I'm feeling well, other than pains in my collar bone, ribs and boob AND a slightly dodgy stomach. Stuff that if cancer hadn't occurred wouldn't occur to me to even register as pain or illness. Cancer, obviously, has made me a hypochondriac.
Anyway. I chipped a tooth last week. The dentist used to be my number one fear. Now he doesn't even register as a worry thanks to chemo. As I was about to go down Souf, I booked a dentists appointment for the Monday I got back. Having read something online about chemo patients and the dentist, I phoned the chemo ward to ask if I was OK to get dental treatment; best to have a blood test apparently.
Come Monday morning, I therefore dutifully trooped off to hell (aka the chemo day ward) to get tested. FBC (full blood count) was fine but I was told to phone in prior to going to the dentist to check the other tests were OK.
At 1, I rung and was put on hold for AGES. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing of the nurse from the phone, she returned and told me I was neutropenic. Neutro what? She explained this meant that my neutrophils (a type of white blood cell) were dangerously low leaving me open to infection. I said I was fine. She said it could be a dodgy test but not to go to the dentist.
I posted on the Breast Cancer Care site to ask what this meant. SCARY reply. Any temperature over 37.5 meant INSTANT trip to the hospital. Better avoid any infection then.
Bugger
Monday, 31 January 2011
Sunday, 30 January 2011
99. Party
Party with R last night. It was OK. I’m getting more friendly with the female partners of his friends now through dint of contact. I really like a couple of them. The age difference between me and him doesn’t make a lot of difference to us. What is awkward though is the difference between my age and his friends. It’s a whole generational thing. Their attitudes and life experiences are also very different, which I suppose is to be expected, given that some of them are over 20 years older than me. I just feel a bit constrained in what I say and what topics are acceptable. Things such as attitudes towards homosexuality, what they see as normal and acceptable. I suppose really it feels a bit like being with people of my parents generation. I feel as if I have to be on my best behaviour with them.
One thing that I’m really ashamed to write about though, is the feeling that I have that it is people of THEIR age that should be going through what I am (the hospital years) instead of me. It doesn’t seem fair that they’re retired and are of an age where one could reasonably expect to have failing health. Instead its me, the productive member of society that is having heavy duty medical intervention and having to face her own mortality. Urgh. Selfish self centred cow.
One thing that I’m really ashamed to write about though, is the feeling that I have that it is people of THEIR age that should be going through what I am (the hospital years) instead of me. It doesn’t seem fair that they’re retired and are of an age where one could reasonably expect to have failing health. Instead its me, the productive member of society that is having heavy duty medical intervention and having to face her own mortality. Urgh. Selfish self centred cow.
98. Friends
So. I have written in here before about the group of women I’ve made friends with on the Breast Cancer Care website. What I haven’t really talked about is the friendship I’ve developed with one of them in particular. It’s a very 21st Century friendship in that we’ve never met and never talked on the phone. We started out corresponding on Facebook but then after one of my chemo’s she started texting me and that’s how we chat now. We text backwards and forwards between 5 and 20 times a day. She’s a bit younger than me at 38 and she has had a mastectomy, I think due to her family history of breast cancer (her mum died from it). But other than those differences, we’re remarkably similar. She’s also done more to support me when I’ve been flaky than anyone else. It is SO helpful asking someone who is going through the same thing what she thinks. When I was having pains in my collar bone I asked her what she thought. I can tell her when I’m worried about the role diet plays in cancer (when I’m panicking because I’ve eaten junk food). She was there more than anyone else after chemo when I couldn’t see beyond how I felt and just wanted to die. I just hope that I’ve been some support to her too, although I think things are a bit unbalanced.
Although I’ve put on loads of weight on chemo and feel huge and ugly, K has lost weight, despite being slim already. We have sent each others photos on our phones and she is quite exceptionally pretty, although she doesn’t believe me. Ironically, despite the parity in our appearances (I really am not looking my best) it’s me that goes out and about as usual (Metrocentre on my own and bald yesterday) while K finds it really hard to leave the house. I think this has brought home to me just how much of the individuals experience of cancer, or illness in general, is about attitude. I don’t want to let my appearance affect how much I can do (none of those munters in town in bad sportswear seem to feel held back by being ugly, so why should I?). Which I suppose really is my feminism in action. Ironic though. K looks better bald, without eyelashes and eyebrows than I EVER have.
