Welcome to my Breast Cancer Blog.
Welcome to my Breast Cancer Blog. I was diagnosed in July 2012 (Friday 13th to be exact!) with stupid Breast Cancer. I was 43. Believe me, it was not in my life plan. But shit happens. Deal with it.
Anyway, I have been writing this blog to try and make sense of it all. I write it as my alterego "BC Girl". Rather like "Hitgirl". Sometimes it helps to pretend to be someone else. My superpowers are (1) Fangirling (2) Moaning (3) Drinking Wine and (4) Moaning. Epic. And, unlike in real life, as BC Girl, I am sweary and bloodyminded. Mostly positive, with a handful of doom and gloom chucked in - come on - we all love a bit of doom and gloom - isn't that what sells papers, after all? I also hope I can be as fiesty as Hitgirl. I intend to fight this sucker with blasters, sub-machine guns, karate, cannons, tanks, laserbeams, nukes, flamethrowers and any other bloody thing I can lay my hands on! Also I shall throw in some comedy, irony, fangirling and music along the way, just for laughs. What harm can that do?
So this is my rambling blog, from a harrassed middle aged mum of two, with a long-suffering hubbie, trapped in the surreal world of Breast Cancer, with all the shit that brings (scans, chemo, operations, more scans, blah, blah, blah). I cannot promise words of wisdom. I cannot guarantee that any of this will make sense. But I can definitely assure you there will be LOTS OF MOANING about cancer crap!
And there will also be copius amounts of f a n g i r l i n g.
You have been warned.
Welcome Visitors.
All views and opinions expressed in this blog are my own. I hope that my experience will help someone out there who is struggling with a similar diagnosis or having a hard time. I welcome your comments. But I am a positive kinda girl so no negativity please. It bums me out! Now we know where we stand, sit down with a cuppa and read on......
News
Happy Flipping Valentines Day
14/02/2013 10:34
I am watching the Kerrang channel. "Loverboy" (YM@6) is playing. The phone rings. Its my Consultant. What an appropriate time to call! I realise, however, quite early on that this is not a social call. "We have your results. I need to see you. Tomorrow."
I check my diary. It's a good job I pushed my date back with Jeremy Renner to the following week. "Ok." I gulp. "See you tomorrow. At 4.30. It's a date" (You stupid, stupid woman.)
That was yesterday. Today is Valentines Day. I had planned a nice meal for my hubbie. That would have to wait now. I have bought my friend along for moral support. She makes damn fine cake. We enter the Chamber of Secrets. This is where the magic happens. This is where you get the Good News. Or not, in my case.
As per usual, in these circumstances, I am required to de-robe. This is now so common, I am almost doing it as I walk through the door.
First of all we have to deal with the seroma again. This is the third time. Mr _____ gets out the...
'This Ain't A Scene, It's A Goddamn Seroma!'
08/02/2013 12:16
I have a drain in. What's that, a drain? No problemo. Well, actually I no likey the drain. It is a long tube, which is full of blood and fluid, coming out from under my arm like an alien tentacle. It fills into a bag, which I hook over my shoulder.
The drain needs to stay in for about a week after the operation. The drain fails. This is not good. The fluid is not going into the bag, just leaking all over me. I have to go back up to the hospital. My sister is with me. She is mad that the drain has failed and I am in discomfort. So am I.
We see a doctor and a registrar. He says, in a knowledgable way "The drain has failed." Shit. That's bad. He nods. "We have to take it out. Right here. Right now." "OOO-KKKAY. What about pain relief?". I can see the smile forming. "You won't need pain relief". He was wrong. I did. But I didn't get it.
In a solemn tone, he advises "You will get a seroma." Right, I have no idea what a seroma is. Perhaps it a lucky prize, you know...
Wake Me Up When Its All Over....
01/02/2013 09:22
My wires hurt. I feel slightly, ever so slightly, how Pinhead must feel. I return to my bed and hope that things will get better.
They do! I meet my Anesthetist. He is very nice and friendly. We talk about how little experience I have had with operations. I have spent a lot of time sleeping recently, but that was not due to active drug use, just post-chemo induced malaise. He beetles off and saying "I will see you later" Undoubtably.
I put on my surgical stockings, which are a nice shade of grey, and I am ready to roll. I see some people leave. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they don't. Then it's my turn.
A nice porter talks me along, through corridors and double doors. I feel like I am in an episode of ER. But without George Clooney. I meet my nice anesthetist again. He puts in my cannula (which hurts again! What is it with needles today?) and within a few minutes I am asleep.
When I wake up, 5 hours later, I don't feel too good. In fact, truth be told, I...
What's My Frequency Again?
01/02/2013 08:40
Today is the day. D-Day. Operation "Take the bloody thing out, throw it in the bin and move on with my life (tbtotbmwl)". So let the games begin!
I follow the instructions on my admissions letter. No food or drink after midnight - Check. No alcohol - Check (that bummed me out). No Jewelry - Check. No Nail Varnish - Check. No Make Up - Whoooa there. You are having a laugh aren't you? Sorry can't comply. Do not compute.
Off I go with my overnight bag. I am very, very nervous. I have decided the best way to overcome this is to pretend I am on a "Spa Mini Break" (without the sauna, the massage, the make over or the colonic irrigation). We get there early and a nice nurse shows me my bed. I am told to derobe and put a hospital gown on. I have prior experience of these from CT scans etc. They are pesky buggers, with fiddly tags that do up around your back - very difficult to do. It takes me ages to put the darn thing on and look half presentable.
