Slowly, at first at a walk and now at a gallop, I am returning to the field of everyday life. The energy surges came back on Friday and every hour I feel more and more human.
If this carries on, I am sure I will be back to my obnoxious, bouncing self, by...ooooh....next Wednesday when I get my next batch. How lovely!
Side effects continue to abount though. still no sickness, but my nails at their 'beds' hurt every time I tap them on these keys, or on a table, or lift anything..and of course, once more, like last time, I put my fingers through my hair, and slowly, steadily and interminably, strands attach themselves. It is emotionally neutral at the moment; I am not as attached to this 'interim' growth as I was to the first 'set' of hair that I lost. In fact, I have to admit to a wry grin passing my face when I think that it is just a year since I finished chemo and now, here we are losing it again. What rotten luck. Mind you, there is always a chance that my regrowth will come back a la blonde Marilyn Monroe, beautifully blonde, and beautifully groomed rather than my current thatch. Ironic too that my hair, which has always been my crowning glory since the age of ten, has only just in the last two weeks decided to start behaving itself and instead of sticking up like the proverbial lavatory brush has started to look like a 'woman's ' hair.
When I start to feel a tingle of apprehension about my hair, I always think about my youngest daughter, who was terribly upset about my baldness last time. When I explained to her that it was either a case of losing my hair and being around longer or not losing it and the natural consequences of that, she told me that 'helped'. Then, with the natural contradiction of all humanity, I wore a wig to her school to lessen the blow of a bald mother and she delighted in pulling it off in front of her friends (to their great shock, I may add...)
So normality returns. A little work, a little gym, a little housework and my biggest role, my cancer centred role draws into the background. 10 days of freedom...
Minerva
Monday, January 29, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
War Begins
So war was declared. A phony war for the first two days where this body went out, and did normal things such as wandered around shops, went into coffee houses and then, the declaration of war, the flag was raised and the war finally started on Sunday.
I ached everywhere. Every nerve in my body from my teeth, my arms, my hips, my stomach was crying out for attention and moving was difficult. I walked like an old woman at only a few yards at a time. Eating and drinking was difficult because my mouth was so sore. Due to the chemotherapy, I have contracted oral thrush and my mouth feels like the fluff that you find behind the sofa and looks even worse. My tongue in particular is coated with white and so swallowing was really hard.
Desperate for some medication to take away the bone pain, I turned up at Accident and Emergency on Sunday afternoon and they kept me in hospital to rehydrate me and get the pain and the eating under control.
Strangely enough, the bone pain was not caused by the chemotherapy but the injections that I have been giving myself to increase my blood counts. Clearly the most dangerous side effect of chemo is the lowering of the white blood cell rate but thanks to these injections my bone marrow has been working overtime and producing loads of cells, hence the pain. So whilst I am thrilled I am not in any risk of getting a major infection soon, I am feeling battered by the pain.
We have now stopped the injections and finally I can rest. Nothing on the cards for the next couple of days except resting, eating and catching up with my fluids. And through it all just one thought...if this is what it is doing to me, what is it doing to Mr Carcinoma?
Minerva
I ached everywhere. Every nerve in my body from my teeth, my arms, my hips, my stomach was crying out for attention and moving was difficult. I walked like an old woman at only a few yards at a time. Eating and drinking was difficult because my mouth was so sore. Due to the chemotherapy, I have contracted oral thrush and my mouth feels like the fluff that you find behind the sofa and looks even worse. My tongue in particular is coated with white and so swallowing was really hard.
Desperate for some medication to take away the bone pain, I turned up at Accident and Emergency on Sunday afternoon and they kept me in hospital to rehydrate me and get the pain and the eating under control.
Strangely enough, the bone pain was not caused by the chemotherapy but the injections that I have been giving myself to increase my blood counts. Clearly the most dangerous side effect of chemo is the lowering of the white blood cell rate but thanks to these injections my bone marrow has been working overtime and producing loads of cells, hence the pain. So whilst I am thrilled I am not in any risk of getting a major infection soon, I am feeling battered by the pain.
We have now stopped the injections and finally I can rest. Nothing on the cards for the next couple of days except resting, eating and catching up with my fluids. And through it all just one thought...if this is what it is doing to me, what is it doing to Mr Carcinoma?
Minerva
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Feinting.
So I thought I had got away easy with this chemo and I am so wrong. I have woken up this morning with a sore throat, and my muscles and my bones ache with pain. Every move i make, I feel in my kneecaps and every one of my joints.
