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

PS

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Cancer treatment: week 14

This last week has been a very good week.  A lot of really positive things have been happening.

Although I have been feeling a little under the weather, my taste buds are working well again, my hair has started to grow a bit (at least a quarter of an inch - hmm, where should I part it?) albeit temporarily, my sore PICC line has been sorted and I got a brain scan.  And the best bit of all...I got invited to meet the Belfast Giants.

My sore PICC line 

I mentioned in my last blog about the sore PICC line I had and how I might have something called 'mechanical phlebitis' (see A mini mountain walk and another chemo delay).   Well, I got the line checked out last Friday as things hadn't improved. 

To cut along story short, the infusion services team had a look at it and they concluded that I needed the locking mechanism, which secures the line, removed from inside my arm.  They thought that was what was causing the swelling and pain.  

It was really quite sore when the nurse took the mechanism out.  She then stuck a different locking system (called a 'statlock') onto my skin which the external part of the line was clipped into.  This has helped enormously.  The swelling has subsided and the pain has gone.  What a relief.

My brain scan

I had my appointment for my brain scan to see if I had done any damage after I knocked myself out last month (see Games without Frontiers). Yes, I do have a brain, folks.  I must admit it doesn't work as well as it used to.  I blame the chemo.  'Chemo-brain' is a well known phenomenon amongst cancer patients.

I won't bore you with the details of the scan but this is the third CT scan I've had since diagnosis and I'm getting a bit blasé about them now. They don't scare me at all.  Suffice to say that I had the contrast dye injected into me, lay on the couch where the big doughnut went over my head, and I didn't swear once.   I was in and out in a jiffy.

Meeting the Belfast Giants

Anyone who knows me or has been following my blogs knows that I'm an avid fan of the Belfast Giants ice hockey team.  Now without wishing to bore the pants of anyone who couldn't care less about them or indeed [ice] hockey in general, I've written a specific piece about how I got invited to meet them and what happened when I did.  If you're interested, go to The day I met the Belfast Giants.

Chemo's back on track

My blood results have improved - not hugely but sufficiently - so I was able to get chemo this week.  

I got the new drug (Paclitaxel) yesterday.  So far it has been far gentler on me than the horrible docetaxel which they have now stopped giving me.  

Before I got the drug, I was given steroids and an infusion of anti-histamine to prevent any allergic reaction.  It made me very sleepy and I pretty much slept through the next hour and a half of the treatment.   When I woke up all the other patients had gone and I was the only one left.

I'm also not going to be on steroids as long with this new drug.   Which is nice.  I will however need to get three days of injections to stimulate my white blood cells.  Not so nice.

I'll keep you posted on how this new drug affects me.  Fingers crossed it will be much less harsh.

PS

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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!

PS

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Donate to my step-daughter's fund-raising page for Macmillan

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.

PS

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Donate to my step-daughter's fund-raising page for Macmillan

Games Without Frontiers

My earlier blogs featured song titles.  I gave up after a while because I couldn't think of suitable ones for some of the things I was writing about. But on this occasion, I've think I've found something appropriate. Hopefully all will become clear...

Fourth chemo

I had my fourth chemo cycle the other day.  This time it was the dreaded Docetaxel.  I say 'dreaded' because everyone I have spoken to says how it wipes you out and has particularly nasty side effects e.g your nails go black or fall off, you can get sore feet and hands, you can get bone/joint pain, your fingers go numb etc. 

The good thing about the fourth cycle was that the drug went in through a drip rather than a manual injection.  I was able to sit there and relax more than I had been able to do at my previous visits. 

Docetaxel by drip

The timing of my appointment was also a bit later.  I was gutted when I went into the chemo bay and saw the tea trolley disappearing around the corner.  Blast, I'd missed the tea and biscuits!  However imagine my delight when about half an hour later lunch turned up.  It was soup, sandwiches, yoghurt or fruit and a cup of tea.  Heaven.

The chemo infusion only took about an hour.  Afterwards, the nurse removed my picc line as the doctor the previous day had felt that it was positioned too high in my chest and was possibly contributing to my breathlessness.  Now, as the picc line was secured in my vein with staples it was rather sore when the nurse unclipped the line.  The other patients looked over either in wonder or in horror as they saw me cover my eyes and grit my teeth.  And then in a flash, the line was out!  Not too bad, actually.

