Nailed it

So chemo just keeps on giving. As well as my heavy achy tax legs, my finger nails are coming lose and falling off. I feel like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly. But definitely a lot less hairy.

Most of my fingernails have starting lifting up – basically they are no longer attached to the nail bed, apart from at the bottom. I was aware of this side effect of Docetaxel, but was told on the grapevine (or Facebook) that painting your nails with a dark varnish could help to protect them from UV light, as it is this that apparently reacts with the drugs causing damage to the nail. I’ve had dark gel on for the majority of the time I was having Tax, and up until about 3 weeks ago my nails seemed in good condition. However not anymore. Here is a picture of the offending nails once the gel had come off:

 

How attractive. The lighter bits of the nails are where they are no longer attached to my fingers. The thumb nail on my left hand has already fallen off. I did a repair job last night – painting them and sticking a false nail on my thumb where the real one has come off:

I'm hoping that no more of them decide to divorce themselves from my fingers, however the thumb nail on the other hand seems to be on the way out. So to add to my fake hair, eyelashes and eyebrows, I now have fake nails. Not much different to pre cancer times I hear you cry? Well these are not enhancements, but rather to cover up where bits of my body have fallen off or disappeared. They help me to look human enough to be able to go outside and not scare the the living daylights out of small children or people's pets. I am also soon to have a fake tit to make up for the one that will be removed. Just call me Frankenstein! Or Frankenboob....

A weighty issue

If you read my last couple of blog posts, you'll know that during chemo my weight has crept up and my fitness level has gone down, down, down. I still managed to run quite a bit whilst I was having FEC but Docetaxel put paid to that. The bone pain and muscle aches and general lack of energy meant that running began to be incredibly difficult and on many days just downright impossible. Even getting up the stairs was a bit of a mission. 

Anyway, I've put on more than a stone in weight since chemo started. Granted, I had lost weight by the beginning of treatment due to basically eating bugger all and running A LOT after my diagnosis. The cancer diet - I would not recommmend it! And i definitely do not want to do it again. My puffy steroid face has now retreated and I'm starting to look less like button moon thankfully, however my body is decidedly squdgier than it was. I keep being told that my weight gain isn't noticeable, but I know - most of my clothes don't fit and I'm limited to outfits I've bought in recent months and even those are beginning to get a little tight. My aim is to lose half a stone before surgery at the end of January and to try and get my fitness level up even just slightly - being able to run two miles without having to stop is my aim. 

Some may think this all sounds a bit shallow and that perhaps I have bigger things to worry about like ...um... my right boob trying to kill me, but the weight gain and loss of fitness are both things contributing to the fact that I no longer look and feel like me anymore. thast and the fact my head and face are hairless! I want to try and claw back some of the things that cancer and it's treatment have taken from me over the last few months and I'm already feeling a slightly better mentally knowing that I'm taking control over some areas of my life.

I started Weightwatchers yesterday. You can either use a daily allowance of points or you can have days when you eat as much as you want of certain foods as long as they are on a given list. Which is great for piglets like me. I also went out for a run today. Only a mile and a quarter but I'm going to try and go every day and try and build my fitness back up. I know its going to be very hard and I am nowhere near at the level I once was but at least I am taking steps to try and get there. I will keep you posted on my progress - watch this space as they say!

A bit of a shite year

As it's New Year's Eve eve, I thought i would reflect a bit on the past year. I've just got out of bed. I've spent the majority of the Christmas break in bed, suffering from tax aches and pains but mostly from awful fatigue. I don't seem to have to do much at all to need to have two hour naps to recover. I'm quite useless and not good at much at the moment, but my ability to sleep is unparallelled. I've put on a stone in weight since my treatment began, partly due to steroids and other drugs, but mostly because I've not been able to exercise anywhere near as much as I was before my treatment started. I tried to run as much as I could during FEC, but once Docetaxel started it walloped me. Now I can only manage one to two mile runs, which then leave me needed to sleep for two hours and aching like I've been inside a washing machine.

