Grrr....

Right. This morning I’ve woken up in a right strop. This batch of chemo is, frankly, a right pain in the bum. In fact, it’s not far off being an actual pain in the bum – more a constant, jabbing, nagging ache in my lower back. It’s like someone took out the bottom few vertebrae, crushed them up into shards and tried (and failed) to put them back in exactly the right place. With little, sharp, jabby bits sticking out.

Ugh. I had such high hopes of this one – when I got back from jacking up on Wednesday I felt absolutely tip top. I had an afternoon in front of the TV, made dinner, wasn’t sick. I rather arrogantly thought I’d cracked it. On the Thursday I woke up feeling fine. Bit of lower backache, but fine. Friday, again, fine.

But no. “Mwah hah hah” think the drugs racing round my veins. “Let’s just make the next few days a bit of a pain. Nothing prohibitive – let’s just keep her on the edge of feeling OK”. Which is really annoying. I feel like if all was normal and I felt like this say, a year ago, I would’ve just manned up and necked some painkillers and got on with it. It’s not bad enough to really stop me from doing anything. But I know (and people keep reminding me), that I should take things easy and “listen to my body” and all that business. So I’m being good and laying low, but God it’s annoying. I don’t like laying low.

I’m not saying I want to be in loads of pain, or unable to get out of bed – that would be ridiculous, and I know that some people do get hit really badly by this, so I am being a bit of a girl about the whole thing. But it’s all just a bit “meh”.

So that started Saturday, continued Sunday, felt better yesterday. Brilliant! I’ll wake up on Tuesday feeling normal! No you won’t, you’ll wake up in a right strop feeling like you’re swallowing razor covered golf balls. Hah. I’ve also got terrible wind, but you probably don’t want to know that….

Chemo 4

Two thirds of the way through the chemo  - tick! (I love a nice neat fraction!). Much quicker now I don’t have the ice cap, and much, much more comfortable. And, to access the portacath I have to lie down, so I have the added bonus of basically spending the morning in bed.

First things first, yesterday was my first day of herceptin. In a nutshell, that boosts my antibodies so they gang up and attack any remaining cancer cells, so chances are I could feel a bit flu-ey. It was a long old day as I had to stay in for 6 hours after the drip started in case I had any adverse reactions. Luckily, all well and other than a bit of an achey leg in bed last night, I've not had any problems. It has just begun to dawn on me that the herceptin is an IV once every three weeks for a year though, so the closer I get to the end of the chemo, the more I’m realizing there is still quite the slog ahead. That said, with the reduced side effects hopefully it shouldn’t impact on life too much (heaven forbid the dinners and drinks should dry up...) and I should hopefully be able to get back to the grindstone proper once the radiotherapy is over in May.

Then today, with just one drug and no ice cap I was home with a cup of tea and Miss Marple on the telly by 2 o’clock. And the added bonus of my new personal wig stylist (Rachie – today’s chemo special guest), so between us we now know the wig can handle a plait, herringbone plait, variety of side ponies, some half up / half downs and all sorts of tied headscarf styles. Exciting!! (I appreciate this is not exactly boy territory…). And, let's be honest, it looks a darn sight better than Hitler / Terry Nutkins / some kid off Jackass with a skateboard. 

AND, the ultimate bonus… no sickness. Yet… Shares in ginger biscuits are due an imminent slump I’m afraid.

Getting wiggy with it

Turns out time flies when you’re having chemo – can’t believe it’s 3 weeks since last I wrote. Mainly my life’s turned into quite the social whirl and I’m a blur of dinners, lunches and accidental afternoons spent in the pub (might not mention that one to the docs…), with a few days at work thrown in for good measure. All very much fun and I’m darned if I’m going to sit at home being “ill”. I firmly believe that if I were to sit at home all day every day I’d quickly invent all sorts of symptoms (or at least dwell on every little twinge), and as long as I can avoid that, I jolly well will.

