Reality strikes...

Alright, alright.
OK
I've got to admit it...
I'm having chemo today...
Three lots of it...
And steroids...
And heparin...
And anti-sickness drugs...
And something stuck into my arm...

Bugger.

So I really do have cancer then?

Bugger again x

36 hours and counting...

OK.
So I admit it.
I am slightly nervous about Friday.
Nervous or apprehensive?
Both - I guess.
But what about exactly?
That's the bit I'm unsure of.
I'm ok with the mechanics of putting a line in my arm. It might hurt a bit.
But it cannot hurt more than the 2 root canal fillings I subjected myself to on Monday. I only went in with a bit of toothache on a filling that I'd had done 4 weeks ago, and with what I thought was referred pain nearby. But alas....two full-on root jobs. And no amount of local anaesthetic could numb tooth number 1 and finally, only an injection into the roof of my mouth could deaden tooth number 2. I squealed; shouted; cried. I lost my flip-flops somewhere in the surgery when the drill hit the nerve. I behaved like a baby. I loathe dentists :(
So, my line - in my mind - will be ok.
I'm wondering what the sensation of the various drugs that get administered into me, will be like.
And will I be sick?
Will Gary cope with seeing me being poisoned.
How will I feel when I get home.
Will I seem 'normal' to Lily. She's had a couple of wobbles this week. She's worrying about the strong medicine and whether I will die. I'm hoping that when I'm still yelling 'Shoes off' or 'brush your teeth - don't forget the back ones' or 'come on Lil - it's a school day'...that she'll realise I'm still me. She's worrying about my lovely long blonde locks falling out too. Will hers fall out? (No). If I'm sick will she catch my bugs? (They're not bugs). Will I turn into an alien? (Probably!)
So - I'm off to M&S tomorrow, to buy a sassy picnic to take to the hospital with us on Friday.
And I'm popping in my salon to get my nails done.
One wants to look one's best for chemo.
Don't they?

Ouch!

The psychologists amongst you will realise I'm deferring the reality of having chemo by taking on ludicrous acts of pain - in the name of beauty. Yes I'm talking about eyebrow & eyeliner tattoo-ing.
I am keen not to look like a cancer 'victim'. You know what I mean. A pale moon face. No facial features - eyebrows, eyelashes or hair. No make-up. And a triangle head-scarf.
I sound cruel - but I'm allowed to be - I have cancer too.
I want to be glamorous in treatment!  I want to show how it can be done. I don't actually care that people know I've got cancer..or that I'm having treatment for it...or I'm wearing a wig. But I do want it to be fun - to play 'dressing-up' every day. And for the sake of Lily and Gary - I do want to resemble me! So I embark on my quest for normality..... And it's extreme.
The lovely tattoo-ing lady Billie, a townie from 'upcountry' has been drafted in to do her thing. We have a long discussion regarding the techniques. I shouldn't call it a tattoo really - it's semi-permanent makeup - but it's the same as a tattoo....just not as deep, uses natural mineral dyes instead of ink, and will fade over time. We choose the best colours for me and set about creating my eyeliner first. I decide on this - as without eyelashes and lashings of my favourite mascara - I look as if I belong in a morgue. Local anaesthetic is applied to my lids, and Billie sets to work. Within seconds I'm saying 'OUCH' in my head. I try to be brave - this is self-inflicted after-all...but jimminy cricket...it really hurts - A LOT! It feels like she's slicing my lid open - the supposed anaesthetic having no numbing effect at all. Billie then treats the other eye. Then back to the first eye for more and so on, for 4 or 5 times. This is seriously not for the faint-hearted - you have to really really want this.
I do.
And I still have my eyebrows to re-create yet! Billie draws two stunning brow looks on me - one either side for me to choose from. Decision made. To create natural hair strokes - there is a sensation of slicing, as before, and fine drilling. But after the painful eyeliner - this almost seems easy - well ok - easy-ish!
The finished effect - is - well, stunning! And bold. Very bold! In order to compensate for the 40% fading which occurs in the first week of healing and repair, it's best to go darker than required - and yes - I signed up for that!
I get home to Gary & Lily. "You look scary, Mummy!..... Daddy - look at Mummy!". Then they are helpless. Helpless with laughter. An eyebrow pencil is produced and they set about drawing huge & ridiculous eyebrows on each others faces....
See, I told you it would be fun!
Ouch!