Anyway, as the title of this post suggests, this year has been a bit of an arse. I split up with my long term boyfriend, my grandmother died and then I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Triple arse. It's hard to believe that my diagnosis was over five months ago. It seems such a long time ago, but at the same time only yesterday. I've almost forgotten what life was like BC (Before Cancer). I've been picked up and swept along on the cancer tsunami and have now been deposited on the beach picking over the remnants of my life. But although a large part of my treatment is over, there is still a long way to go. I've just been allowed a little respite before the second wave comes to give me a bashing. 

So much has happened in the last five months, it's difficult to quantify it all. But I will try. Here it is:

3 biopsies
3 mammograms
4 ultrasounds 
15 blood tests
1 clip fitting
2 radioactive injections
1 general anaesthetic
1 surgery
2 head shaves
Multiple wig fittings
1 bone scan
6 toxic infusions
7 oncologist appointments
3 surgeon appointments
1 genetic testing appointment
3 late night visits to A and E
1 overnight stay in hospital
8 cannulas
7 lots of test / scan results
1 chest x-ray
3 MRSA swabs
1 arm ultrasound
6 lots of steroids and anti sickness treatments
21 lots of injecting myself
A truck load of other meds
1 flu jab
Several sore and collapsed veins
1 large seroma
1 lot of painful under arm cording 

Plus lots of sleepless nights, bad dreams and tears. There's no wonder I'm knackered all the time! But I don't want to finish this post leaving you thinking its been all bad, because it hasn't. Amongst the tears and bad dreams, there has surprisingly been a lot of laughter too. I've reconnected with old friends and made some brilliant new ones through the Younger Breast Cancer Network. In fact, I'm spending tomorrow night with some of them and I can't think of a more fitting end to this year. I know we'll all be putting a massive two fingers up to the back of 2014!

Last chemo.....?

I had my last chemotherapy treatment on Tuesday last week (hopefully). I will go in to the hopefully bit shortly...

So many people have said to me 'Oh you must be so happy to have it out of the way'. Maybe I should be. I feel like I should be. But happy isn't how I've felt since Tuesday. I burst in to tears in the middle of town, cried all the way home, screamed and smashed some plates. Smashing plates is quite satisfying until you realise that you actually have nothing to eat off of and need to bugger about replacing them the next day. Since then, I've felt like a bloated, fat toad with horrid indigestion and heartburn and a massive round steroid face. I seem to have ballooned in weight over the last week or so and feel so puffy and uncomfortable I barely recognise myself in the mirror. I can cope with feeling ill, but looking ill and feeling fat, unfit and lethargic I really do no deal with very well.

I'm not sure Tuesday started out too well to be honest. I had to be at the hospital for 9.00am for an appointment for a scans on my bad and good boob, after finding an 'area of irregularity' in it. The letter sent to me was reminiscent of my first diagnosis and almost triggered some sort of flashback, so you can imagine my nerves were considerably on edge by the time I got to the hospital.

After an ultrasound and titty squash, good news was that the good boob was fine. Not so good news was that the tumour in my bad boob hadn't shrunk since October. After meeting with the surgeon once the scans were in, he told me that it is entirely possible that when the tumour is taken out, all they will find is dead tissue. Apparently, when cancer cells start to die, they form necrosis, or scar tissue and that's all that may be left of the bastard. However, there is no way of knowing until it's actually removed. The scans only show a mass and don't differentiate between alive or dead cells. Psychologically it's a bit of a blow - after months of feeling like absolute crap you expect to have some sort of result - indeed there still could be but once again I'm thrown in the pit of uncertainty.

After discussing the results with my oncologist, he told me that in the unlikely event of them removing the tumour and it not having responded as well as they would have liked, there may be the chance of more chemotherapy. Different drugs this time as no point giving stuff that hasn't worked already. Essentially, the chemo is to try and zap any random cancer cells that may have escaped to other areas of the body, such as the bone marrow or liver. Surgery can deal with what is in the breast - the chemo tries to destroy any floaters before they can settle and set up home.