I hope at some point we get to meet. I also really hope that we manage to stay friends. At least that would mean that something good had come from the whole horrible experience.
Although I’ve put on loads of weight on chemo and feel huge and ugly, K has lost weight, despite being slim already. We have sent each others photos on our phones and she is quite exceptionally pretty, although she doesn’t believe me. Ironically, despite the parity in our appearances (I really am not looking my best) it’s me that goes out and about as usual (Metrocentre on my own and bald yesterday) while K finds it really hard to leave the house. I think this has brought home to me just how much of the individuals experience of cancer, or illness in general, is about attitude. I don’t want to let my appearance affect how much I can do (none of those munters in town in bad sportswear seem to feel held back by being ugly, so why should I?). Which I suppose really is my feminism in action. Ironic though. K looks better bald, without eyelashes and eyebrows than I EVER have.
I hope at some point we get to meet. I also really hope that we manage to stay friends. At least that would mean that something good had come from the whole horrible experience.
97. Blast from the past
On Thursday I went to visit my old school. Obviously, normally, I don’t get the opportunity because I’m not usually able to go home during term time. I saw K and N, 2 of my best friends, but also some of the rest of my old department, support staff, other teachers and admin staff too. I’m really happy at my new school, but the staff at my old school were much more, should we say, INTERESTING (read nuts). I also met quite a few of my old pupils, including a real favourite, who looked horrified to see me with cancer hair (I went in bald). Poor little love. I wish I’d had K warn her.
Going to the old place awakened a few ghosts really. Like I said, I like my new school but the staff at the old one were a lot more fun than most of the staff at the new place. I’ve made some friends where I am now, but other than them, the teaching staff in particular, are a lot older than I’m used to. Which makes for a quieter and a lot less lively school.
Not everyone there knew about the cancer, so there were a lot of shocked faces. Also, other than those that I’d known well, people weren’t entirely sure at first who I was. I’ve put on loads of weight since I was there, some of it due to the steroids, some not. Combined with my lack of hair, I suppose I DO look very different and not in a good way.
I didn’t get to see my old head of department, which was a shame, because I was very fond of her and also have a lot of respect for her. She’s absolutely brilliant at her job, both as a HOD and as a teacher and I aspire to be able to teach as well as she does. The English department there ran like clockwork and I miss that too.
I did manage to miss one of the English teachers that I really couldn’t bear. Somehow, despite having little knowledge of her subject AND doing very little teaching ( the use of DVDs to keep the pupils quiet featured prominently in her lessons) resulting in little pupil progress, she has managed a couple of promotions based on the use of her feminine wiles (blond hair, feigning innocence and the use of tears). If only she’d get pregnant and leave. Unfortunately, it appears that she’s infertile.
Going to the old place awakened a few ghosts really. Like I said, I like my new school but the staff at the old one were a lot more fun than most of the staff at the new place. I’ve made some friends where I am now, but other than them, the teaching staff in particular, are a lot older than I’m used to. Which makes for a quieter and a lot less lively school.
Not everyone there knew about the cancer, so there were a lot of shocked faces. Also, other than those that I’d known well, people weren’t entirely sure at first who I was. I’ve put on loads of weight since I was there, some of it due to the steroids, some not. Combined with my lack of hair, I suppose I DO look very different and not in a good way.
I didn’t get to see my old head of department, which was a shame, because I was very fond of her and also have a lot of respect for her. She’s absolutely brilliant at her job, both as a HOD and as a teacher and I aspire to be able to teach as well as she does. The English department there ran like clockwork and I miss that too.
I did manage to miss one of the English teachers that I really couldn’t bear. Somehow, despite having little knowledge of her subject AND doing very little teaching ( the use of DVDs to keep the pupils quiet featured prominently in her lessons) resulting in little pupil progress, she has managed a couple of promotions based on the use of her feminine wiles (blond hair, feigning innocence and the use of tears). If only she’d get pregnant and leave. Unfortunately, it appears that she’s infertile.
96. Pre-radiotherapy
Radiotherapy starts next week. I and I have been to-ing and fro-ing about who was going where for a visit. I would rather she came here, easier for me, but then again, she works, so travelling 4-5 hours here when she finishes work at 6pm is no joke. Not to mention that I may not be up to travelling down south post radio if I get the one usual side effect from it, which is tiredness/exhaustion. So I made a management decision. I was going there.
