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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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!

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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?  

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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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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

Another eventful few days

My hair has started to fall out.  Not in massive clumps but in more of a moulting dog kind of a way.  I don't really feel too upset about it at the moment as I know that the treatment is actually working.  That has to be a good thing.  I've asked my husband to shave my head this weekend but I might chicken out when I see him with the clippers.  Sweeney Todd comes to mind.

Meditation and the munchies

I went to a meditation and visualisation workshop at the Macmillan Centre the other day.  It was a lovely event run by a beautiful, elegant woman in a lovely floaty dress.  

We did lots of relaxation, hand massages with aromatherapy oils, positive thinking cards, visualisation of blue skies, golden spheres, auras and all that sort of stuff.

It was however a little hard to clear my mind during the morning session. All I could think about was what type of sandwiches we were going to get for lunch. 

Does feeling horrible count as a friend?  Yes, apparently, as it makes you appreciate the good feelings.

Step away from the fizzy sweets

The roof of my mouth has also started to get very sore.  I blame myself though.  I read somewhere that eating fizzy sweets could help with a dry mouth so I went and bought a couple of packets of kola cubes and pear drops.  The sweet but slightly sour taste was heavenly and my tongue was really salivating.  

The only trouble was, I ended up scraping the roof of my mouth with the rough sweets and now it's not healing properly.  I'm having to take a special mouth spray and gel sachets to help prevent my mouth from 'breaking down' and getting ulcers.  The gel is particularly weird.  It needs to be mixed with water, and it feels like I'm rinsing with liquorice flavoured pureed jellyfish.  Not that I've ever tried that, you understand.

The downside of having a sore mouth is that I can't eat anything spicy which includes Indian food, my absolute favourite.  I am gutted.

Not so tai chi

There was an interesting distraction in the tai chi class this week.  As we were exercising, we heard a loud crunch and all dashed to the window to see what had happened.  Two cars had crashed into each other down a side road opposite our class.  A woman appeared to have also tumbled out of one of the cars onto the pavement.  

The incident didn't look too serious but we all gawped and speculated until our teacher nagged us into returning, reluctantly, to our exercise. Luckily there were no punches thrown.  The drivers and bystanders were pretty well behaved too (I bet you saw that joke coming a mile off, eh?). 

PS

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Sunday girl

Today I felt surprisingly good.  I was meant to go to the annual gathering of my husband's family today but I woke this morning feeling a bit wrecked.  So my dear old husband had to go on his own.  I'm also still very nervous of big congregations in close quarters in case I get an infection.  I'm particularly susceptible to one at the moment as I'm in the middle week of my treatment cycle.  That's when the white blood cells have been typically destroyed or reduced.

I did have a bit of, um, 'tummy trouble' this morning though.  I've also been getting a bit of earache in both ears but nothing serious as my temperature has been fine.  I also kept waking up during the night with a really dry cough.  Apparently at 2.00am I shouted out 'OH!!'  It was loud enough to wake my son but clearly not my dead-to-the-world husband lying beside me.

This morning, I washed the floors and made myself a smoothie for cancer patients following a recipe which I found on Pinterest.  It was absolutely delicious but I've just realised that it's meant to serve two people.  I drank it all.  Oops.  

I also put up a magnetic door net on my kitchen door to keep bugs out.  I did it all by myself, and whilst it wasn't difficult, I was quite proud that I didn't have to rely on my husband to do it.

This afternoon, I made pea and ham soup, a quiche, coleslaw, and chicken noodle soup* whilst listening to the charts from this week in 1966, 1976 and 1984.  The music was sublime.  I mean, how can anyone fail to be uplifted up by the Kinks, the Beatles, Thin Lizzy, Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Wham!?  Bloody magic!  I danced and sang along in the kitchen, much to my teenage son's irritation. 

Just a quick word about my son.  He is such a good kid even if I do have to give him a metaphorical boot up the backside every now and again.   He is so resilient and seems to be bearing up really well.  I've been open and honest with him about my treatment but I've kept it really upbeat and positive.  I know he's 'OK' because he still gives me cheek and gets impatient with me.  Sometimes I say something (tongue in cheek) about my treatment and he goes, 'Oh, no, you're playing the 'Cancer Card' again.'   Cheeky monkey.

As I write this blog, my energy levels have started to dip and I'm beginning to feel quite tired.  My husband won't be home for a while so it looks like an evening on the sofa watching an episode of Mad Men is on the cards.  Donald Draper, here I come.

*I'm an idiot.  When I looked at the soup the next day, it was no longer liquid but a whole load of chicken infused noodles.  I looked at the recipe again and realised I should have used cooked noodles not uncooked ones.  I blame chemo brain.

PS

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Ballet-hai

My husband took me see a ballet last night.  It was Giselle at the Grand Opera House in Belfast. 

I love going to see the ballet, although I don't manage to do it very often. The beauty and grace of the dancers and the gorgeous costumes are a sight to behold.  It must be the five year old ballet dancer inside of me (whose mum made her go to lessons every bloody Saturday morning) desperate to put on a pretty frock, get up on stage and perform for the paying masses.  Or perhaps I really just like watching men in tights.

I thought maybe I was being a bit foolhardy going to sit in an auditorium where there would be loads of people sitting up close and personal.  I must admit to having felt a little nervous when people were coughing and sneezing nearby.  I kept my fingers crossed that they just had hay fever and that I wasn't going to get some dreaded infection.

I thought the performance was spectacular but it wasn't my husband's cup of tea.  He suffered for two hours for me, bless him.   