Not the best news, but in one way a bit reassuring that they won't just cast me afloat and there is more they can do. Again, it just adds to the total uncertainty, which gradually I'm learning to deal with. I've accepted I'm never going to know when this whole process will be 'over'. It is impossible to give timescales. I don't know when I will be back at work properly or when I can have a holiday. No - I don't know when I will be 'cured'. I'll never know whether if I go in to remission, whether or not it will come back. I'll never be entirely done with treatment. I'm not sure when I will get some semblance of my former life back, if ever. But enough  - I've purged now. I feel slightly better. Maybe. I just need to avoid mirrors for the moment!

Hair is another update...

As I've started these beauties again in anticipation of my last chemo tomorrow (please, please let my bloods be ok!) sleep is unlikely to be forthcoming tonight. So I've decided to do a bit of a hair update for those who may be interested! So far I've had three FEC and two Docetaxel. So here is the hair situation as of this evening. Be prepared for various photos of my body parts readers. Sadly (or luckily, possibly) no rude ones though.

Here is the top of my head:

Fake tan ahoy!

Here is the side of my head:

And here is the back of my head:

 

Yes, it is quite hard to take a photo of the back of your own head I have discovered!

And here is the top of my head about a month ago compared with the top of my head now:

'Scuse the flat bit at the back! I think I may have been dropped on my head as a child. It would explain a lot.

Here is my left eye and eyebrow:

 Here is my right eye and eyebrow:

  
Look at the darkness round my eyes!! I look like I've been punched. And I have really. By chemo.

Here is my right eye about a month ago compared to my right eye now:

 Meh. 

By the way - I'm not jaundiced right now. I put some fake tan on a little while ago and just waiting until I can wash the guide colour off....

Here is my leg:

Smooth! I have no stubble! The last time I shaved my legs was a week on Saturday.

So, this completes the gallery of hairless (or hairy) body parts. In a nutshell, my head hair is growing but my eyelashes and eyebrows have fallen out since I started Tax, and my leg hair is now none existent. I won't go in to detail about other areas, but lets just say I'm not reaching for the Ladyshave just yet!!

Run, cancer, run!

This is just a quick post about running. Or lack of it.

One of the hardest things I am having to get used to at the moment is not being physically as strong as I was before I started chemotherapy. Nowhere near. I've gone from half marathon runner to being unable to run half a mile without having to stop to catch my breath.

I managed to keep up the running whilst on FEC to a degree - still not as fast or as far as before but stil managing around four and half miles (wihtout stopping hurrah!). I made a couple of appearances at my running club and even ran a 5k race four days after my second chemotherapy treatment.

But Docetaxel is something else. It has zapped any energy from my body. The side effects I had from my first treatment rendered me bedridden for over a week and unable to walk properly, never mind run. This time round I have nowhere near that amount of pain so I braved a couple of runs this week. I did two and half miles on Thurday and two miles today.  As I said, I have to stop to take a breather after half a mile, my legs are like lead, my lungs feel like they are full of cotton wool and my heart doth protest a tad too much.

However, I am going to keep trying. I will force myself to get out of the house and go for that run even if I feel ike all I want to do is stay under the bed covers and sleep until new year. Because cancer has taken so much from me already and I refuse to let it take anymore without a fight. So - jog on cancer!!

'Roid rage and other stuff

**Ranty post alert**

I had my fifth chemotherapy treatment on Tuesday  - my second Docetaxel. So far, physically I'm not too bad - not as bad as last time anyway. My legs and back ache and I have manky tax mouth again but this time I have to say that so far the worst side effects are the mental and emotional ones. Maybe its a build up of everything so far or perhaps due to the fact that I ave been given eight days worth of steroids instead of the usual three this time to try and stave off horrid side effects but at the moment I feel like this:

Everything is pissing me off. I'm irritable at the slightest thing. I almost attacked a woman who was giving me dirty looks in Primark whilst I was stood in the queue having a bit of a moan. I wanted to scream at her 'I've just spent the best part of the day sat in hospital having toxic chemicals pumped in to my body to try and kill a cancer I shouldn't have after spending the night having little sleep due to steroid intake. Oh and tomorrow I have to go and have my blood tested to see if if I'm a genetic mutant and need to have my tits cut off! So shove your dirty looks up your backside!'