As always the drive to Bury St. Edmunds was fine. 4 hours door to door. Not bad at all considering it’s 260 miles.
I is sharing a house with 2 gay blokes. 1 is lovely. Very, very sweet lad. Kind, caring, friendly. He calls I his wife. His family like her. What a shame he isn’t an option for a partner. The other bloke is a different kettle of fish. The general feeling is that he’s autistic. Certainly, I’ve taught kids that have been diagnosed with autism that have less symptoms of the condition than he does. He has few social skills, is unable to make eye contact, has no conception at all of the impact of his behaviour on others. Yada yada yada.
I and I shopped and generally chilled out. It was nice just to do normal stuff and not have to dash around and be busy. I miss her company living so far away although paradoxically, too much time in each others company and we start bickering and sniping.
As always the drive to Bury St. Edmunds was fine. 4 hours door to door. Not bad at all considering it’s 260 miles.
I is sharing a house with 2 gay blokes. 1 is lovely. Very, very sweet lad. Kind, caring, friendly. He calls I his wife. His family like her. What a shame he isn’t an option for a partner. The other bloke is a different kettle of fish. The general feeling is that he’s autistic. Certainly, I’ve taught kids that have been diagnosed with autism that have less symptoms of the condition than he does. He has few social skills, is unable to make eye contact, has no conception at all of the impact of his behaviour on others. Yada yada yada.
I and I shopped and generally chilled out. It was nice just to do normal stuff and not have to dash around and be busy. I miss her company living so far away although paradoxically, too much time in each others company and we start bickering and sniping.
95. Wiggy
Bit of a misnomer really. I don’t wear my wig. I hate the itchiness, the plastic hair hanging around my head and also I really, really fucking hate the way it LOOKS. It looks fake. So why bother?
I didn’t like scarves either. I tended to wear head wraps rather than flowing scarves and the volume of fabric made my head really hot. Instead, I made some soft jersey hats from a pattern recommended by a fellow breast cancer women I met at a seminar on work and pension rights.
I’d been wearing the hats for a couple of months. They were easier to wear than a scarf because I could just throw them on. Also, they LOOKED better than scarves. But as chemo went on, my hot flushes were ramping up and getting worse. There was one awful moment in John Lewis when I had one and the back of my head under my hat was wet with sweat. Finally I snapped. I go hatless at home when I’m on my own. Ergo, I was only wearing a hat to please other people. Fuck that shit. Bad enough having cancer, facing death and chemo. It’s ME I should be putting first not other people.
So. I resolved to give up the hat. My daughter had already got used to me not wearing one but R hadn’t seen me bald, other than while shagging (and he has his eyes shut then). I sent him a warning text. The first time he saw me, I was very self conscious but steeled myself to it. He was OK. He kissed me on the fluff on the top and that was it really.
There have been lots of first times since then. Usually, I feel OK. Occasionally, when in the company of crowds of normal, healthy people, I feel as if my head is a beacon, signalling my ill health. Sometimes I feel pretty, sometimes I feel as if I’m a monster (strong word, but true). Fortunately there are a lot of ugly people about. Find one and stand next to them is a good coping technique!
I didn’t like scarves either. I tended to wear head wraps rather than flowing scarves and the volume of fabric made my head really hot. Instead, I made some soft jersey hats from a pattern recommended by a fellow breast cancer women I met at a seminar on work and pension rights.
I’d been wearing the hats for a couple of months. They were easier to wear than a scarf because I could just throw them on. Also, they LOOKED better than scarves. But as chemo went on, my hot flushes were ramping up and getting worse. There was one awful moment in John Lewis when I had one and the back of my head under my hat was wet with sweat. Finally I snapped. I go hatless at home when I’m on my own. Ergo, I was only wearing a hat to please other people. Fuck that shit. Bad enough having cancer, facing death and chemo. It’s ME I should be putting first not other people.
So. I resolved to give up the hat. My daughter had already got used to me not wearing one but R hadn’t seen me bald, other than while shagging (and he has his eyes shut then). I sent him a warning text. The first time he saw me, I was very self conscious but steeled myself to it. He was OK. He kissed me on the fluff on the top and that was it really.