When we left the Opera House at 10pm, it was still light and the streets were buzzing with tourists many of whom were taking photos of the date on the front of the pub across the road.  We sat in the station waiting for our train home along with loads of other people who had also spent an enjoyable night in town.  I just love Belfast.  It's bloody brilliant...and also a little bit bonkers.

PS

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Days like this

One week on from chemotherapy and it's been a strange week to be honest.  I've been up and down, both mentally and physically.

Day one

I slept badly the first night of chemo, but I suspect that was very much due to the steroids.  During the day, I was listless and a bit down.  I binge watched episodes of Better Call Saul (getting better every season) and then fell asleep on the couch for about an hour and a half.  

The next night I was quite tearful when I went to bed.  My head was telling me that my body was literally being poisoned.  It simply didn't feel psychologically right for me to have these toxins pumped into me which were aggressively invading my whole system from inside out.  I knew my treatment was going to nuke any stray cells and act as a sort of insurance policy but my head just couldn't accept it.  Even visualising sitting in the chemo bay and the massive syringes being inserted into the cannula for my next treatment made me feel quite distressed.  

I kept touching my hair too to see if it was starting to fall out but it wasn't. I became really upset at the thought of losing my hair, despite my earlier bravado.  My mouth also felt like the bottom of a budgie cage but the wonderful Oncology helpline recommended a specialist mouthwash for me, which helped.  Luckily, I had no sickness so at least the tablets were working.

I kept telling myself that I was glad that it was me that had the cancer and not my husband or son.  That would have been devastating and I honestly don't think I would have been able to cope if it was either of them.

I felt like I was descending into quite a dark place. 

Day two 

The second day was quite a bit better.  A couple of bandanas that I ordered online turned up, one in 'teal', the colour of the Belfast Giants ice hockey team.  I fully intend to wear that when I eventually get along to the new season.  

I also went to the Move More class and everyone was delighted to see me.  I had bags of energy, courtesy of the steroids, and reckoned I could have tackled the class ten times over.  

When I got home I did two lots of washing, hung it on the line, potted a load of garden plants and cooked dinner.  My goodness, these steroids are GREAT!*

Day three

I slept 10 hours and then fell asleep on the couch for another three hours.  Blimey, 13 hours in total.  I was starting to feel quite spaced out but I didn't feel ill or have a temperature.   I think I simply had had too much sleep.  

My sense of smell also seemed to have become very acute and the thought of drinking coffee made my stomach churn.  Crikey, life without coffee.  Is there such a thing?

Day five

I got tearful again and said to my husband, 'I want my life back.'  'Take it back then,'  he replied.  And you know what?  He was bloody right.  I don't want to be sitting around feeling sorry for myself, scared stiff of what the drugs will do to me, scared stiff of whether the bastard cancer will return.  

I got off my backside and went for a walk, had tea and a scone, bought a floaty, sequinned top and two new gorgeous fish for my pond at a bargain price.

Some beautiful flowers had turned up whilst I was out, but there was no message from whoever had sent them.  I later found out via Facebook that it was from some of my former colleagues.  Love you loads, guys.

Day six

I walked down to my local shops for some exercise.  The heat was getting to me.  I wore my new floaty top, a bandana to keep the sun off my scalp and some dangly crystal earrings.  It was only when I saw my reflection in a shop window did I realise I looked like I was going to tell someone's fortune at a funfair.  Ah, well.  I've always wanted to be an eccentric, middle-aged, English woman.

I mooched around a bit and ended up in the Marie Curie charity shop where I found a giant Louis Vuitton leopard print scarf for £6.00.   Hmm, nice for when I get my bald head, I thought.  Little did I know that the full price of such a scarf would usually be in the hundreds of pounds.  What a bargain.   

I have a feeling that charity shops are going to be my new favourite place.  I'm going to need to go back to work eventually to pay for all the stuff I'm buying.

My Louis Vuitton £6.00 bargain

In the evening, my husband and I went for a walk on Bangor seafront.  I had three scoops of Morelli's delicious ice cream.  A girl's gotta have a wee treat now and again.  Well, OK, all the time in my case.

Costa del Bangor

Day seven

The weather today has been very muggy.  I dithered about whether to do the Wednesday Walk as I thought it might be too much for me, especially as the Helpline had advised me to take it easy and not overdo things.  Sod it.  I reckoned I could always come home if I felt it was too much.

I stuck on my three inches of make-up, my sunblock, my NASA baseball cap and my bottle of water and arrived at the meeting point.  The group were so pleased to see me and my new Canadian friend (the one who I still cannot believe had read a book whilst Wayne Gretzky played - see 'Getting out and about') gave me a massive hug.  The leader of the walk also made sure that I was well looked after.

As we started to walk, we spotted a woman pulling a covered cart.  Now, people in Northern Ireland are incredibly friendly and can't resist a bit of a chat with visitors, and so we all had to ask what she was doing.  It turned out her name was Anna, she came from Idaho and she was literally walking the world to raise awareness of the need for clean drinking water.  She had done the USA where she said she had run out of land and so was now doing Europe, Ireland in particular.  Anna had only got off the ferry in Belfast a couple of hours earlier.

Anna

We all thought what Anna was doing was absolutely marvellous so we crowded around her to have our photos taken.  We then dragged her to see Van Morrison's house and Cyprus Avenue, made famous in Van's song of the same name.  She really seemed genuinely delighted by this diversion and we were too.  

Van Morrison's house

Good luck, Anna.

Go to Anna's world walk website 

PS

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*blah, blah, blah, usual common sense rules apply etc