I didn't, however. But I very much felt like it.

I have people asking how I am quite often and most of the time I'm not really sure I tell the truth. I think people want to hear that you're OK, being positive, fighting the good fight etc. and believe me most of the time I am trying. But right now, if you were to ask me how I am I would tell you that I'm tired, irritable, fed up, exhausted and want to lie down on the floor and scream and cry my eyes out. I'm tired of having to take so many tablets a day I have to write down what I've taken otherwise I'll forget. I sick of not being me anymore. I can't get used to not being able to do the things I used to. I've tried to do some work to keep my mind occupied but it's like thinking through custard. I can't remember conversations I've had with people and I find it incredibly difficult to concentrate for more than five minutes. I'm fed up of feeling useless and unable to contribute anything of any value to anyone else around me. I'm tired of feeling guilty about everything. About being ill, a burden, not being able to do what I feel is expected of me. I feel exhausted when I think about how much more of this I have to go. Yes, I only have one chemotherapy yet but then I have surgery - possibly several lots of it - radiotherapy, hormone treatment, uncertainty... To be honest I just want to go back to bed and not get up until its all over.

Anyway, I just needed to get that off my (soon to be chopped up) chest. So I'll sign off by saying - ARRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!

Hair today....

This is another post about hair loss - prompted by the fact my eyelashes have started to join my eyebrows at whatever holiday destination they've toddled off too. Yes, my eyelashes have booked it, packed it and f*cked off. My lovely long eyelashes have started to fall out, leaving behind short stubby things that no amount of mascara can enhance. I'm also going to illustrate this post with some photos of the hair loss, so readers as I'm sure you'll be glad to hear, there will be little less of me prattling on and more pretty (ahem) pictures instead.

I've also chosen this post to 'come out' with my baldness. Yes - I am going to post the first photo of me sans hair that I have posted outside of breast cancer forums. This is quite a big thing for me - I never go out without wearing a wig and only very privileged people (or not as the case may be) have seen me in the flesh in all my bald head glory. However, I wanted to go public with my baldness in solidarity with other chemo girls so here it goes:

 

And here is me without the make up:

 Ah the magic of the war paint eh??

I'm now three FEC chemo sessions and one Docetaxel session down. My head hair started falling out just before my second FEC, my eyebrows became very sparse about three weeks or so ago and now my eyelashes have started to do a runner. Oh, and the inside of my nose is also now hair free. Cue perpetual sniffing and carrying tissues around with me like an old woman  - although, may I add - I do not keep these up my sleeve. Not yet anyway....

Another example of the sorcery that is makeup is how well it can hide very patchy and sparse eyebrows:

This eyebrow is brought to you courtesy of Benefit Browzings. It's an eyebrow kit made up of a gel and powder and comes in three different colours. Many of the chemo girls I know find this product incredibly useful once the toxic drugs start to rob them of their eyebrows. It's also good for non-chemo girls (and boys) too I would imagine.

One situation that the warpaint is not so magic in, as I mentioned before, is enhancing the spindly spiders legs that are currently masquerading as my eyelashes. Evidence below:

Oh dear. Up close the top photo doesn't look too bad I agree. However, when you see the full picture e.g. the rest of my face, the eyelash population is quite pathetic. You can see a few of the stranglers from my former eyelash glory that are hanging on quite heroically, determined not to succumb to the chemotherapy toxins.

However, because even the world's greatest mascara can't disguise these stumpy beauties, I have invested in multiple packets of these:

Luckily Boots currently have a three for two on, so I get to stock up on eyelashes and Advantage points. Every cloud and all that.