There have been lots of first times since then. Usually, I feel OK. Occasionally, when in the company of crowds of normal, healthy people, I feel as if my head is a beacon, signalling my ill health. Sometimes I feel pretty, sometimes I feel as if I’m a monster (strong word, but true). Fortunately there are a lot of ugly people about. Find one and stand next to them is a good coping technique!
94. Post chemo
I could go on and on about how awful the side effects were. The chemo itself was unbearable (despite my somewhat cold account of it) and the side effects were pretty horrible too.
Sickness
Nausea
Diarrhoea
Stomach pain (from ulcer that had gone but has come back due to the chemo)
Headache
Hot and cold sweats
Day 4 post chemo though I was rallying. The sheer ecstasy of knowing that I didn’t have to do chemo again overcame a lot of the less severe side effects.
Sickness
Nausea
Diarrhoea
Stomach pain (from ulcer that had gone but has come back due to the chemo)
Headache
Hot and cold sweats
Day 4 post chemo though I was rallying. The sheer ecstasy of knowing that I didn’t have to do chemo again overcame a lot of the less severe side effects.
93. Chemo 6
As always I was dreading it. I was slightly distracted by my initial Radiotherapy consultation in the morning of the 6th but once that was out of the way the full force of what I had to go through hit me.
As always, we had to wait ages outside the chemo unit. The nurse allocated to me was nice. As we went into the unit, I asked if there was a private room free. There was.
No veins in my hand were accessible. The nurse tried to put the cannula into my thumb instead. No luck there. Finally she put it in the crook of my elbow. She started injecting. I threw up. She asked if I wanted her to continue and I nodded. I threw up again. She stopped and went and got the Doctor. We had to wait for the Doctor. While I waited, I lay down and tried to relax.
The Doctor asked a multitude of questions. The upshot was that she was worried I was throwing up because I had an infection. I didn’t think I did and neither did R. It was nerves. The thought of coming back at another date to finish chemo was unmanageable. I couldn’t go back. When she suggested it I started crying. Finally she agreed that they could finish giving it to me if I agreed to contact the hospital if I had any signs of temperature post chemo.
The flaky nurse from chemo two came to give the rest of the chemo. She injected and R held my hand and rubbed my back. I vomited again, moaned, cried and avoided looking at the needle. I knew I was being pathetic but was totally unable to control my reaction. I was terrified, sickened and almost out of control.
Once it was finished I couldn’t even bend down to tie my shoelaces. R had to do it. Living hell.
As always, we had to wait ages outside the chemo unit. The nurse allocated to me was nice. As we went into the unit, I asked if there was a private room free. There was.
No veins in my hand were accessible. The nurse tried to put the cannula into my thumb instead. No luck there. Finally she put it in the crook of my elbow. She started injecting. I threw up. She asked if I wanted her to continue and I nodded. I threw up again. She stopped and went and got the Doctor. We had to wait for the Doctor. While I waited, I lay down and tried to relax.
The Doctor asked a multitude of questions. The upshot was that she was worried I was throwing up because I had an infection. I didn’t think I did and neither did R. It was nerves. The thought of coming back at another date to finish chemo was unmanageable. I couldn’t go back. When she suggested it I started crying. Finally she agreed that they could finish giving it to me if I agreed to contact the hospital if I had any signs of temperature post chemo.
The flaky nurse from chemo two came to give the rest of the chemo. She injected and R held my hand and rubbed my back. I vomited again, moaned, cried and avoided looking at the needle. I knew I was being pathetic but was totally unable to control my reaction. I was terrified, sickened and almost out of control.
Once it was finished I couldn’t even bend down to tie my shoelaces. R had to do it. Living hell.
92. New Year 2010
I got back in time for New Years. It was lovely to see R and awful to hear how miserable he’d been over Christmas. It made me really angry with his kids to know how they’d left him alone for both Christmas Day and Boxing Day and made me feel lucky that I felt that she wanted to spend her time with me.
Plans for New Year ’s Eve fell through, so instead, we stayed in. We had an early night instead. It was the nicest New Years I’ve had for years.
Plans for New Year ’s Eve fell through, so instead, we stayed in. We had an early night instead. It was the nicest New Years I’ve had for years.
