.  

How did I find out?  Well, my chest and upper back had felt a bit tight for a couple of days, almost like I was coming down with a chest cold or something similar.   I had just started to learn to knit (I'm turning into my mum) so I thought it was just a bit of stiffness from the way I'd been sitting.

The pain had eased for a couple of days but then I woke up on Tuesday and the tightness was back.  When I stood up, I could feel my chest throbbing a bit and then I noticed a rash on my upper chest.  Oh shit.

A&E

I rang the Oncology Helpline who went through a checklist with me and then said that I would have to go to A&E.  'You're kidding,' I said.  'No, you have to go.  There could be something happening with your heart and they'll need to check it out.'  Heck, not again.  I'd only been there just over a week before (see Games Without Frontiers).  I could see myself getting a season ticket and the nurses/doctors saying, 'oh hi, Karen, welcome back.  Make yourself at home.'

I arrived at the A&E reception and, again luckily as a chemo patient, I was taken in fairly quickly and sat in a cubicle.  My blood was tested a couple of times, I had an ECG followed by a chest X-ray.  The lovely doctor who was looking after me asked me loads of questions, what drugs I was on etc.  She identified that a blood marker for my heart was slightly elevated, plus a marker for clotting was high.  'I think you may have a blood clot so I want you to have a CT scan'.  Ah, not good.

Off I trotted to the CT scanner department.  I had the contrast injected into me and got that weird sensation again of feeling like I had wet myself.   This time I knew what to expect and so thankfully didn't shout out 'F*ck me' like last time (see View from the bra: the CT scan).

Toast

It was nearly 4.00pm and I was getting hungry as I'd only eaten a banana and a slice of toast in the morning and had been in A&E since 10.00am.  I asked the doctor if I could go to the vending machine to get something to eat.  'I can make you some toast if you like.  We have loads of toast here and you have been very patient.'  I nearly snatched her hand off.   When I came back from the CT scan she brought me two slices of hot buttered toast.  It was delicious.  What is it about toast in hospitals that makes it so special?

The results

About 6pm the doctor came back with the results of the scan.  'Yes, you have a blood clot in your right lung'.  'Oh shit,' I went.  She said, 'it's treatable though and we've calculated the level of risk and it's low.  We'll send you home with injections of blood thinner and you'll have to report to the Anti-coagulation clinic.'  I didn't even know such a clinic existed. 

My daily injection

The doctor gave me a leaflet confirming that I had a pulmonary embolism but she suggested I didn't alarm myself by reading the really horrible part as I wasn't a high risk case.

A blood clot is one of the risks of chemotherapy.  It seems that the blood thinner won't cure the blood clot but will help keep me safe.  Apparently my body has to absorb the clot naturally.  I might be on these bloody injections for months but my Oncologist will let me know more when I see her next week.

So that was my second trip to A&E during the same chemo cycle.  They say things always come in threes.   Please, no!  I'll try to be a good girl, honest.

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