I'm also currently creating my breast cancer birthday and chemo Christmas list. I've had a few recommendation of serums that can help to stimulate eyelash growth and hopefully bring my eyes back to their former hairiness. These include RapidLash Eyelash Enhancing Serum and Lipocils Eyelash Serum. I've also heard that Fast shampoo and conditioner may also be good for helping me look less like a potato and more like a peach. So Santa baby, if you're reading this - I've been very, very good this year (well, kind of...).

Scalpel please

I’ve managed to drag myself out of the docetaxel induced illness stupor I’ve been in for the last week to write about my visit to see my surgeon last Friday. I’ve been feeling quite useless this week having done nothing of any value apart from sleep and have the occasional hot bath so I’m hoping writing this post will at least go part way to rectifying that. Feeling useless seems to be par for the course for me at the moment, but that’s another blog post….

Anyway, last Friday I went to meet my surgeon to discuss plans for the new year. Not which festivity we’ll be at to see it in sadly, but rather which bits of my body he was looking to remove in January. The first time I met him was when I was coming round from a general anesthetic, looking like a smurf after being injected with blue dye and having five lymph nodes removed. As usual, I was the youngest in the waiting room at the breast clinic by at least 20 years. Cue stares of confusion and puzzlement, particularly when I am called in to the consultation room rather than my elderly relative walk out of it.

The reason that I have been given chemotherapy first is to try and shrink the tumour down so that it can be removed with a lumpectomy rather than a mastectomy. As I am not exactly blessed in the boob department, removing the lump without shrinking it would have left me with what could probably be described as a mangled tit. However, after lots of reading and researching, I have begun to think that a lumpectomy is not for me – rather I would just get rid of both of the buggers to try and give myself the best possible chance of not having another primary breast cancer.  ‘But that’s such a big decision and so traumatic!’ I hear you cry. Yes it is – but do you know what is more traumatic? Having breast cancer. Believe me, I know. A double mastectomy doesn’t remove the risk entirely but it certainly reduces it.

However, this isn’t an operation that NHS doctors tend to do simply on request. As my GP put it, doctors are trained to make people better – to remove bad tissue and leave the good stuff. To remove healthy tissue with no obvious reason goes against the conventional doctor’s way of thinking.

I went to see the surgeon, struggling with the unpleasant beginnings of tax side effects, almost prepared for a bit of a fight. I wanted to ask for a referral for genetic testing purely based on my age. I have no strong family history of breast cancer – my paternal grandmother possibly had it in her 80s however certainly didn’t’ die from it. My tumour also doesn't have the characteristics that can indicate a BRCA 1 gene fault – triple negative and very fast growing (grade 3). However, the simple fact is that I am 32 and I have breast cancer. That in itself is very unusual and for my own piece of mind I need to know whether it is due to a gene fault. Then I can take whatever steps are needed to reduce any further risk of another primary breast cancer or other related cancers.

However, surprisingly the surgeon agreed with everything I said and confirmed he would put me on a quick referral to genetics as the result of the testing would determine the type of surgery I have in early January. For the first time, I felt like someone in the medical profession was treating me as a younger woman with breast cancer, rather than a woman with breast cancer. If that makes any sense at all. He also told me that in dimension terms, my tumour had shrunk by almost half and that a lot of what I could feel now was probably scar tissue, formed when cancer cells die. Pow - take that you bastards!!

So to the surgery and which bits of me will be no more come January. Basically, if genetic testing shows I do have a gene fault it’ll be a double mastectomy, one at a time. I’ll have the bad one off first, with delayed reconstruction as I’ll need to have radiotherapy. Then when they come to reconstruct the bad side, they’ll also take the good one off and reconstruct that one immediately. It does mean I’ll be a one- titted wonder for six to twelve months but I can cope with that. I’m not exactly Katie Price in the boob stakes – it’s nothing that a good prosthesis and a bit of padding won’t fix. Getting naked in front of a new fella (wishful thinking here) might be a bit weird but to be honest, if one temporarily absent boob puts him off he’s not the one for me. Amright, ladies??