KBO!

Stop the world - I want to get off!
Have you ever had that feeling, when you've volunteered for something really wacky - then when it comes to it - you think - 'why on earth did I say yes?'. It feels a bit like that now...after my visit to the chemo unit. I was greeted by friendly staff, who were clearly understanding & caring and was taken into a side room. I'm  given the facts & figures of the chemotherapy treatment. We go through the pros & cons, the physical side effects (of which there are many )and emotional side effects (more still). It's daunting.
Being a swot/mixing with the right crowd in my teenage years(!)...I never did drugs - not once...well I'm going to make up for it now! It's been decided I'm having a PICC (Peripherally Inserted Central venous Catheter) line put in. Its a long thin hollow tube, put into a vein into the crook of my arm, threaded up until it reaches a large vein near my heart. Chemo/steroids/antibiotics in / blood out.  It will stay there for several months. I can bathe/shower but not swim...no issue there then.
All my obs were done & more bloods taken - I'm 100% healthy - oh... discounting the cancer of course!
I get written permission to get my eyebrows tattooed on - and that in itself raises a few eyebrows! This is Barnstaple, Devon - not Harley Street, London - I'm not from round 'ere - I still wear make-up to go to the shops or to see the sheep...well one has to keep one's 'townie' standards up. I know everyone thinks I'm bonkers...who cares....it's just for me. And it's being done tomorrow...thanks to my favourite beauty salon (Peach) - who have organised it by bringing a special 'townie' lady in - especially for me - thanks girls!
So, I'm on countdown to Friday 30th September. PICC line in & steroids/chemo/anti-sickness drugs all administered.
And I guess I'll be ready....
3 wigs - check,
Semi-permanent eyebrows - check,
Silk pillow - check,
Sick bowl - check,
Day-time telly - check
Offer to do my ironing - check
Loads of offers of help with Lily - check
And chocolate - check, check, check, check (thank you Sharon & Alan, Kate & Mick)

And if all else fails....I'll do a Winston Churchill
On days when nothing seemed to be going his way, he would start the day off by saying out loud: "KBO - Keep Buggering On!"
Check!

Good news...!

Some good news...my full body scan last week is clear! That really is terrific...because we all know if they'd found any cancer elsewhere in this body of mine - it would be seriously pants.


I've been summoned to the chemo unit in Barnstaple for my induction(!) on Wednesday this week. I guess it's to have a look round, meet the staff, have a chat about what's to come etc. Bit like a new job really. I think then, that my first dose of the toxic nectar will be the following Thursday, 29th September.
Ooohhhh...just think..I'll be a baldy by mid October! I'm quite looking forward to wearing my new wigs - a blonde bob, and a longer blonde wavy flicked number. Plus some fab hats...a couple of them from the good old US of A...they do cancer fashion much better than us! We don't seem to have progressed much from knitted tea-cosies or triangle scarves in mystic meg style. I keep trying to find a business opportunity through this journey of mine - perhaps I could design some decent headgear.
And because I'm quite a girly girl, I'm booked in to have semi-permanent eyebrows and eyeliner tattooed on, on Friday. I'm more nervous about this than the chemo! I don't like eyebrows that are drawn on like Aunt Sally's in Worzel Gummidge - but when they've all fallen out - there isn't much option...except for something more permanent, with a natural look (apparently). I do hope I don't end up with two black eyes and a pair of caterpillars crawling up my face!
We bid farewell to Bill, my father-in-law on Friday. It went well.
We, and 200 other mourners gave him a jolly good send off.....Bill would have enjoyed it, if he had been there! All his family & friends gathered in one place, recalling good times and happy memories. I had written the eulogy, and my Dad delivered it. Yes, Dad delivered it but not in the correct order....he managed to read pages 1,2,4, the punchline, then page 3..there was no going back - still, it made it memorable! As memorable as when the Vicar committed our 'sister' Bill to heaven...sister?....news to us! For Gary and me - it was the sight of our really good friends that made it special. They had come to pay their respects to Bill - but really had come to support Gary - and that filled our hearts with gladness. Thanks guys.
Lily had a sleep-over at some lovely friends of ours....I say sleep-over..but I suspect more of a 'wake-over'! We didn't take her with us, as we didn't want her to witness any unnecessary sadness. She did ask me though, if we were going to burn Grandad Bill on Nana's fire in the lounge...talk your way out of that one! Would have been cheaper though...perhaps we should have suggested it!
Farewell Bill.
God Bless.
Sleep tight x