Suddenly at the age of 40 I feel like an eighty year old, or rather, what I imagine an eighty year old feels like. It takes me ages to get up or sit down, and I am utterly cancer bound in my mind and my body.
This is hard, this hurts and I hope, this shall pass...
Minerva
Suddenly at the age of 40 I feel like an eighty year old, or rather, what I imagine an eighty year old feels like. It takes me ages to get up or sit down, and I am utterly cancer bound in my mind and my body.
This is hard, this hurts and I hope, this shall pass...
Minerva
Friday, January 19, 2007
Wiped Out
First the good news, in fact, not just good news, great news. I haven't been sick - a little nauseous at a stretch but not sick. Just that one fact makes me exultant as it makes SUCH a difference.
I got up yesterday morning truly dreading treatment. I tried with my 'Happy Chemo Post' to deflect all the terror and worry into something postive and I have to say that it did work. I went in calm, and after a four hour wait (!) for treatment, was still calm. On the way back from the hospital, I popped into the local health club, joined up and half an hour later, after a quick lunch, I went back and had 25 minutes on the exercise bike... Now that is something I have NEVER been able to do after chemo before!
I have to say, though, that without my brother I would have been lost. He was there the whole morning, keeping my anxiety in check and making sure that all was as it should be... He also accompanied me to the gym for my first visit as all overweight people know that stepping into a gym for the first time after a very long absence from exercise is nerve wracking... I am so very lucky to have a brother like him.
And on to today. Up with the late lark, a little shopping and lunch at a noodle bar, where I suddenly realised that every shred of energy was slipping out of me. It became too much to lift myself from the bench, too much to walk, too much to put one foot in front of the other. I felt like I had been run over by a bull dozer who had then gone over me once more 'just in case.' Stumbled home with my mother and the boyfriend who laid me out on the sofa where I have been all afternoon dozing in and out....
Never have I felt so tired. Like a limp wet rag, I stick to the sofa but rather that, so much rather that than the nausea and the sickness...
Today I can do this,
Minerva
I got up yesterday morning truly dreading treatment. I tried with my 'Happy Chemo Post' to deflect all the terror and worry into something postive and I have to say that it did work. I went in calm, and after a four hour wait (!) for treatment, was still calm. On the way back from the hospital, I popped into the local health club, joined up and half an hour later, after a quick lunch, I went back and had 25 minutes on the exercise bike... Now that is something I have NEVER been able to do after chemo before!
I have to say, though, that without my brother I would have been lost. He was there the whole morning, keeping my anxiety in check and making sure that all was as it should be... He also accompanied me to the gym for my first visit as all overweight people know that stepping into a gym for the first time after a very long absence from exercise is nerve wracking... I am so very lucky to have a brother like him.
And on to today. Up with the late lark, a little shopping and lunch at a noodle bar, where I suddenly realised that every shred of energy was slipping out of me. It became too much to lift myself from the bench, too much to walk, too much to put one foot in front of the other. I felt like I had been run over by a bull dozer who had then gone over me once more 'just in case.' Stumbled home with my mother and the boyfriend who laid me out on the sofa where I have been all afternoon dozing in and out....
Never have I felt so tired. Like a limp wet rag, I stick to the sofa but rather that, so much rather that than the nausea and the sickness...
Today I can do this,
Minerva
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Happy Chemo Day!
HAPPY CHEMO DAY!
Yes, I have decided, encouraged by the love of my life, who refuses to look at any other outlook to be postive. And to be honest, I mean how much more panicky than panicky could I get? So I decided to let the sense of humour and the huge appreciation I have for all the wonderful support around me kick in. Let me know what you think....
So today, rather than dwell on the fear, the sheer terror of walking down the corridor to that room with the 'needles', I am going to focus on how wonderful it is that they are treating me aggressively, that I am well enough to take on this treatment, that I have such a wonderful loving family who are willing to support me again through all this and a lovely man who is flying over tonight to hold the sick bowl and wipe my forehead. Forget diamonds...That does it for me. *grin*
I also have so much to live for: a job I adore and am good at; a family that love and support me; glorious intelligent fun girls who make every minute I am with them stimulating and renewed; a chance to write and be creative for the next four and a half months; and every single one of you that comment and pray and hope for me - the most wonderful bunch of people out here who are cheering me along. Thank you to each and every one of you. I am, in some ways, incredibly lucky.