Anyway, if there isn’t a gene fault, but the genetics team say I am at increased risk of another primary breast cancer due to my age, the same surgery can still be done, it’s just that ‘there are a few more hoops to jump through’ as my surgeon put it. One of these being me seeing a psychologist to ensure that my fears about having breast cancer again are likely to be reduced by having a double mastectomy. No point whacking them both off if I’m still going to be panicking about it is there? However, I don’t think anything ever ensures that the fear leaves you entirely. As one woman who is now three years from her diagnosis said to me – it never goes away; it just gets easier to deal with.

I’ll also need a level two node clearance , as my sentinel node biopsy showed one node out of five removed involved. A level two clearance basically means taking all the nodes out from under your arm up to your chest. To be honest, this scares me more than the removal of my actual boob.

So basically, the outcome of my genetics referral will ultimately determine the surgery that I have. As regards the type of reconstruction, this is totally way over my head so I’m being referred to discuss this with the plastic surgeons. However, if I lose my nipples. I have decided I want roses tattooed on instead or maybe hearts. Or even the Chuckle Brothers.

I still may be able to have a lumpectomy, but if not, do I feel sad about the potential loss of my boobs? To a degree, yes. I’ll lose a part of me and probably end up with a pair of foobs with no feeling in them that someone could set fire to and I wouldn’t notice. My boobs used to be one of my favourite parts of my body – until one of them tried to kill me that is. So you could say my relationship with them is not the best right now. We’ve fallen out big time. It’ll take me a while to forgive them  - well, one of them anyway. So I won’t be too sad to see them go. But if I do have to say bye bye to my boobs or tara to my tits, I’m going to give them a good send off - a party with bubbly, cake and balloons. And guess what the theme will be.....?

Incredibly Taxing

I'm writing this post sat in bed, which is where I've been for the majority of the last three days. The docetaxel, along with the G-CSF injections I am giving myself to stimulate my white blood cell production have floored me. I don't normally write moany posts, however this one is. So there. I think I'm allowed it. I want to share exactly how bad I've been feeling with the world. I'm ill and feeling sorry for myself and I want everyone to know about it.


Those of you who know me will know that I've coped quite well with chemotherapy so far. The worst of the side effects for me have been feeling quite tired and a little bit 'poisoned'. So the side effects I've experienced from tax so far are a whole new world for me.


After having my first tax on Tuesday I felt fine - better than I normally do after FEC. Then on Wednesday I had the worst stomach pains - think sweating, writhing and moaning - which eventually went off but left me with a tender tum which has steadily got worse. I feel like my insides must be tied in knots. I want to reach in to my abdomen and massage my intestines. Every time I eat or drink anything my stomach protests with placards and a march and leaves me doubled over in pain.


To go with the sore stomach are the bone and muscle pains. A combination of side effects from both the tax and the GCSF injections. Tax is known to cause this type of pain and because the injections are causing my bone marrow to produce more white blood cells it's a double whammy. I feel like I've been in one of these:

Everything hurts. My back, my thighs, my arms, my ribs, hips, shins, neck - even my jaw. My eyeballs hurt. Constant aching and intermittent stabbing pain. The last few days has consisted of me mostly lying horizontal and counting the minutes until I can take more very strong painkillers. I can't stand up straight. Occasionally I've moved to the bathroom to lie in a hot bath, which provides a little temporary relief.


There's also the icky mouth and sore throat. My mouth has that feeling like when you've had that first mouthful of a too hot cup of tea - sore, sensitive and burnt. And a constant horrid taste that when combined with awful stomach pains makes eating really not fun at all.


As someone who has remained quite active during treatment so far, this is all hitting me quite hard. I hate feeling like an invalid. Its like a massive reminder of how ill I am and how huge this all is. I'll admit I've cried - both with the pain and out of total frustration. I'm 32 years old and currently bedridden. I'm fed up and I feel like shit. I'm pissed off too. I'm feeling incredibly irrational and angry at the world. Angry at people who think having breast cancer is 'not the end of the world these days' - that its pink and fluffy and not as serious as other cancers. I'd like to invite them to feel like I have for the last few days and then tell me it's 'not that big a deal'. Pissed off with people just going about their cancer free lives whilst I'm feeling so utterly shite (yes, I said I was irrational). I'm angry at my body for letting me down in the most monumental way. But I have to keep reminding myself that this is temporary, a means to an end, for the greater good blah blah blah.....