I'll get the picc line repositioned next week.  In the meantime, I can have a proper shower or a nice deep bath and not look like some strange contortionist wearing cling film trying her best to dodge water so as not to get her arm wet.

At the time of writing, the soles of my feet are incredibly sore and my fingernails are beginning to feel sensitive.

It's a knockout!

The Saturday after the chemo wasn't a good day.  I had stopped taking the steroids the day before so I was really wiped out.  I slept on and off for 18 hours that Saturday.   

In the evening, I got out of bed as I felt I needed to get up for a while.  As I walked around the bed, my head started to swim and my vision became blurred.  I got extremely dizzy.  I tried to get back to my side of the bed to lie down when all of a sudden I collapsed and hit the back of my head on something.  My first thought was, 'Oh, I hope my husband heard that.'

The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and seeing my husband leaning over me, holding my hand and telling me not to close my eyes.  

I had knocked myself out and was lying on the bedroom floor.  Luckily he had heard the thud, thought it was our son moving around but decided to check on me anyway.  He found me stuck between the wardrobe and the bedside cabinet.

I felt like I was in a dream.  I could see my husband's face through half closed eyes and hear his voice through mental fog.  I just wanted to lie there and go back to sleep.  I knew that the back of my head was wet. Shit, I thought, I've cut myself.  I put my hand up to feel around and looked at my fingers.  I was relieved to see it was just sweat.

I managed to sit up with my husband's help but was very groggy.  I then vomited a couple of times.  My first thought - and this is absolutely true - was to feel annoyed about the waste of good homemade soup and cheesecake.

My husband rang the Oncology Helpline who told him I had to go to Accident and Emergency [Emergency Room] at the local hospital.  The Helpline said they would ring ahead and organise an ambulance for me but as it was a Saturday night and the hospital was under pressure, we agreed I could go by car.

I arrived at the hospital about 11pm and as a chemo patient I was fortunately fast tracked.  I was still awake and lucid but all I wanted to do was to go back to sleep.  At 2am, after having my blood pressure taken, heart checked, blood and urine tested, and a test for concussion, the duty doctor sent me home having concluded I was probably dehydrated. 

The lesson here is that I have to drink more fluids - at least 2 litres every day not including tea or coffee - and not to stand up too quickly.  I ended up with a bit of a bruise on the back of my head.  I was very, very lucky. My husband is a bloody hero.

A week later and coincidentally my son has just gained a St John Ambulance Youth First Aid badge and certificate.  Slightly too late for last week but at least I know he's got some handy skills in case I do something stupid again.  

The first Belfast Giants game of the season

It was the start of the ice hockey season yesterday and I was debating whether I should go to the Belfast Giants exhibition game against the Manitoba Bisons.  Yeah, hell why not.  I reckoned that if I sat somewhere quite isolated then I might not pick up any infections.  

I have a pink Belfast Giants jersey which I bought a few years ago in support of breast cancer (ironic, eh?).   So I put that on, plus my teal bandana, and sat in a quiet area of the arena with my husband.  I bumped into some hockey friends who gave me hugs and came over to chat to me.  

My Belfast Giants breast cancer jersey

I was surprisingly vocal during the game.  Those who know me know that I normally am but I wasn't sure I'd have the energy on this occasion. 

I was glad I went as I got out of the house and enjoyed myself.  

Manchester United v Leicester game

My husband is a lifelong Manchester United fan and whilst we were at hockey last night, he had recorded the game so he could watch it when we got home.  He avoided Twitter and Facebook all night so that he wouldn't inadvertently find out the score. 

When I got home from the hockey game, I put the TV on, as I do.   I walked into the bedroom and then I heard a lot of swearing.   Unfortunately, I'd left the TV channel on Sky News.  What was the first thing that he heard?  The bloody score.  Oops.

Enjoy life

I think it's important to still try do the things I enjoy during chemo, even if I have to make some adjustments.  I found it helps to keep some a degree of normality in my life and is quite therapeutic.   

I also don't want the treatment to define who I am and constrain me too much.  That's not to say I will take unnecessary risks, but it's about being sensible, listening to my body but also making the most of life and opportunities that present themselves.  Chemo is crap but I don't want it to put me in a box and throw away the key.

Games without frontiers.  Hmm, perhaps a way of helping me look a little differently at life now?  