91. Christmas
I drove down south Thursday 23rd. Getting out of the city was bad. The roads were snowy and traffic was awful. It was so bad I almost considered turning around and going home. Thankfully I didn’t and once I was clear of the city, the roads improved. Driving was fine, very very manageable and I made it to Suffolk in really good time.
I and I had a nice, quiet Christmas day, eating Mexican food for lunch and watching TV. In the evening we drove to my Mums. Should have been blissful but then I developed raging toothache from a broken tooth she’d got 2 weeks before. She was in agony. I was almost hysterical with worry about her. SOOOO much worse than any of my own pain. The rest of the evening was spent calling the emergency dentist number, establishing there was no emergency dentist over Christmas, phoning Doctors on call and collecting codeine from the hospital (this, at midnight).
Boxing Day (December 26th) was nicer. We had breakfast and lunch with my Mum and my twin 15 year old nieces and then drove back to I’s. It was a nice break although I and I were bickering and picking at each other by the time I left to drive home again.
I and I had a nice, quiet Christmas day, eating Mexican food for lunch and watching TV. In the evening we drove to my Mums. Should have been blissful but then I developed raging toothache from a broken tooth she’d got 2 weeks before. She was in agony. I was almost hysterical with worry about her. SOOOO much worse than any of my own pain. The rest of the evening was spent calling the emergency dentist number, establishing there was no emergency dentist over Christmas, phoning Doctors on call and collecting codeine from the hospital (this, at midnight).
Boxing Day (December 26th) was nicer. We had breakfast and lunch with my Mum and my twin 15 year old nieces and then drove back to I’s. It was a nice break although I and I were bickering and picking at each other by the time I left to drive home again.
90. Chemo Brain
The side effects after chemo 5 were pretty standard. I puked, twice. Felt sick for 3 days. Started eating again on day 4. Was very tired for days 3-6. What was new and a really unneeded side effect however, was the dreaded chemo brain. I’d heard the phrase bandied around but hadn’t really had it before. This time it hit.
Chemo Brain for the Uninitiated.
Confusion
Floaty feeling
Slow thought process
Forgetfulness
Dizziness
Vertigo
Finally and worst, a very weird sensation that my brain was left behind on a 10 second delay any time I moved my head. It created a horrible sicky feeling and gave a sensation of being in two places at once.
So I had chemo Thursday 16th. Nine days before Christmas. I was supposed to be driving home Monday 20th to my Mums and then on to my daughters Thursday 23rd.
Complication one: chemo brain. It hit about day 3 and was ongoing until Wednesday day 7. I was worried about getting across the country with it. I wasn’t up to the train, lugging a bag on and off trains. I wasn’t sure if I was OK to drive.
Complication two: snow. It had been snowing on and off in England for two weeks. The snow had piled up and melted once and then piled up again just before Christmas. Driving home with chemo brain and in the snow was a scary proposition.
Complication three: R. His kids spend every Christmas at their mums. Usually he goes abroad to avoid being on his own. This year he had chosen to stay at home. I don’t think it was for me. He didn’t want to go to his ex wife’s for the day and I was worried about him being alone on Christmas day.
My daughter told me repeatedly not to drive if I wasn’t well enough. I prevaricated indefinitely over what to do. Finally, finally, I determined to damn it all and go.
Chemo Brain for the Uninitiated.
Confusion
Floaty feeling
Slow thought process
Forgetfulness
Dizziness
Vertigo
Finally and worst, a very weird sensation that my brain was left behind on a 10 second delay any time I moved my head. It created a horrible sicky feeling and gave a sensation of being in two places at once.
So I had chemo Thursday 16th. Nine days before Christmas. I was supposed to be driving home Monday 20th to my Mums and then on to my daughters Thursday 23rd.
Complication one: chemo brain. It hit about day 3 and was ongoing until Wednesday day 7. I was worried about getting across the country with it. I wasn’t up to the train, lugging a bag on and off trains. I wasn’t sure if I was OK to drive.
Complication two: snow. It had been snowing on and off in England for two weeks. The snow had piled up and melted once and then piled up again just before Christmas. Driving home with chemo brain and in the snow was a scary proposition.
Complication three: R. His kids spend every Christmas at their mums. Usually he goes abroad to avoid being on his own. This year he had chosen to stay at home. I don’t think it was for me. He didn’t want to go to his ex wife’s for the day and I was worried about him being alone on Christmas day.