Hell, I am being so positive don't you wish you were doing this too?
Smiling,
HAPPY CHEMO DAY!
Spread the word!
Minerva
Yes, I have decided, encouraged by the love of my life, who refuses to look at any other outlook to be postive. And to be honest, I mean how much more panicky than panicky could I get? So I decided to let the sense of humour and the huge appreciation I have for all the wonderful support around me kick in. Let me know what you think....
So today, rather than dwell on the fear, the sheer terror of walking down the corridor to that room with the 'needles', I am going to focus on how wonderful it is that they are treating me aggressively, that I am well enough to take on this treatment, that I have such a wonderful loving family who are willing to support me again through all this and a lovely man who is flying over tonight to hold the sick bowl and wipe my forehead. Forget diamonds...That does it for me. *grin*
I also have so much to live for: a job I adore and am good at; a family that love and support me; glorious intelligent fun girls who make every minute I am with them stimulating and renewed; a chance to write and be creative for the next four and a half months; and every single one of you that comment and pray and hope for me - the most wonderful bunch of people out here who are cheering me along. Thank you to each and every one of you. I am, in some ways, incredibly lucky.
Hell, I am being so positive don't you wish you were doing this too?
Smiling,
HAPPY CHEMO DAY!
Spread the word!
Minerva
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
War
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
"Henry V" (5.3.44-51)
I am now officially scared. Today, I left work and the trivialities and energy of a busy school. Cries of 'we'll miss you Miss,' have rung in my ears all day and the goodbye to my dear tutor group was hard. And now? Now I am alone, with my body, with the cancer eating away at my cells and I can't duck it anymore. All week I have been avoiding looking it in the eye, distracting myself with the mundane minutiae of everyday life and suddenly, like a giant mountain in the middle of the road, I can't anymore....
Oh hell, can I do this? Do I have the mental and physical strength to face it? Already, at the mere thought of chemo, the saliva grows in my mouth and I feel the familiar bottomless pit of fear in my stomach. Even though rationally I KNOW why I find it more scary as I know what I am in for, I cannot quell the emotions that tear through me. I don't want to do this again. I want someone, anyone to take it all away from me, to tell me that it isn't necessary, that I don't have to step up to that bar once more....
But there is no one really who can. The only 'saviour' I have is the one thing I am dreading. How strange is that? Someone told me today that I looked really really well and to be honest, apart from the cancer, I am. What makes one feel ill with this disease is the treatment. What does not kill you, makes you stronger and other such lines run through my mind.
Together with the fear, comes the anger. I am furious with this awful illness. How DARE it come back and pick on me? What on earth have I done to get this cancer twice in one year? Why? Why? Like a wolf howling at the moon, I don't seek answers particularly but shout my frustration and fear out into the internet sky.
Minerva
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
"Henry V" (5.3.44-51)
I am now officially scared. Today, I left work and the trivialities and energy of a busy school. Cries of 'we'll miss you Miss,' have rung in my ears all day and the goodbye to my dear tutor group was hard. And now? Now I am alone, with my body, with the cancer eating away at my cells and I can't duck it anymore. All week I have been avoiding looking it in the eye, distracting myself with the mundane minutiae of everyday life and suddenly, like a giant mountain in the middle of the road, I can't anymore....
Oh hell, can I do this? Do I have the mental and physical strength to face it? Already, at the mere thought of chemo, the saliva grows in my mouth and I feel the familiar bottomless pit of fear in my stomach. Even though rationally I KNOW why I find it more scary as I know what I am in for, I cannot quell the emotions that tear through me. I don't want to do this again. I want someone, anyone to take it all away from me, to tell me that it isn't necessary, that I don't have to step up to that bar once more....
But there is no one really who can. The only 'saviour' I have is the one thing I am dreading. How strange is that? Someone told me today that I looked really really well and to be honest, apart from the cancer, I am. What makes one feel ill with this disease is the treatment. What does not kill you, makes you stronger and other such lines run through my mind.
Together with the fear, comes the anger. I am furious with this awful illness. How DARE it come back and pick on me? What on earth have I done to get this cancer twice in one year? Why? Why? Like a wolf howling at the moon, I don't seek answers particularly but shout my frustration and fear out into the internet sky.
Minerva
Friday, January 12, 2007
Confused feelings...
