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

Tiredness, a double take and pre-chemo check

I've been feeling really tired of late and there have been times very recently when I've felt a little under the weather.  I find myself blinking rapidly to keep my eyes open when I'm talking to people.  

I want to go to sleep about 2pm but I'm trying to resist the temptation of a nap so that I can sleep better at night.  I should give in, but I know that an hour's nap (which is what's recommended) would simply not be enough.  I tend to be like a bear with a sore head if I'm forced to wake from a nap of under two hours.  Just ask my husband.

On the plus side, my mouth has healed up which is great news.  

Double take

I met a friend from work on Monday and we took ourselves out.  I had to use the loo at one point but I'd forgotten that I didn't have my chemo cap on and that I had very little hair.  

As I walked into the ladies loo, I must have given the two women chatting in there a real shock.  They genuinely did a double take.  I thought, feck, they must think I should have gone into the men's room. When I came out of the cubicle, I held my fuzzy-felt head high and gave them a friendly smile.  I got one back.

Pre-chemo assessment

I got my bloods and weight done at my pre-chemo assessment yesterday.  Unfortunately, the nurse struggled to find a vein in my left arm.  It took about six goes to find one that yielded any blood and afterwards, the crook of my arm was looking a little black and blue.  Next time, it won't be so difficult. 

Battle scars, plus my PICC line (more about that next time)

My weight


I was gutted to find out that my weight had gone up by two kilos in three weeks.  Oh dear.  I must admit that this last week has been challenging. Hardly a surprise considering I was celebrating my wedding anniversary with my husband and son and had a delicious three course meal.  I didn't have any booze either.  

After my bloods and weight were taken, I had a chat with the breast care nurse.  She gave me a bit of a friendly 'talking to' about my weight increase, in the nicest possible way: go for walks, avoid the Northern Irish way of having a piece of cake/a bun/a biscuit with a cup of tea etc, etc.  But I do!  And I don't!  Okay, so the last bit's not completely true.


The 'look'


I nervously asked the breast care nurse about whether I could get away from the same four walls of my house for a break.  It was at that moment I realised that cancer nurses have a look that they give you*.  The first look was 'don't-put-weight-on-but-I'm-being-nice-about-it' and the second when I asked about the holiday was 'you-can't-be-serious-right?'.  

The look in the nurse's eyes, the tilt of her head and the arch of her eyebrows made my heart sink.  I lost my nerve a bit and said, 'Well it would only be for a couple of days...and it would be on the same island...and I'm sure I'd be able to get to a nearby hospital if I needed to.' That last bit clinched it.  As long as in an emergency I could quickly get to a hospital in Northern Ireland that had an Accident and Emergency Department coupled with a cancer unit, then it would *probably* be OK.  

The thought of a very a short break away from the house provides a glimmer of light at the end of a long tunnel right now.  Only if I feel up to it of course...and I don't stuff my face.



*I think I should clarify. The nurses are absolutely lovely, they really are and I don't want you to get the wrong impression of them.  The look isn't a scary look - it's sympathetic yet nicely assertive, if you get my drift.

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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