My daughter told me repeatedly not to drive if I wasn’t well enough. I prevaricated indefinitely over what to do. Finally, finally, I determined to damn it all and go.
89. Needle Happy
Friday, I turned up at the breast clinic. I have no particular aversion to the place, despite it being where I found out I’d got cancer. The only place I HATE going is the chemo hospital. I was taken in to see Mr. S. VERRRRRYYYY good looking man. Sexy accent too. He asked why I was still worried. I explained and he felt the lump. He didn’t seem too happy either but I was getting past being bothered about NHS staff being pissy with me. This is MY life and I’m not risking it because I don’t fall into an ‘at risk’ group, in their opinion. He sent me off for an ultrasound. I was happy with this, knowing that it would show up more than a mammogram.
The ultrasound radiographer was a man on this occasion. This shocked me but I wasn’t about to let false modesty affect my peace of mind. He WAS very thorough but I wasn’t 100% confident he knew what he was doing. He scanned the area of my scar and identified there was still a small seroma. I asked him to scan the lump. He did and said it wasn’t cancerous. He also completely scanned the rest of my boob, including my armpit. I also asked him to scan my right boob where I’d felt some lumpier than usual tissue. He obliged and saw nothing. I’m not sure why, but he went away and got another radiographer to look at the scan with him to double check that the lump I felt was nothing dangerous. He returned with her and they looked at it together. She said it was nothing dangerous as well. She also said that it would be extremely unusual for a recurrence so soon after my original cancer. While I appreciated her second opinion I wasn’t happy with her attitude. She made me feel as if she thought I was wasting NHS time and resources. She was abrupt and bordering on being unpleasant. Not really what you need if you’re scared you’ve got a fatal disease.
Back in the breast clinic, Mr. S took me into a normal consulting room instead of the dead relatives room, a good indication that the results were still good. He came in and said pretty much what the radiographer had said. THEN he asked me if I’d like him to biopsy it. The upshot of this question, really was, ‘Miss Elvin, would you like me to stick NEEDLES into your breast.’ Me. The wimp that hated injections and the dentist. From a bit of a distance, I heard my own voice (bloody traitor) saying, ‘Yes please!’
I got my tits out. Laid on the bed and asked the nurse to hold my hand. They joked with each other about his attitude, whether it was an attempt to put me at ease or because it was 4pm on the last working day before Christmas I have no idea. It actually didn’t hurt too much. I was sent away to wait for the results. For some perverse reason, I went back to the coffee shop R and I went to after the devastating news in July.
40 mins later I went back and waited in the clinic. I was called in after a long wait and got the fabulous news that the lump was ‘fatty necrosis’ aka dead fat. Think there might be a message in there somewhere.
The ultrasound radiographer was a man on this occasion. This shocked me but I wasn’t about to let false modesty affect my peace of mind. He WAS very thorough but I wasn’t 100% confident he knew what he was doing. He scanned the area of my scar and identified there was still a small seroma. I asked him to scan the lump. He did and said it wasn’t cancerous. He also completely scanned the rest of my boob, including my armpit. I also asked him to scan my right boob where I’d felt some lumpier than usual tissue. He obliged and saw nothing. I’m not sure why, but he went away and got another radiographer to look at the scan with him to double check that the lump I felt was nothing dangerous. He returned with her and they looked at it together. She said it was nothing dangerous as well. She also said that it would be extremely unusual for a recurrence so soon after my original cancer. While I appreciated her second opinion I wasn’t happy with her attitude. She made me feel as if she thought I was wasting NHS time and resources. She was abrupt and bordering on being unpleasant. Not really what you need if you’re scared you’ve got a fatal disease.
Back in the breast clinic, Mr. S took me into a normal consulting room instead of the dead relatives room, a good indication that the results were still good. He came in and said pretty much what the radiographer had said. THEN he asked me if I’d like him to biopsy it. The upshot of this question, really was, ‘Miss Elvin, would you like me to stick NEEDLES into your breast.’ Me. The wimp that hated injections and the dentist. From a bit of a distance, I heard my own voice (bloody traitor) saying, ‘Yes please!’
