I'm fed up of being in pain.
I'm sick of hot flushes and being menopausal at 33 years old.
I'm tired of having a deformed body and hating my reflection in the mirror.
I'm sick of cancer taking my friends.
I've had enough of side effects.
I'm tired of aches and pains.
I'm sick of anxiety and worry.
I'm fed up of my friends getting bad news after bad news.
I'm tired of men treating me like a leper.
I'm sick of feeling unloveable.
I'm fed up of feeling fat and ugly.
I'm sick of being told ' well does that really matter in the grand scheme of things?'
I'm tired of brain fog and memory issues.
I'm tired of being tired.
I've had enough of feeling lonely.
I'm sick of people's assumptions that 'it's all over now'.
I'm tired of being brave.
I've had enough of being a shadow of the person I used to be.
Showing posts with label side effects. Show all posts
Showing posts with label side effects. Show all posts
Wednesday, 11 November 2015
Wednesday, 22 July 2015
Well, it's been a year....
Well, I've made it. It's been exactly one year since I sat in front of the consultant and she pointed to the mammogram on her screen and said 'this bit here - this is what they think is cancer.' I can remember my response quite clearly:
'Fuck'.
When I went to the hospital that morning I honestly did not believe that I would receive a cancer diagnosis. That's something that happens to other people, right? I trotted in to the breast clinic relatively carefree. Well, with the words of two GPs who I had seen previously echoing in my head - 'your age and lack of family history mean it's nothing to worry about'. I learnt the hard way that sadly this really is not the case.
The 22nd of July 2014 was when I was given my 'unofficial' cancer diagnosis. That is - it was very plain to see (at the least to the radiographers and consultant) that my boob was trying to kill me, but a biopsy was taken just to make sure. I left the clinic and the hospital that day with my life irreversibly altered forever. I left behind a piece of myself that day, which I have had to rebuild over the past year. My mother bundled me out of the hospital, back to my flat and then to her house. I regressed back to childhood over the next couple of days - all I wanted to do was cling to my mum and beg her to make it all go away.
I told very few people about my diagnosis before the official biopsy results were given two days later on the 24th of July. I think a very small part of me still held on to the hope that they were wrong, that the mass on the scan was just something simple and benign. Telling other people would have made it too real, too final. All my hope was dashed on my return to hospital on the 24th, when I was told that yes I did indeed have an invasive tumour in my right breast. This year on the 24th of July I intend to be on a train to Brighton to spend the weekend with some of my closest friends courtesy of the Willow Foundation - preferably half pissed.
The 24th of July 2014 saw the beginning of the complete whirlwind that is a cancer diagnosis and treatment. Since that day there has been:
3 biopsies
4 mammograms
4 ultrasounds
16 blood tests
2 radioactive injections
2 general anesthetics
2 lots of surgery
5 nights in hospital
2 head shaves
Multiple wig fittings
1 bone scan
6 toxic infusions
12 oncologist appointments
7 surgeon appointments
1 genetic testing appointment
3 late night visits to A and E
11 cannulas
8 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 self-injections
A truck load of other meds
1 flu jab
Several sore and collapsed veins
3 physio appointments
4 Zoladex injections
15 radiotherapy sessions
(Not an exhaustive list!)
There has been sleepless nights, bad dreams and tears. I've cried, I've sobbed, I've been utterly terrified. I've felt angry, frustrated and incredibly lonely. I've mourned the end of my life as I knew it. I've lost my hair, my eyebrows, my eyelashes and my identity. I've gained over a stone in weight. I've said goodbye to two close friends whose support and love helped me through the last year and who I still miss terribly.
But I've also laughed more than I thought possible. There has been times when I have surprisingly felt happier than I have for years. I have felt loved and cared for. I have met some amazing people and made some of my closest friends. I have reevaluated my life and learnt more about my own strength and character and what I am actually capable of than I ever have before.
So I've done it. I've reached the one year mark. I've joined that statistic of the 96% of women who survive one year after their diagnosis.
So how do I feel?
Physically and mentally, I get tired very easily. I have learnt that my ability to nap is unparallelled. The medication I take to try and prevent the cancer returning brings with it tough menopausal side effects including hot flushes, weight gain and insomnia. I still suffer with total mind fuzz, otherwise known as chemo brain, which again isn't helped by my medication. I get frustrated because I find it difficult to find the right words to describe something or I lose my train of thought half way through a sentence. I quite often feel like I am thinking through custard. I have to write everything down otherwise I will forget important details and dates. I keep three diaries - not because I have the social life of the Duchess of Cambridge, but because without noting down every meeting and arrangement as soon as I make it I will inevitably forget it. I also find it very difficult to concentrate and have a terrible habit of zoning out during meetings or conversations. I have the concentration span of a flea on speed.....