So there we have it - treatment for breast cancer. It's definitely big and definately clever. But one thing it isn't is pleasant. Not in the slightest.

A little bit Taxing

Last Tuesday I was due to have the first session of new chemo drugs - namely Docetaxel - or Tax as it's affectionately known. However, my blood test (I am sooo over needles right now) showed that my neutrophils were too low to have chemotherapy that week.

Neutrophils are a type of white blood cell and basically the levels in my blood hadn't recovered from the last cocktail of toxic drugs that had been blasted in to my body. If I had chemotherapy when the levels were so low and my body hasn't recovered, it could leave me extremely ill. So my chemotherapy sessions have all been put back by a week to give my body chance to recover from last time. No chemo last Tuesday. I never thought I'd be upset about not having another toxic cocktail pumped in to my veins but I was. Very. Not only does it mean that any plans I've made are all out of whack now - I have to plan any social and work activities around when I'm likely to feel ok and not be at risk of infection - it felt like a massive set back. Even though in the grand scheme of things, a weeks delay to one chemo session hardly seems like a big deal, it felt like one. My mood had been slipping since around the previous Thursday and I found Tuesday's set back incredibly difficult to deal with. I responded to the impending darkness by writing a blog post about the emotional effects of chemotherapy and cancer - something that is quite often skirted over and misunderstood. However, I'll save this one for another time - be warned - its not very cheerful reading..

Anyway, after a week of frenzied juicing of all things nutritious to try and get my white blood cell level back up, I went back to the hospital today with the hope of being able to be pumped full of toxic drugs. And yes hurrah - bloods all fine - give me those chemicals!! This time round I'd had to start an increased dose of steroids yesterday, continuing for three days. The main function of which is to try and avert any allergic reaction to the Tax. However, an undesirable affect of the steroids was total lack of sleep last night, resulting in a very tired me today.

I didn't have to see the oncologist this morning as I saw him last week - however I was disappointed about this when I realised it was the cute registrar on duty who reminds me a bit of Moss from the IT Crowd. Damn it.

As a result of not having to see the onc this morning, we were welcomed on to the chemo ward earlier than usual. I had the lovely Relentlessly Cheerful Chemo Nurse today as well, who has taken to calling me Bec (I love this woman.)

The oncologist last week gave the go ahead for my other arm to be used to administer the chemotherapy in to this week, to give my poor sore, collapsed veins in my other hand a rest. One of them has packed it's bags and is hiding nervously from impending cannulas as far under my skin as it can get.

Relentlessly Cheerful Chemo Nurse sat with me for ten minutes at the beginning of the administration of the Tax just in case my body decided to reject it and my tongue swelled up. Or something. Anyway all was fine and mercifully it only took an hour for the bag of loveliness (or not) to work its way in to my veins. A refreshing change from FEC, which took more than two hours and left me with pink wee.

One Tax down - two more to go!

So far Tax has left me feeling a little less poisoned than FEC normally does the evening of the dose. However, apparently with Tax, side effects can kick in 3-4 days after administration. These can include muscle and bone pain, more hair loss, sore nails and an icky mouth. I'll look forward to that then..

Because my white blood cell levels were so low last time, I'm now going to be given a round of granulocyte colony stimulating factor (or GCSF) injections during each cycle. These will basically simulate my bone marrow to produce more white blood cells, bringing with them more possible bone pain. Delightful. And the best part is that I have to administer these to myself - injecting them in to my stomach. Yes - this will be my breakfast for the next seven days.

But all is not lost - I get a sexy little travel bag including a little sharps bin and thermometer to go with them!

Right, enough of the Taxing talk for today. I'm now off to do some more steroid induced frantic house cleaning or juicing...or something. Anything other than sleep most likely!