I got my tits out. Laid on the bed and asked the nurse to hold my hand. They joked with each other about his attitude, whether it was an attempt to put me at ease or because it was 4pm on the last working day before Christmas I have no idea. It actually didn’t hurt too much. I was sent away to wait for the results. For some perverse reason, I went back to the coffee shop R and I went to after the devastating news in July.
40 mins later I went back and waited in the clinic. I was called in after a long wait and got the fabulous news that the lump was ‘fatty necrosis’ aka dead fat. Think there might be a message in there somewhere.
88. Persistence
Many apologies folks for my negligence in updating this! LOADS has happened so bear with me and I’ll record it all. Reader, she’s flaky!
So. You may recall that I’ve obsessed on and off about a second lump in my skanky boob. I found it on GCSE results day and it’s been there ever since. I’ve felt it on and off, persuaded R to try to feel it, talked to S about it, mentioned it several times to L, my long suffering breast care nurse, got a consultant to look at it and finally, finally, discussed it with my oncologist. S had long been advising me to have a private scan, while at the same time warning me that it would piss off my NHS care team if I went over their heads.
I looked on line to see what was available and by accident came across a clinic offering not just the usual ultrasound and mammogram but also Digital Infrared scans and MRI scans. S had been recommending a total body MRI which would show up cancer anywhere in the body. I read a bit about each scan type and found out that mammograms weren’t great for women under 50 because breast tissue pre-menopause is too dense for a mammogram to read properly. Ultrasounds were the NHS scan of choice for breast checks for premenopausal women. MRI scans seemed to be the ultimate because they’d show up EVERYTHING although somewhere else I read that they could give false positive results. Scary shit. Making you think you had cancer somewhere else when you didn’t. Digital infrared scans on the screen looked good. Healthy tissue showed up blue, tumours bright pink. But no one seemed to know about them despite my emailing and asking.
So back to my oncologist. I’d told him about the lump and also about the pain I was having in my rib cage and collar bone. I also told him I was thinking about having a private scan because the lump was still there and I was worried. He wasn’t horrified but wasn’t happy and told me that I should speak to my breast care nurse before having a scan because it should be available on the NHS.
Later the same day I phoned the breast care nurse. My favourite nurse, L, didn’t call back, but another one did. She wasn’t happy with me. She pointed out how many people had checked my lump. I told her it felt just like the first one; the tumour. That I was worried because it hadn’t been properly checked and it wasn’t going away. Finally, she grumpily agreed to book me in to see Mr. S, one of the consultants. Result?
So. You may recall that I’ve obsessed on and off about a second lump in my skanky boob. I found it on GCSE results day and it’s been there ever since. I’ve felt it on and off, persuaded R to try to feel it, talked to S about it, mentioned it several times to L, my long suffering breast care nurse, got a consultant to look at it and finally, finally, discussed it with my oncologist. S had long been advising me to have a private scan, while at the same time warning me that it would piss off my NHS care team if I went over their heads.
I looked on line to see what was available and by accident came across a clinic offering not just the usual ultrasound and mammogram but also Digital Infrared scans and MRI scans. S had been recommending a total body MRI which would show up cancer anywhere in the body. I read a bit about each scan type and found out that mammograms weren’t great for women under 50 because breast tissue pre-menopause is too dense for a mammogram to read properly. Ultrasounds were the NHS scan of choice for breast checks for premenopausal women. MRI scans seemed to be the ultimate because they’d show up EVERYTHING although somewhere else I read that they could give false positive results. Scary shit. Making you think you had cancer somewhere else when you didn’t. Digital infrared scans on the screen looked good. Healthy tissue showed up blue, tumours bright pink. But no one seemed to know about them despite my emailing and asking.
So back to my oncologist. I’d told him about the lump and also about the pain I was having in my rib cage and collar bone. I also told him I was thinking about having a private scan because the lump was still there and I was worried. He wasn’t horrified but wasn’t happy and told me that I should speak to my breast care nurse before having a scan because it should be available on the NHS.
Later the same day I phoned the breast care nurse. My favourite nurse, L, didn’t call back, but another one did. She wasn’t happy with me. She pointed out how many people had checked my lump. I told her it felt just like the first one; the tumour. That I was worried because it hadn’t been properly checked and it wasn’t going away. Finally, she grumpily agreed to book me in to see Mr. S, one of the consultants. Result?