Of course, my body doesn't look like it once did. It is fatter and softer with the addition of several scars and one fake body part. My risk reducing mastectomy has been agreed, which means at least two additional surgeries, the first probably being at the beginning of next year.
Emotionally, it's very difficult to describe the maelstrom of feelings I am experiencing right now. I feel cheated and angry that this happened to me, but lucky I have made it this far. I feel guilty that I am here and that other beautiful, vibrant young women have been taken from their families and friends far too early. I feel blessed to have met some incredible people over the last year, and devastated to have lost some of them too. I feel grateful to have been given another chance, but confused as to how to use it to make a difference.
I look back at the events of the last year and it seems difficult to believe that it actually happened to me. But I also I feel completely overwhelmed with the reality of the situation. If let myself dwell on it for too long, it almost feels just too hard to face. For all the scares and scans that turn out fine, there is the chance that one day, it might not. There is the very real possibility that I could fall in to the statistic of those women who don't make it to their 5th or their 10th year. And there is no way of knowing whether this is going to be the case. It's the complete uncertainty that I find incredibly hard to deal with. Walking around feeling like you have a ticking time bomb inside of you that may implode any minute does not for a peaceful mind make. It is, quite frankly, utterly terrifying. Yes, none of us know how long we've got. But when you have started your own mortality directly in the face this takes on a whole new meaning.
But I can't let the fear control me. I have to take control of it. I have to grab it by the neck and shove it back to the back of my mind where it belongs. I need to honour those women who have been taken by this disease by seizing my second chance and making the most of it whilst I am able to. By enjoying life and squeezing out every last drop. A day spent worrying about your future, is a day you have lost from your present. As my wonderful friend, the late, great JoJo Gingerhead said:
'Fuck'.
When I went to the hospital that morning I honestly did not believe that I would receive a cancer diagnosis. That's something that happens to other people, right? I trotted in to the breast clinic relatively carefree. Well, with the words of two GPs who I had seen previously echoing in my head - 'your age and lack of family history mean it's nothing to worry about'. I learnt the hard way that sadly this really is not the case.
The 22nd of July 2014 was when I was given my 'unofficial' cancer diagnosis. That is - it was very plain to see (at the least to the radiographers and consultant) that my boob was trying to kill me, but a biopsy was taken just to make sure. I left the clinic and the hospital that day with my life irreversibly altered forever. I left behind a piece of myself that day, which I have had to rebuild over the past year. My mother bundled me out of the hospital, back to my flat and then to her house. I regressed back to childhood over the next couple of days - all I wanted to do was cling to my mum and beg her to make it all go away.
I told very few people about my diagnosis before the official biopsy results were given two days later on the 24th of July. I think a very small part of me still held on to the hope that they were wrong, that the mass on the scan was just something simple and benign. Telling other people would have made it too real, too final. All my hope was dashed on my return to hospital on the 24th, when I was told that yes I did indeed have an invasive tumour in my right breast. This year on the 24th of July I intend to be on a train to Brighton to spend the weekend with some of my closest friends courtesy of the Willow Foundation - preferably half pissed.
The 24th of July 2014 saw the beginning of the complete whirlwind that is a cancer diagnosis and treatment. Since that day there has been:
3 biopsies
4 mammograms
4 ultrasounds
16 blood tests
2 radioactive injections
2 general anesthetics
2 lots of surgery
5 nights in hospital
2 head shaves
Multiple wig fittings
1 bone scan
6 toxic infusions
12 oncologist appointments
7 surgeon appointments
1 genetic testing appointment
3 late night visits to A and E
11 cannulas
8 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 self-injections
A truck load of other meds
1 flu jab
Several sore and collapsed veins
3 physio appointments
4 Zoladex injections
15 radiotherapy sessions
(Not an exhaustive list!)
There has been sleepless nights, bad dreams and tears. I've cried, I've sobbed, I've been utterly terrified. I've felt angry, frustrated and incredibly lonely. I've mourned the end of my life as I knew it. I've lost my hair, my eyebrows, my eyelashes and my identity. I've gained over a stone in weight. I've said goodbye to two close friends whose support and love helped me through the last year and who I still miss terribly.
But I've also laughed more than I thought possible. There has been times when I have surprisingly felt happier than I have for years. I have felt loved and cared for. I have met some amazing people and made some of my closest friends. I have reevaluated my life and learnt more about my own strength and character and what I am actually capable of than I ever have before.