It is good news. My CT scan is completely clear apart from the lymph node. The doctors are also going all out to 'cure' me. Never has such a word fallen with such import as it did at lunchtime. I LIKE the 'cure' word, I revel in the 'cure' word. In fact, I snuggled down into the 'cure' word and virtually missed the rest of the conversation. They are also treating it really aggressively so I have chemotherapy, surgery and radiation to look forward to as well....
And so, where does the confusion come in?
My feelings. I am thrilled they are treating it aggressively, thrilled that I am starting chemotherapy really quickly, namely Thursday and also tearful, scared and frightened of chemo again. With this illness, it is NEVER the illness that causes problems, but the treatment. Docetaxol is a big one and the main side effects? Sickness and infection due to the low blood cell counts so they are giving me antibiotics right from the beginning. Because of that, I have decided to stop school from next Wednesday. The risk of infection would be way too high and I have a fight for my life for the next few months...
I know that this post is mainly information and not as well written or as edited as usual. I feel disjointed, and as if I am in a parallel reality... here, but not here...
Normal service will be resumed soon.
Minerva
And so, where does the confusion come in?
My feelings. I am thrilled they are treating it aggressively, thrilled that I am starting chemotherapy really quickly, namely Thursday and also tearful, scared and frightened of chemo again. With this illness, it is NEVER the illness that causes problems, but the treatment. Docetaxol is a big one and the main side effects? Sickness and infection due to the low blood cell counts so they are giving me antibiotics right from the beginning. Because of that, I have decided to stop school from next Wednesday. The risk of infection would be way too high and I have a fight for my life for the next few months...
I know that this post is mainly information and not as well written or as edited as usual. I feel disjointed, and as if I am in a parallel reality... here, but not here...
Normal service will be resumed soon.
Minerva
Monday, January 08, 2007
Amazement
I am consistently amazed by the support and friendship which you, all of you wonderful bloggers out there in the distant wired world are offering me. Every day I check my blog, and every day the wonderful arms of comments surround me. And now the cheerleading idea...I have to say that Jo's comment about looking good in a dress did make me laugh and have a look at the reality!
In the absence of any real news and renewed uncertainty until the team of doctors meet to discuss my case this Thursday, and talk it over with me, this Friday, I am in limbo. I have forgotten the achingly slow progress of our National Health service. Don't get me wrong; I am incredibly lucky to have all my health care free of charge and I am not selfish enough to begrudge it. But I still have no appointment letter for this Friday when I hope, I will be discussing my treatment and what the next few months hold before me.
Speaking of which I have returned to work today which was surprisingly easy. I did feel terribly flippant and when I was asked 'how I was', as one is, so wanted to reply that as well as someone contemplating their own death at the hands of a terminal illness would feel....but that would have been selfish wouldn't it? (So I only did it once....) *grinning* Oh yes, always a good sign, that wicked sense of humour returning....
Onwards and upwards my friends - shake those pom poms!
Minerva
In the absence of any real news and renewed uncertainty until the team of doctors meet to discuss my case this Thursday, and talk it over with me, this Friday, I am in limbo. I have forgotten the achingly slow progress of our National Health service. Don't get me wrong; I am incredibly lucky to have all my health care free of charge and I am not selfish enough to begrudge it. But I still have no appointment letter for this Friday when I hope, I will be discussing my treatment and what the next few months hold before me.
Speaking of which I have returned to work today which was surprisingly easy. I did feel terribly flippant and when I was asked 'how I was', as one is, so wanted to reply that as well as someone contemplating their own death at the hands of a terminal illness would feel....but that would have been selfish wouldn't it? (So I only did it once....) *grinning* Oh yes, always a good sign, that wicked sense of humour returning....
Onwards and upwards my friends - shake those pom poms!
Minerva
Friday, January 05, 2007
Why me?
Why me? I have just returned from my CT scan complete with drip and blood tests. It really brought back all those submerged memories of drips, waiting around and bloody pieces of cotton wool taped under inadequate tape that sticks to your clothes. I mean, we have a huge deficit of a health service; I bet if we decided not to accept those little balls of cotton wool and the pathetic pieces of tape that goes with them, we would save this country a small fortune....
So back to self pity and anger. I hate this arriving again and I am so very very angry that it has decided to pick on me again. I have three beautiful girls that need me, I have a life, a career that I adore and even love has found me again and so what happens? I get cancer again, a mere six months after the end of treatment and not even locally in the breast - oh no- that would be FAR TOO SIMPLE. Nope, I get local/regional recurrence which has a prognosis of 38% survival after five years.