And then my Surgeon arrives. With...
Side-Effects? What side-effects?
27/12/2012 18:40
Chemo - what a blast! I am so glad it is done!
I have some great side effects!
(1) A lovely limp and a sore hip. - I have been scanned and x-ray-ed to within an inch of my life. I am assured that there is nothing sin-is-ter going on - at all! The hip pain is a legacy of the Taxotere. Which kills your nerve endings. Its fun like that.
(2) Periods of falling over - I have occasional bouts of falling over. This is caused by Low Blood Pressure I am realiably informed. Not that anyone has taken my blood pressure to actually check this out. I also have periods of walking like I have drunk several bottles of wine. I weave and stagger. This would be acceptable if I was drunk, but I am not!
(3) Hair loss - This is the Daddy of side effects. I have lost all the hair on my head, including eyebrows and eyelashes. I have also lost hair pretty much every where else, except for my legs - which I still have to shave - how very blooming annoying!!!!
(4) Memory loss - I have what is...
Misery Business
06/11/2012 12:06
Chemo is dark, man! Really, really dark.
By the time chemo no 3 hit I had lost most of my hair and was beginning to feel some of the side effects. Then bam! Chemo 3 and 4. I thought I was dying. Literally dying. Chemo no 3 was the last FEC combo. It decided it was going to go out with a bang. Within three days=of the infusions, I was in so much pain I could hardly move. Looking back at it, I think this is what must have happened. Whilst I was asleep, Mike Tyson broke in.... He pummelled the living daylight out of me. Then he threw me on a train track which ran me over. Then he beat me up a it more. And then he left me to die....
I thought it couldn't get much worse.
Then I had chemo no 4. We switched to a new drug, Taxotere (Docetaxol) or otherwise know as "Hell's Brew". This is a really toxic drug (what chemo isn't?) and has to be given on its own as too strong tobe given alongside other drugs. It has to go in very slowly and you have to be monitored in case you...
Is That A Hair In My Soup, Monsieur?
01/10/2012 21:02
I was prepared for my hair to fall out. At least I thought I was. I really was NOT prepared for my hair to fall out.
Although I had cut it short and it was thinning out, I still looked vaguely human. Then, we had the hairy shower incident. That was the beginning of the end of my hair. It started to moult, everywhere. Its amazing how much hair you have. It came out in clumps. It came out on the pillow whilst I slept. It came out on my clothing. It just went everywhere. I should have bagged it up and recycled it.
Eventually it got to the point when I had had enough. I demanded that it was shaved off, IMMEDIATELY.
At first it was a shock being bald. And very, very cold. Eventually we got used to it. My husband started to call me "Uncle Fester". I had a remarkable likeness to him by this point. I had a nice bald head and a round moonface from the steriods.
I never used my wig. It didn't feel right. And, in a strange way, I felt empowered. I wanted to share my...
'Wake Me Up When September Ends'
30/09/2012 20:27
You have to understand, to those of you who don't know me personally, that I am writing this post-apocalyptically, metaphorically speaking. My personal experience on chemo will be different to everyone else. Everyone is an individual and therefore we all respond differently.
I had a PICC line put in as my veins corded and hardened. They could not get the infusion in via cannula. Epirubicin, the red devil, is notorious for this. This one is also the one that messes up your heart. The PICC line comes out the top with a cannula, a tap and a blue line. This is a fixed line which goes into a large vein in the upper part of your arm and then direct into the heart. This has a quicker, stronger effect than wandering along the yellow brick road from your hand etc. Also, the chemo nurses can take blood out via the PICC line. This is a godsend too as you need blood tests done before the chemo to check your blood count. I estimate that I have had at least...
I Rocked The First Chemo
25/08/2012 17:49
Now, don't get me wrong. To all of you those who have had chemo (and there are many of us out there). And to all those who have not had it (you lucky, lucky bastards). Chemo does suck. It is a motherf*&£$er. Let no-one tell you different. the whole word is scary. I was not looking forward to this part of "the journey" at all.
I had my hair cut short and dyed purple in anticipation of the event.
And to top it all, my 10 year old had a very serious accident a few days before. I had spent most of the week from Tuesday on at the hospital, sleeping on the children's ward for two nights. Add to that blood tests and a pre-chemo assessment and MRSA screen. What a busy week. And then along comes Friday.
Friday 24th August was to be my first chemo infusion. I put make up on and smart gear. I thought "I may look as sick as a dog coming out, but I am bloody well going in like a super model!" There were lots of older people there. And lots of nurses. The first thing I am asked...
'Dance, Dance'
18/08/2012 16:18
The pre-chemo dance begins. An endless round of tests, blood test, scans and more tests. I have so much blood taken out of me I could feed a zombie swarm. It would be good shit too, although maybe slightly alcoholic. Since diagnosis I have found my capacity to drink wine has increased. I wonder why that would be?
Anyway for those that are interested here are some of the scans that are required (in no particular order of preference) and my experience of them:
(1) BONE SCAN - This requires an injection of radioactive dye into your arm. Then a period of time to "incubate it". The Bone Scan, for those who have never had one, takes place on a long couch and a long machine goes up and down your body very slowly. You have to lie very still. Really still. You can't pass wind or pick your nose. I have an urge to pee but luckily it passes. I have emptied my bladder first anyway - its a pre-requisite of the scan. The radiologist is nice. She is young and Irish. We...