After the last chemo there was the sickness the night of, and the usual few days of feeling a bit weird, and then back to as normal as is possible. The main difference this month is that the wig is finally out of the box (and, thankfully, looks pretty normal. Other than it being a good foot longer than my normal hair, but y’know…). I was clinging on to an ever-decreasing ponytail until the end of last week when I realized I was sporting a trio of truly horrendous hairstyles – from the front a rather fetching Hitler-esque side parting, from the side I’m reminiscent of a 14 year old skater boy with an undercut and from above I look like the younger sister of 80s legend and famed otter wrangler Terry Nutkins. I had a week of headscarves, but the wig (which, let’s be honest, I was terrified of wearing) is actually much more comfortable – I just needed someone to tell me in no uncertain terms to put the bloody thing on. And for it’s first outing I took it to the opera (well, it WAS from Harrods…).

Seeing as 3 weeks have now passed, it means I’m back into hospital mode. This morning I had another electrocardiogram (my heart IS still beating, so that’s good, and it’s beating exactly as well as it did before the chemo started – even better), then tomorrow the Herceptin starts (another IV drug that I will have every 3 weeks for the next year). The main side effect of the Herceptin is that it could weaken my heart muscle (nice), but it shouldn’t make me sick or bring on the early menopause or make my nails fall out or make me fat or stop my hair from growing back or any of that chemo-associated business, so we’re back to those clouds and all of their silver linings.

Then, on Wednesday, chemo number 4 (4! Two thirds of the way through!). I now get to move on to the “T” section of my FEC-T treatment, so it’s a different drug. Which means less chance of sickness (hurray!), but common side effects are diarrhoea (mmmmm...) and “potentially quite dehabilitating” joint and muscle pain. I’ve heard that it could feel like I’ve spent three hours in the gym. I have NEVER spent 3 hours in the gym (I’ve rarely spent an hour in the gym), so heaven only knows what I have in store… 

Chemo 3

Three down and three to go!! Whoop whoop!! Half way!! (Not including the 6 months to a year of Herceptin, but the stuff that’ll make me bald and sick is nearly over!).

All in all a lovely day in the chemo suite being looked after by the world’s best nurses. Quite nerve-wracking as it was the first time using the newly fitted port which was still feeling quite tender. It wasn’t actually that bad and was fitted relatively easily. As they’ve fitted it right into the middle of my chest though it does mean having to de-bra and de-boob to get hooked up. Quite a surprise for my unsuspecting friend Beth who was special guest for the day and got to see the whole floor show – a before and after shall we say…?! More oddly she got quite attached to the feel of the detached fakey and was caught playing with it on more than one occasion… (Soz Bets…)

So all done and home to a cup of tea and Masterchef feeling very smug about still feeling fine and not yet feeling at all shoddy. Which lasted about an hour and a half. Seriously, who am I trying to kid? Nausea hit about 7ish – a wee bit of a bugger, but I suppose I can’t get away with feeling tip top all the time. I think after the last chemo session I blethered on about how if you can hold it in and not give in to the nausea it’ll pass. What a lie! Come 9 o’clock my stomach started bubbling and you just KNOW. It’s definitely not passing… And then everything’s a panic to get to the loo. But I’m under a rug and it gets tangled round my legs! And I can’t be sick on the rug – it’s CASHMERE! And my mouth’s filling up (you know – everyone knows…). And I get to the loo door and I can feel it coming and I don’t know if I can make it in time! And AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! The relief! I know it’s not nice being sick, but bloody hell it doesn’t half make you feel better. And, most importantly, it has proven that the cause of the bout last time was categorically NOT Ma Booth’s turkey curry…

So back to the sofa and Masterchef and generally feeling a bit bruised and battered (tip for the future – don’t watch offal on the telly when you’re feeling ropey). One more episode of throwing up (in my bin – nice), a ginger biscuit and bed.

To wake up this morning feeling relatively fine and loving the fact that it’s freeeeeezing outside and I can justifiably curl up in the warm with Holly and Eamonn…