Cocktails

Lots of people have been asking about the chemo. What is it really?
The thing to remember - is chemo is actually chemical therapy -  the use of anti-cancer (cytotoxic) drugs to destroy cancer cells. There are more than 50 different chemotherapy drugs. Some are given as tablets or capsules but most are given by drip into a vein or via a central line into the body (which I'm having). The drugs go into the bloodstream and travel throughout the body to destroy stray cancer cells wherever they are. Sometimes just one chemotherapy drug is used, but often a combination of two, three or more drugs is given. In my case - I get three for the price of one - fluorouracil, which is also known as 5FU, epirubicin, and cyclophosphamide. The combination is nicknamed FEC.
Look upon it as a 'whole body experience'. It took just one single microscopic cancer cell in my body to divide into two, those two divide & make four, four divide to make eight ...and so on - then multiply in an uncontrolled manner creating a lump called a tumour. The chemo blasts my whole body to try and kill every single cancer cell that ever existed in there. Good luck is what I say!

To check to make sure there is no spreading of the cancer to any of my vital organs - I went for my full body CT scan today.
I knew that I'd be lying on a movable trolley bed, slowly going in & out of a giant Polo-mint like structure - but what I didn't know was how I'd be prepped beforehand! I was given 4 pints of radioactive liquid - with a hint of aniseed - that I had to drink over a period of an hour. It was vile. Vile and a LOT of it. I could however add squash/cordial to each cupful - which the nurse kindly provided, to make it more appetising. So I set about mixing cocktails of radioactive aniseed & lemon, radioactive aniseed & blackcurrant, and radioactive aniseed & orange. Cool. If I sold this at Glastonbury - I'd make a fortune/ be arrested! I hadn't been allowed to eat for a few hours beforehand...so these cocktails were starting to slosh & gurgle in my empty stomach. And because you know you can't have one - I wanted a wee. I really wanted a wee - oh please hurry & come back for me - I need a wee.
I change into a gown & the radiologist takes me into the polo-mint room & sticks a line into my vein. More radioactive dye to pump through my body at given intervals. The only side effect - I'm told is a sudden rush of warmth round my body - oh, and you'll feel like you've wet yourself - but it's ok - no-one ever actually does....yeah...right!
The scan is easy peasy. The bed slowly goes back & forth through the polo several times - while instructions are given on breathing through a speakers from the galley.
That's it. All done.
Mum, sitting patiently in the waiting room, sees a gown whizzing past....'everything ok?' - I hear vaguely...no time to lose...I'm on a mission - get me to the loo...FAST!......unimaginable relief....whew!

No word from the chemo team - so I don't know when it will start. Chase up BCN.
It will always be bloods Wednesdays, chemo Thursdays, shite Fridays.
But not tomorrow.
Because the next day is Friday 16th.
And that's when we lay my father-in-law, Bill to rest....and I do hope he rests. You see - I was given the job of writing his eulogy & if he doesn't like it - he'll come back & haunt me! I've done my very best for him. And even though Mrs Bouquet seems to have fogotten about my cancer & how much stress Gary & I are actually under (she isn't the only one who's hurting) - which apparently gives her the right to give me 45 minuite tirade, knowing Gary wasn't here, reducing me to tears yesterday, over something Gary did/or didn't do - even she approves of the eulogy. I can't be all bad - can I?
I'll be glad when Friday is over.
Roll on chemo.
Let's get this show on the road.
Cocktail - anyone?