So I've done it. I've reached the one year mark. I've joined that statistic of the 96% of women who survive one year after their diagnosis.
So how do I feel?
Physically and mentally, I get tired very easily. I have learnt that my ability to nap is unparallelled. The medication I take to try and prevent the cancer returning brings with it tough menopausal side effects including hot flushes, weight gain and insomnia. I still suffer with total mind fuzz, otherwise known as chemo brain, which again isn't helped by my medication. I get frustrated because I find it difficult to find the right words to describe something or I lose my train of thought half way through a sentence. I quite often feel like I am thinking through custard. I have to write everything down otherwise I will forget important details and dates. I keep three diaries - not because I have the social life of the Duchess of Cambridge, but because without noting down every meeting and arrangement as soon as I make it I will inevitably forget it. I also find it very difficult to concentrate and have a terrible habit of zoning out during meetings or conversations. I have the concentration span of a flea on speed.....
Of course, my body doesn't look like it once did. It is fatter and softer with the addition of several scars and one fake body part. My risk reducing mastectomy has been agreed, which means at least two additional surgeries, the first probably being at the beginning of next year.
Emotionally, it's very difficult to describe the maelstrom of feelings I am experiencing right now. I feel cheated and angry that this happened to me, but lucky I have made it this far. I feel guilty that I am here and that other beautiful, vibrant young women have been taken from their families and friends far too early. I feel blessed to have met some incredible people over the last year, and devastated to have lost some of them too. I feel grateful to have been given another chance, but confused as to how to use it to make a difference.
I look back at the events of the last year and it seems difficult to believe that it actually happened to me. But I also I feel completely overwhelmed with the reality of the situation. If let myself dwell on it for too long, it almost feels just too hard to face. For all the scares and scans that turn out fine, there is the chance that one day, it might not. There is the very real possibility that I could fall in to the statistic of those women who don't make it to their 5th or their 10th year. And there is no way of knowing whether this is going to be the case. It's the complete uncertainty that I find incredibly hard to deal with. Walking around feeling like you have a ticking time bomb inside of you that may implode any minute does not for a peaceful mind make. It is, quite frankly, utterly terrifying. Yes, none of us know how long we've got. But when you have started your own mortality directly in the face this takes on a whole new meaning.
But I can't let the fear control me. I have to take control of it. I have to grab it by the neck and shove it back to the back of my mind where it belongs. I need to honour those women who have been taken by this disease by seizing my second chance and making the most of it whilst I am able to. By enjoying life and squeezing out every last drop. A day spent worrying about your future, is a day you have lost from your present. As my wonderful friend, the late, great JoJo Gingerhead said:
Concentrate on the present
Don’t dwell on the past
Don’t worry about the future
Live for the now
Live for the now
Wednesday, 28 January 2015
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....
Tuesday, 6 January 2015
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!
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!
Tuesday, 30 December 2014
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!
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!
Sunday, 21 December 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!
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!
Tuesday, 16 December 2014
It's Not Fair (a poem)
Inspired by yesterday's hair post:
It's Not Fair
It's not fair
I have no hair
My head is fluffy
And in places tufty
Chemo has robbed me
Of my eyelash glory
My eyebrows are sparse
The drugs are an arse
There is no leg stubble
And no shaving trouble
I have very smooth pits
But such lethal tits
Cancer is shit
And I hate it
It's not fair
I have no hair
The End
Monday, 15 December 2014
Hair is another update...
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Here is the top of my head:
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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:
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'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:
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:
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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!!
Monday, 1 December 2014
It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to
So it's my birthday today. I'm 33 years old. Unfortunately chemotherapy
side effects have lulled me in to a false sense of security and have
chosen today to strike so I think my celebratory tipple is likely to be a
shot of this bad boy:
This time last year i was sat under the stars in the hot tub of a luxury cabin somewhere in a North Yorkshire forest drinking champagne. If you'd have told me that this year I'd be knackered, bald, ill and in pain due to chemotherapy after being diagnosed with cancer five months ago, I'd have probably laughed in your face.
But unfortunately, it's not me doing the laughing. Life sidled up to me, stuck it's ugly face in mine and emitted one hell of a high pitched cackle. I have learnt the hard way that life can change in a moment - an incident, a few choice words, a medical appointment . The rug can be pulled from under you and your world spun on it's axis and you'd give anything you possibly could to claw it back to the way it was before.
I used to dread my birthday - about going grey, that extra year. No more. I now know that growing old is a privilege that is sadly not afforded to all of us.