That makes one in three by my reckoning. I am currently forty so that means I will be dead by the time I am forty-five. That makes me angry, spittingly angry. I have two eleven year olds and a thirteen year old. If I am lucky, I will get to help my eldest daughter get her A-levels and my twins, their GCSEs. I won't see them into university, I won't be helping them find a job, I won't be planning their weddings or dressing up to be the 'mother of the bride' and I won't see them walk down their own aisles. I won't meet their husbands, and I won't meet my grandchildren...
Or will I? Are statistics just that, statistics? How dare this pathetic little group of cells pick on my body? Can I do it? I was scared today; when that drip went into my arm for the CT scan, the familiar nausea pricked my mouth. I want to do it, every cell in my body screams for me to do it, every waking thought and every sleeping dream yells at me to do it, but my body is weak.
Can I do it?
Minerva
So back to self pity and anger. I hate this arriving again and I am so very very angry that it has decided to pick on me again. I have three beautiful girls that need me, I have a life, a career that I adore and even love has found me again and so what happens? I get cancer again, a mere six months after the end of treatment and not even locally in the breast - oh no- that would be FAR TOO SIMPLE. Nope, I get local/regional recurrence which has a prognosis of 38% survival after five years.
That makes one in three by my reckoning. I am currently forty so that means I will be dead by the time I am forty-five. That makes me angry, spittingly angry. I have two eleven year olds and a thirteen year old. If I am lucky, I will get to help my eldest daughter get her A-levels and my twins, their GCSEs. I won't see them into university, I won't be helping them find a job, I won't be planning their weddings or dressing up to be the 'mother of the bride' and I won't see them walk down their own aisles. I won't meet their husbands, and I won't meet my grandchildren...
Or will I? Are statistics just that, statistics? How dare this pathetic little group of cells pick on my body? Can I do it? I was scared today; when that drip went into my arm for the CT scan, the familiar nausea pricked my mouth. I want to do it, every cell in my body screams for me to do it, every waking thought and every sleeping dream yells at me to do it, but my body is weak.
Can I do it?
Minerva
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Good news..I think...
What is good news? I mean, is it always relative? Today was definitely good news. In short, my lungs, my bones and my liver are all clear of cancer.
In addition, they may have made a mistake and it may be operable. The key word here is may. There are still so many variables. In the next week I will be having a CT scan of my chest and abdomen just to double check there is no further spread and then the options as follows: surgery followed by local radiation to the site if it wasn't covered by the rays the first time; or radiation followed by chemotherapy to wipe out any other possible cancer floaters, or, if it has spread, chemotherapy on its own.
We are not out of the valleys yet, but to a family which were looking at a possible six to eighteen months, we are celebrating tonight...
And there I return to the relativity of good news. Show me another family who rejoices at the news that the cancer is only in the infraclavicular lymph nodes. But give me relative good news every time rather than the relative bad news....
And so, the uncertainty continues.
To all of you wonderful people whose wishes, prayers and emails are falling through my email box, thank you, more than I can say. Please don't stop - I am sure that it is only because of you that someone, somewhere is listening...
And as I sit here, with my three gorgeous girls, whose eyes wept yesterday with the realisation that their mother won't live forever, I count myself one of the luckiest women in the world.
To you all, thank you....
Minerva
In addition, they may have made a mistake and it may be operable. The key word here is may. There are still so many variables. In the next week I will be having a CT scan of my chest and abdomen just to double check there is no further spread and then the options as follows: surgery followed by local radiation to the site if it wasn't covered by the rays the first time; or radiation followed by chemotherapy to wipe out any other possible cancer floaters, or, if it has spread, chemotherapy on its own.
We are not out of the valleys yet, but to a family which were looking at a possible six to eighteen months, we are celebrating tonight...
And there I return to the relativity of good news. Show me another family who rejoices at the news that the cancer is only in the infraclavicular lymph nodes. But give me relative good news every time rather than the relative bad news....
And so, the uncertainty continues.
To all of you wonderful people whose wishes, prayers and emails are falling through my email box, thank you, more than I can say. Please don't stop - I am sure that it is only because of you that someone, somewhere is listening...
And as I sit here, with my three gorgeous girls, whose eyes wept yesterday with the realisation that their mother won't live forever, I count myself one of the luckiest women in the world.
To you all, thank you....
Minerva
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