Ow. Still...

This has been possibly the most frustrating three days of my life. I’m not used to not being able to do things for myself and I don’t like it. I’m 33. My mum shouldn’t have to be making me tea and bringing me food on a tray and changing my sheets and  keeping one ear open at night in case I fall down the stairs on the way to the loo. She especially shouldn’t be woken up at 6 in the morning by someone being sick in the street outside the window and automatically come running into my room to check it’s not me. I don’t know how she does it - I’d have throttled me by now… My mother is nothing short of a legend. And she makes a mean chicken pie.

So, for the past couple of days I’ve been hobbling round like an old man – making those noises that only old men make. Oooophs and urrrrs and ghmmphs and hrrrrrrrrrrrs. Standing up hurt. Sitting down hurt. Moving from standing up to sitting down hurt. Don’t even get me started on moving from sitting to lying. For the first day swallowing hurt. On the second day it felt like the rubber tube in my chest was about rip itself out. Last night I peeled back some of the bandage on my neck and took some skin with it. That hurt.

It’s getting better though – this morning I managed to shower and wash my hair for the first time since Wednesday (I was RANK). The cat just trod on my chest and I didn’t fling him across the room. And I can now hold the beadle arm straight. Shame Mr W couldn’t add a couple of centimeters while he was at it…

Ow

Today hurts.

And there endeth today's update.

Another day, another General Anaesthetic

Why the hell not eh? Just a quick portacath insertion and I’m on my way. Although it turns out I’m getting quite old hat at this getting knocked out business and I woke up and knew exactly where I was. How very dull. I even asked after Chris, the lovely recovery nurse who looked after me last time. Unfortunately he was on holiday though so they’ve assured me they’ll pass on my “love” (love? I knew him for about 6 hours. Anaesthetic makes me easy it seems.) when he gets back.

So, safe and sound at home, on the sofa with a cup of tea and a black and white film on the box. I’m definitely in more pain this time, although I think that’s possibly more to do with the fact I’ve not been given a drop of morphine and I’m having to struggle through (I’m being a bit of a girl to be honest) on paracetamol. You know – that stuff you take when you have a headache! I have a rubber tube in my chest and a severed vein in my arm! A girl needs her opiates! (She really doesn’t, I’m over-reacting MASSIVELY….).

So all in all, a fairly straight-forward day. Although, I did hear the oddest conversation (although I’m not sure I should strictly speaking be repeating this given hospitals and confidentiality and all that. Ah well – those curtains between the bays are terribly thin. I think God got mentioned somewhere along the line as well, but I was too struck dumb to remember anything past this bit...);

Lady walking through the ward: What are you in for?

Lady in the bay next to me: A lumpectomy

Lady walking through the ward: Ah well, they’re doing a lot of research into breast cancer now. Some people make it, and some people don’t. If it’s your time, it’s your time. But lots of people do make it. It’s like that cruise ship that sank. Those people that died? It was just their time. The people that didn’t die? Wasn’t their time.

Are. You. Kidding Me???????? 

When I don't feel sick, I feel normal...

In between treatments, I feel surprisingly normal. True, the first four or five days are a bit weird with the constant feeling that you might throw up and the occasional heart palpitations. And the sleepless nights cos you’re pumped full of steroids and weird drugs are a bit of a pain. But after those four or five days, it all calms down and I feel normal. So as much as I write about being sick and having to have operations and whatnot, that’s all only about 20% of the time. But, if I’m going to document this whole thing, it’s important I remember the every day as well as the out of the ordinary.

When I AM feeling normal, it’s also surprisingly easy to forget about it all and just get on with whatever I’m doing.

It’s also become surprisingly normal to only have the one boob. When I’m wearing the prosthetic (i.e. every time there’s a chance of anyone actually seeing me), I don’t even realize 99% of the time – it feels no different to my other boob so I don’t even notice it.

Turns out I don’t notice when I’m not wearing it either. Which is why this morning, I looked down at the paper on a rush hour tube into Central London and realized I’d forgotten to put it in and was hurtling towards Soho with just the one boob.

Mortified….

Back Under the Knife

So it turns out that after only two sessions of chemo, my veins have quite childishly (and selfishly) decided enough is enough and the one arm that can have drugs pumped into it has now seized into a semi crooked old man arm (maybe a little bit of an exaggeration – it’s not withered – I just look a bit like a retired army major). It’s a bit annoying – that arm is already slightly shorter than the other one (my “Beadle Arm” as my friends “affectionately” call it), so now it looks even shorter. Apparently it’s something that will sort itself out over time but for the time being it’s a bit painful, I can’t hold my arm straight and it feels like my vein has shrunk in length by about an inch.

So, I’ve got to have a portacath fitted – a tube that sits under the skin that they inject straight into to give my vein at the entry point a bit of a breather. I did ask whether I could just have everything injected into my foot (I know for certain that some people have been known to inject things between their toes…), but my nurse looked at me like I was a mental. It’s a pretty simple operation but it does annoyingly put my chemo back by a week. And that, in turn, means that I will no longer have my boob twin in tow. Boooooo. No more kit kats and someone to witter at while you’re sitting there for hours (I’m gutted about the kit kats….). She’s suggested we chain ourselves to the front desk and refuse to be separated, but I think the pair of us might just have to man up and go our separate ways. I'm not a fan of an emoticon, but if I was, there would be a colon and left bracket here.

But, as we all know, every cloud has a silver lining (except when that cloud is Hitler), and there is a massive silver lining! A bit, thick, hallmarked silver lining worthy of Antiques Roadshow. Not only was my original consultant an eminient breast surgeon, he’s also famed for his vascular surgery and will be checking out my vein and fitting my portacath! Mr Wilson is back in the room! (Ma Booth is gutted she won’t be here for my initial consultation with him). So on Wednesday I’ll be popping in to see him in the vain (ha!) hope that he has some magical trick and I’ll be able to straighten my arm again. Maybe he can add a couple of inches at the same time….?

The other silver lining (if you’re allowed two??) is of course, that I’ll be hopping back under the general anaesthetic. Morphine anyone? I’m super keen to know where I’ll wake up this time…

Chemo 2

2 down – only 4 to go now! Tick!

Almost half way through pumping myself full of drugs – very exciting. Not including the years worth of Herceptin, but I think I’ll take one step at a time thanks.

Session 2 wasn’t nearly so much fun as session 1, but I think that might well be the novelty wearing off. My boob twin was back in place complete with a 7 pack of Kit-Kats for us to nibble on, so that was a good start, but blimey it was long day. 9am in to have the blood test, 11.30am on with the Hat of Ice, 1pm the drugs start going in, 2.45pm I’m pumped to the gunnels. 4.30pm the Hat of Ice is thawed and comes off. You don’t half look lovely with hat hair coated in leave in conditioner and flecked with lumps of ice. Good job there are no hot docs swanning around.

And then home to lie on the sofa, and…

... So much for the “If you’re not sick the first time round you won’t be sick at all”. I’m not sure getting home to a super hot house, wearing two jumpers without really realizing and lying under a furry blanket with a cat curled up as close as possible is perhaps the best way to stave off nausea. It even managed to beat off the fabulous Dom Perignon and poor Ma Booth’s special dinner got very short shrift I’m afraid to say. Annoyingly, if you can manage the nausea and hold it all in for half an hour, you can get through it. Once you start being sick though you can’t really stop. Or at least you think you can’t stop. Until at 1.30 in the morning when there’s nothing but bile and you remember the magical ginger biscuits. Turns out they really do work!