PS

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I'm no longer scared

So, I've had cancer and am still going through chemo.  It's an interesting journey I have to say.  At the beginning I felt terrified, lonely and overwhelmed but now I'm on my journey I feel much more positive and realise I have lots to look forward to.  

I know that the drugs that are hammering my body to help keep this horrid disease at bay are doing me good, even if they don't have very nice side effects.  I know I've had a wake up call and I feel I've dodged a bullet.  It's like I'm finally waking up and smelling the coffee.

My new normal

The lumps, dents and scars in my armpit and boob will be the new normal, according to my oncologist.  I have to get used to that, but you know what?  Those things will be a reminder of what I've been through and will surely help me not to take things for granted again.   I aim to tackle life a bit differently now and to not sweat the small stuff.

I've even started to like listening to country music.  What's THAT all about?!

Holidays abroad may be more expensive due to more costly travel insurance because I've had cancer but, hey, staycations may be the new normal.  Talking of which... 

A wee break

I managed to get away for a couple of days last week with my husband and son to Warrenpoint, courtesy of a lovely friend from ice hockey.   The break from my four walls and a change of scenery helped to recharge my batteries and as my tastebuds had returned (albeit temporarily), I was able to eat normally again which was heaven. The scenery was stunning with buzzards flying around between the mountains.  It was absolutely wonderful and so peaceful.  I felt invigorated when I left.

Looking over Carlingford Lough at the Republic of Ireland

Carlingford Lough

Warrenpoint looking across from Republic of Ireland

Changing my outlook

Cancer is a very serious disease but it has touched my life in a way that I could never have imagined - both bad, and strangely, good.  It continues to change my outlook on things, but I have to admit that some of my pre-cancer thoughts and behaviours are still ingrained so they will take time to adjust.  But I'm determined to approach things differently now.  

There's a quote that one of my new found friends with incurable cancer says makes her feel strong:

"The devil whispered in my ear, 'you're not strong enough to withstand the storm'.  Today I whisper in the devil's ear, 'I AM the storm.'"

Take that, cancer!  Nothing can scare me now. 

PS

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Hair loss and headwear

A bit of a light hearted 'photo' blog this time as I'm feeling a lot better today.  I thought I'd share some of my headwear with you, some of which I've had for years.  I'm going to start with a picture of me with a bald head for comparison.  For those of a nervous disposition, look away NOW!

My 'Dr Evil' look

A silk scarf that a friend with cancer gave me

My 'Monty Python/Englishman on the beach' look

A deep green wig from a good friend

A purple wig from same good friend

A wig I bought for fun years ago

My Cher wig from a fund raising event

God knows why I have this one

A gift but I have no idea who from

My teal (for the Belfast Giants) bandana

My Belfast Giants teal wig

My sleep cap

Someone made me this ice hockey helmet #47 #workbootson

My NHS wig

PS

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Ups and downs

This latest bout of chemo has hit me harder than the earlier ones.  I've had no energy and when I walk I find I get out of breath quite easily.  I just want to sleep or sit on the sofa and watch box sets on Netflix.  I couldn't even face the thought of writing a blog.  But I feel quite a bit better today.

Infections

Although chemo can be a life saver, it can play havoc with the body.  For example, over the last couple of weeks, I've had thrush in my mouth, a tongue like a sponge and an infected little finger.  I've been desperate not to let the infection get worse as that could have serious implications. As my body can't fight the infection on its own due to compromised immunity, I'm now on my third course of antibiotics and second lot of ointment.  

That'll teach me to try to pull out a hangnail (if you're on chemo and tempted to do it, DON'T!).

White blood cells

I also had to have a white blood cell injection because my white cell levels were low.  It went into my stomach fat (I've plenty of it) and was pretty quick and painless.  My bone marrow should hopefully start to produce more white blood cells in time for my next treatment.  

I was a bit nervous about the injection as I'd heard some grim stories about the side effects such as bone pain but luckily I had nothing of the sort.  I was a bit alarmed however when I looked at the composition of the injection and 'e-coli' was mentioned.  Bloody hell!

Food and drink

There's one thing that has really pissed me off: food generally tastes disgusting.  I love my food so this is a particularly unwelcome side effect. It has been especially bad during the first two weeks of this latest chemo cycle.  Every mouthful has been like eating cardboard.  