A Positive Day

I parked my car at the top end of the hospital car park. If you go in too far, there are never any spaces and you end up having to exit, go round the block & re-enter. It's a bit of a walk to the main entrance but that's not a problem.
I've got a lot on my mind and I'm thinking about questions to ask Dr Scratch-card, my oncologist.....
Then I got that feeling that someone was behind me. I daren't look. I walk a little faster - my heart racing. Yes there was definitely someone behind me. I don't like this one bit. I speed up to get away - this is all I need - to get attacked, on my way to sort out me cancer. I break into a semi jog, but my attacker is catching up, I can feel his breath behind me and a hand grabs my shoulder..I prepare to scream...
"For goodness sake Jane, slow down" Gary says behind me...
We'd arranged to meet at the hospital - I'd completely forgotten!
I feel a right twit now! You gotta laugh!


My appointment with the chemo consultant, Dr Scratch-card, goes quite well. She's a no-nonsense, no-frills kind of person, about my age. We discuss statistics for my sub-type of cancer & how the benefits of having chemo increase my chances of survival to 10 years by an extra 10%. I'm OK with that & we proceed to the nitty-gritty of it all. I'll be having a Hickman line put into my chest for chemo in/blood out. No problem. It's the same as my nieces 'Wiggly' when she had leukaemia. Chemo will be given on a Thursday at Barnstaple - again, I'm pleased with that - cuts out any unnecessary travel. I'll be ill for approx 7 days, neutropenic (Very low blood count - prone to infections) for approx 7 days, and hopefully OK for 7 days. Then the cycle starts again.. Just do this 6 times & chemo will be done.
Yes - my hair will come out, including eyebrows, bikini/leg hair - well that'l1 save a fortune on waxing! My nails might fall off & my taste buds will change. We talk nutrition. She tells me to eat what I can during chemo. Don't try & go OTT 'healthy' - save that for after. I'll be off food quite often (she doesn't know me very well - me? off food? unheard of!)- so even chocolate is ok.....mmm....this isn't sounding too bad after all....a doctor giving permission for chocolate...come to think of it Becky - my sister, 'the one who knows', and my VBF's both put chocolate in my goody bags. Excellent.
Did we want any more babies? This question renders Gary into a spluttering heap on the floor. No. It's alright - I say - I think we're done with that now. Good she says - because the chemo will put you into early menopause. Hot sweats, foul moods & crying for the babies we can't have any more that we didn't want anyway. Oh well. If we're going to have a crap year - may as well get it all over with in one go!
Poor Gary. All this ladies talk is making him look ill.


So, full body scan next Wednesday 14th. The chemo team will be in touch, to sort dates / blood tests / Hickman line. Chemo to begin in the next 2 weeks.
Not next Thursday though
I want to say goodbye to Bill on Friday.
And Gary needs to be among his friends.
To mourn and grieve for his Daddy.
And then we'll kick this bloody cancer into touch.
You ain't seen nothing yet. You bugger.

Happy Birthday!

I was 46 yesterday.....bit ridiculous.......but only because I still think I'm 28!

It didn't seem appropriate to celebrate my birthday in any normal fashion nor did we feel like it - but with six year old Lily leaping on our bed at 7am laden with cards & gifts, grinning like a Cheshire cat- it's hard not to get in the spirit of things.

Gary & Lily gave me a fab Amazon Kindle with a bright pink case. The perfect present for me as I'm a prolific reader and love gadgets (well I do if Gary's there to set it up & teach me what the darn gizmo can do!). A well thought-out present too, as I've no doubt in the next year or so, there will be long periods hanging around the chemo/radiotherapy departments, waiting for or having treatment. Plus there will be days of recuperation to come. The down side of being triple-negative, is the chemo will be very tough, very aggressive & will make me quite poorly (apparently - according to BCN). Quite looking forward to indulging in reading novels for a day job!