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Interregnum
Apologies. I've tried to post several times but the @*%$@ pc has crashed. Am now updating on my non-internet enabled laptop. When I'm up to date, I'll copy and paste.
In this case, no news is good news folks!
XX
In this case, no news is good news folks!
XX
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
87. Number 5
Well. I've left it far too long to write this. Every time I tried, though, the thought made me feel so sick I couldn't bring myself to do it. BUT. Number 6 is looming so I must.
I was OKish the morning of chemo 5. I stayed in bed as long as possible but eventually had to get up. Just had a cup of Earl Grey (normal tea tastes metallic now, yuk) and no food. Don't want to give the sickness ANYTHING to work on. I phoned the hospital to ask for my favourite (Least hated. OK, OK, so that's unfair. Whatever) chemo nurse. The one I spoke to was the quietly spoken but slow male nurse I had for chemo 1. He took my request but said he couldn't promise anything.
When we got there, lo and behold, we waited. And waited. Now, I know EVERYONE waits for medical appointments but being forced to wait for chemo is above and beyond what is fair and rational. In, get it over with, out. That really is the best (again, least worst) way. Finally, finally, I was taken through. And waited again. When my nurse (not the one I'd asked for) did come over, she gave me the Emend anti sickness and agreed I needed to wait an hour. I asked if we could go away and wait somewhere else and she agreed. We went down to the cafe. R had coffee and I had a fruit tea.
We went back and waited AGAIN. I left R reading in the chemo room and paced around outside in the waiting area. It was preferable to being in that room. Being in there makes me feel sick even when I'm having nothing done. Eventually I went back. The nurse came back and I asked for hot water to bring my veins to the surface. She told me to put my hand under the tap, which I did. She came back and off we went.
I was pathetic. She put the canula in and it hurt. I could feel myself tearing up and she was good. She finished inserting it and THEN was nice to me. Bad move. It made me worse. She started injecting (urgh, NOW I'm feeling sick just writing this) and I tried really hard to read. No luck. I varied between trying to read and sitting with my eyes closed. Periodically, she tried to make conversation but I wasn't up to it while that poison was going into me. After syringe 2 or 3, it started to sting. I told her, but she insisted it was OK. I was jumpy, restless and just downright shit. By the last of the 5 syringes the stinging was constant. I told her and she again tried to reassure me. I don't know, maybe it WAS in my head. Maybe not. Only one way out of there though...
I was OKish the morning of chemo 5. I stayed in bed as long as possible but eventually had to get up. Just had a cup of Earl Grey (normal tea tastes metallic now, yuk) and no food. Don't want to give the sickness ANYTHING to work on. I phoned the hospital to ask for my favourite (Least hated. OK, OK, so that's unfair. Whatever) chemo nurse. The one I spoke to was the quietly spoken but slow male nurse I had for chemo 1. He took my request but said he couldn't promise anything.
When we got there, lo and behold, we waited. And waited. Now, I know EVERYONE waits for medical appointments but being forced to wait for chemo is above and beyond what is fair and rational. In, get it over with, out. That really is the best (again, least worst) way. Finally, finally, I was taken through. And waited again. When my nurse (not the one I'd asked for) did come over, she gave me the Emend anti sickness and agreed I needed to wait an hour. I asked if we could go away and wait somewhere else and she agreed. We went down to the cafe. R had coffee and I had a fruit tea.
We went back and waited AGAIN. I left R reading in the chemo room and paced around outside in the waiting area. It was preferable to being in that room. Being in there makes me feel sick even when I'm having nothing done. Eventually I went back. The nurse came back and I asked for hot water to bring my veins to the surface. She told me to put my hand under the tap, which I did. She came back and off we went.
I was pathetic. She put the canula in and it hurt. I could feel myself tearing up and she was good. She finished inserting it and THEN was nice to me. Bad move. It made me worse. She started injecting (urgh, NOW I'm feeling sick just writing this) and I tried really hard to read. No luck. I varied between trying to read and sitting with my eyes closed. Periodically, she tried to make conversation but I wasn't up to it while that poison was going into me. After syringe 2 or 3, it started to sting. I told her, but she insisted it was OK. I was jumpy, restless and just downright shit. By the last of the 5 syringes the stinging was constant. I told her and she again tried to reassure me. I don't know, maybe it WAS in my head. Maybe not. Only one way out of there though...
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