My future itself is uncertain - I don't know how many more birthdays I'm going to get. But there is one thing i do know - I want to have as many more as possible and I will welcome each and every one with open arms from now on.
This time last year i was sat under the stars in the hot tub of a luxury cabin somewhere in a North Yorkshire forest drinking champagne. If you'd have told me that this year I'd be knackered, bald, ill and in pain due to chemotherapy after being diagnosed with cancer five months ago, I'd have probably laughed in your face.
But unfortunately, it's not me doing the laughing. Life sidled up to me, stuck it's ugly face in mine and emitted one hell of a high pitched cackle. I have learnt the hard way that life can change in a moment - an incident, a few choice words, a medical appointment . The rug can be pulled from under you and your world spun on it's axis and you'd give anything you possibly could to claw it back to the way it was before.
I used to dread my birthday - about going grey, that extra year. No more. I now know that growing old is a privilege that is sadly not afforded to all of us.
My future itself is uncertain - I don't know how many more birthdays I'm going to get. But there is one thing i do know - I want to have as many more as possible and I will welcome each and every one with open arms from now on.
Sunday, 30 November 2014
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!!
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!!
Friday, 28 November 2014
'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!!
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!!
Sunday, 9 November 2014
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.
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.
Friday, 10 October 2014
FEC off!
I'm back! I apologise for the radio silence but I've had a bit of a pants few weeks what with being sent for more tests and having to wait for the results. So much so I've been almost unable to think about much else let alone write. But thankfully the results came back ok - I have to say I have never felt relief like it. Funny the things you get happy about after a cancer diagnosis! However, as always in the back of mind I know that this will not be the last time I ever have to deal with something like this again (far from it) so I need to find ways of managing the Canxiety. Maybe it'll get easier as time goes on who knows? Ugh.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'm halfway through my chemo sessions all being well. Yey! No more FEC!
This photo was taken at the beginning of my last chemo on Tuesday. I think in all honesty I've had a pretty easy ride with FEC which makes me nervous about the next lot - the Docetaxel (or Taxotere). With FEC, my side effects have been mainly a bit of a floaty head at times, feeling tired and having a bit of a sore mouth on occasion which has easily been sorted with Difflam. I've still managed to run - one week I did 16 miles - and I went in to the office last week a couple of times. No sickness and only a very short period of nausea after the first one. Oh yeah - and my hair has fallen out but nothing they can give you for that unfortunately! I have some pretty awesome wigs though :-). I've more or less been functioning pretty normally although the tiredness seems to have hit quite badly this time. I look and feel bloody knackered. Oh and my veins are screaming. The photo above was taken when the epirubicin was being administrated. You can see it snaking its way down the tube in to my arm. It's nasty shit that stuff. I guess it needs to be though. I call it the red devil. Its done this to my veins:
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'm halfway through my chemo sessions all being well. Yey! No more FEC!
This photo was taken at the beginning of my last chemo on Tuesday. I think in all honesty I've had a pretty easy ride with FEC which makes me nervous about the next lot - the Docetaxel (or Taxotere). With FEC, my side effects have been mainly a bit of a floaty head at times, feeling tired and having a bit of a sore mouth on occasion which has easily been sorted with Difflam. I've still managed to run - one week I did 16 miles - and I went in to the office last week a couple of times. No sickness and only a very short period of nausea after the first one. Oh yeah - and my hair has fallen out but nothing they can give you for that unfortunately! I have some pretty awesome wigs though :-). I've more or less been functioning pretty normally although the tiredness seems to have hit quite badly this time. I look and feel bloody knackered. Oh and my veins are screaming. The photo above was taken when the epirubicin was being administrated. You can see it snaking its way down the tube in to my arm. It's nasty shit that stuff. I guess it needs to be though. I call it the red devil. Its done this to my veins:
Meh. Lets hope it's annihilating my tumour as much as it is my poor sore veins!
Anyway - on to the Tax (as it's affectionately called) next time. I've heard it can be considerably more taxing than FEC ('scuse the pun). I'm worried my easy ride with FEC could be the calm before the storm. Side effects of Tax can include more tiredness, tingling in hands and feet, fluid retention, muscle and bone pain and yet more hair loss. I still have my eyebrows and eyelashes so far which I would really like to hang on to!
But you know what - chemo is shit there is no denying that and there are times when I get incredibly frustrated and upset that my body sometimes doesn't do what I want to anymore. But ultimately I am so glad that I am being equipped with this arsenal in my fight against this crappy cancer. So come on NHS, in the words of Britney - hit me baby one more time (or three more times at least ;-).
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