Other gifts including a trendy poncho, smashing photo in a frame of my now grown-up godsons, a pampering goody bag, wonderful lip balmer, fabulous silk pillow for my baldy head and so on. Thank you all, again for cards and messages - unexpected as usual!

We ate lemon sole, tiramasu & toasted Bill with a quality Zinfandel. God bless you.

Talking of Bill. His funeral has been arranged for 5pm on Friday 16th September at Bramcote Crematorium, Nottingham. Everybody is welcome to join us. Afterwards - the only place that could accommodate the expected number of mourners - hilariously is the Long Eaton Masonic Lodge! I say hilariously because Bill was not a Mason, didn't approve of secret societies, and would be horrified at the very idea of going there. He was a socialist and a very principled man. Oh dear...I do hope this doesn't come back to haunt us!

Off to see Dr Scratch-card, my oncologist (chemo doctor) tomorrow - to talk about my 'options'. Not sure what my 'options' are at this stage......just get me better please.
I'll do anything.
Go anywhere.
Take any drug offered.

I want to live. You won't win cancer. You bugger.
Oh...and Happy Birthday!

Days like these

My father in law Bill, reached the finishing post today.
He passed away late morning. At peace after a courageous fight.
We knew it was coming, but we are still shocked.
Bereft.
And we need to tell Lily. We need to tell her that her beloved Grandad Bill has died. Of cancer.
But not the same as Mummy's cancer. Mummy won't die.

Gary is traumatised. He lost his Mum, and now his Dad to cancer. And his wife has cancer. I don't know how to comfort him, beyond the obvious. He is hurting.

And then. After telling Lily that Grandad Bill had gone to Heaven to be with Granny Gladys, Barney (dog), and Billy (her brother, the baby we lost), my last results came in.

Triple negative.

I'm neither upset nor surprised. I just knew it. From the start, this cancer has behaved badly.
And today it is just taking the p*ss.
But you've picked the wrong person this time. You won't win. You bugger.

Days like these.....who'd have 'em?

See www.breastcancercare.org.ukfor more info on triple negative breast cancer (look under types) 

Chicken Soup

Some quiet time this week.
I say quiet - what I really mean is no procedures, poking, prodding, or waiting in for results. I do have some pretty important results to come - what sub-type of breast cancer do I actually have - curable (HER2) or treatable (triple negative) - but I'm not expecting those until this week coming. We need to know, of course because I see the oncologist - whom I shall call Dr Scratch-card - on Thursday 8th. She'll need to know so she can organise the appropriate chemotherapy.
Our postie didn't think it was quiet...a big thanks goes to everybody again, for flowers, cards and uplifting messages of support.

My nieces Lauren & Sarah sent me a survival kit.
No - not a Swiss army knife or firelighters but a wonderful bag of goodies, accompanied by stunning flowers & tear-jerking words. In the goody bag:
A beautiful handtied head-scarf - to make me look beautiful (still!)
Chocolate and fudge face masks - to make Lily laugh at me
Refreshing organic peppermint tea - to revive my palette, post chemo
Green & Blacks organic chocolate - it's well known that choccie is a cure-all
And a book.
A special book.
Chicken Soup for the Breast Cancer Survivor's Soul.
I want to be a survivor.
For you, Lauren & Sarah.

And then, yesterday, Saturday, leaving Lily with Granny-Mo & Grandad, Gary and I had to put our brave hats on.
You know that my dear father-in-law Bill, is terminally ill. We drove the 220 miles to see him.
In his last day at home.
And for a few moments at a time, we were able to say our final goodbyes. He knew we were there and we were grateful for that, because today - Sunday - he has lost consciousness and has almost completed his final furlong.
The finishing line beckons.....
Safe journey Bill - I love you. x

From there, shattered, distraught and sad, we drove an hour south & sought solace at my Very Best Friends (VBF), Julie & Marc - whom I've known for almost 30 years.
We needed their warmth, understanding, hugs and love.
We got it in abundance.
And we were fed and watered.
With chicken soup.
To soothe our souls.
With love x