The thought of certain foods and drink also makes my stomach turn. Last week the only things I actually wanted to eat were salty items such as roasted peanuts, crispy onion rings, Ritz crackers followed by Starburst as dessert.  Healthy, eh?  

Even tea and our tap water, which usually tastes crisp and pure, tastes weird.  As for chocolate (including a lovely homemade chocolate cake a neighbour gave me), it feels far too rich and cloying and I've struggled to eat it.  I never ever thought I would say that about chocolate.

  

I did manage to meet up with a couple of work colleagues for a few hours.  Whilst they knocked back cocktails (with my blessing even though I was as jealous as hell), I stuck with the mocktails.  Even the bubbles in the mocktails made it feel like I had a million tiny needles shooting into the roof of my mouth every time I took a sip.

Listen to your body

What I am doing though is listening to my body more.  If I feel tired, I take a nap.  If I can't walk too far, I stop and sit down.  I try not to rush around as much as I used to but I sometimes forget and then my husband has to nag *remind* me.  

As my taste buds have been slowly recovering, I have actually felt like I want to eat more fruit, salad, vegetables, olive oil and brown rice.  It's strange how the human body seems to know what it needs.

I look forward to the day I can start to taste the delights of food again.  I intend to savour every mouthful. 

PS

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Second chemo and its aftermath

Take your PICC

I had a 'PICC' line inserted last week.  It's a thin, flexible, tube that goes into a large vein above the bend of your elbow until the tip is in a large vein just above the heart*.  Sounds gross doesn't it, but the thought of getting it put in was worse than reality.  

Having a PICC means I can now get my chemo drugs injected and bloods taken through the line.  That's such a relief, as the vein I had the chemo put in last time was starting to hurt and harden and that was only after one treatment.  I didn't need to have a PICC but with limited choice of arms to use for needles, I wanted to go for the easiest and most sensible option.

I had some local anaesthetic in my arm and as the nurse threaded the tube into me, I said to her 'Is it supposed to hurt?'  She smiled and said, 'Hmmm, not really, but you're probably just a sensitive critter!' 

The chemo the next day went in much more quickly and easily than last time.  Phew.

Sleep or lack of

I found it so difficult to sleep the night I had the chemo.  I was tired but wasn't tired, if that makes sense.  As I lay in bed trying to drop off, I could feel my heart palpitating.  I was genuinely becoming more frightened by the minute and was worried that if I went to sleep I wouldn't wake up in the morning.  I kept trying to rationalise things by blaming the steroids.   Yes, it had to be the steroids, didn't it.  Didn't it?

I kept waking up in the night and my heart would be fluttering unevenly and I felt on the verge of panic.  I was tempted to get up and phone the helpline, but told myself that if I still felt like this the next day I would ring them.  I tossed and turned all night long. 

The next day I felt absolutely knackered but the palpitations had subsided a bit.  I refused to take a nap despite feeling so bone weary.  I was angry, ratty and irritated at every little thing that I felt, thought, saw, read and encountered.  Things seemed to be conspiring against me too: I dropped clean washing on the patio, I grated my thumb on my vulnerable arm on the cheese grater, I stomped angrily round the house looking for my glasses until I realised I was already wearing them.

I went to bed at 8.00pm that night and slept a bit better. 

Cancer is hateful

I've started to get a really uncomfortable sensation in my throat and upper chest too.  I can't even begin to adequately describe what it feels like.  It's like I've swallowed a bunch of gigantic fishbones that have lodged sideways in my throat and that my neck and collarbone have got a tight band wrapped around them.  It almost feels like I've got some sort of rheumatism in my upper chest and throat.  I've spoken to the helpline, described the symptoms and they've given me advice.  But it is incredibly uncomfortable and disconcerting.

See cancer?  It is shit.  It is a bastard.  It is evil.  I never knew there were so many implications from having cancer.  I hate what I look like.  I hate feeling crap.  I hate the fact it has happened to me.  I hate the thought of living in the shadow of this awful disease possibly returning some day. 

You don't ever think cancer is going to happen to you.  But it can.  And it does.  My advice to you is to do all you can - as far as possible - to prevent it.  Please don't put yourself through what I and numerous others (in worse situations than me) have to go through.

To finish on a lighter note, here's a picture of me with a stupid homemade chemo cap.  I was having a 'good' (in relative terms) day that day but I'm finding that my sense of humour is starting to dwindle.

PS

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*source: www.macmillan.org.uk