On the 28th July 2011, my life changed in one phone call with the simple words - 'yes - it's cancer'. I've created this blog, for the benefit of my wonderful close and extended family; and for my amazing friends around the globe, so I can keep you abreast (!) of my journey.

My diagnosis of 2 x grade 3 (fast growing) tumours - type - 'Triple-Negative' - so called
because it doesn’t
have receptors (proteins on the surface
of cells) for the hormones oestrogen and
progesterone, or a protein called HER2, was shocking. This rare aggressive sub-type of breast cancer, therefore, doesn't respond to common
hormonal treatments, such as tamoxifen or
anastrozole (Arimidex®
) or
trastuzumab (Herceptin®
). Survival rates are considerably lower, than for more common types of breast cancer, especially in years 0 - 5, but on a par 5+ years post treatment.

Fast forward to December 2020. Secondary cancer . Triple negative again but the tumour localised to the scar of the primary cancer. The prognosis is weaker. I am buying myself time - with chemo currency.

This will not be a sad tale - but I hope it will amuse you, inspire you, and most of all allow me to lean on you from afar, as you guide me through what looks like a rocky road ahead.

I can't guarantee a happy ending, but hope to make you laugh to the end.

Wednesday, 24 March 2021

Reality sets in

I have my chemo on the Wednesday. Thursday and Friday are a blur of drunken giddiness. A buzzing that won't stop. I forgot to mention on the Tuesday I had started on a 3 day course of strong steroids. They give you a 'Wheeeee!' feeling. A sense of euphoria that's out of place with the treatment you're on. Gary and Lily are very conscious that I am not trusted to do anything. On Friday night I have to administer an injection of Filgrastim - bone marrow boosting injection. I am to do this for 7 days. Saturday morning comes with a crash. I ache all over and the pain in my bones is excruciating. I send out for codeine to try and lessen the pain. By Saturday evening I'm really struggling. I take Gary's hand and tell him 'I can't do this'. He looks imploringly into my eyes. 'Please - you've got to.' I'm as close to tears than I ever have been. This is a side effect I didn't experience last time. To make it worse I have to give myself another injection - and 5 more after that. The next few days are awful. I can't lie. The pain in my bones is almost beyond what a human should endure. It's relentless. I feel like shit. But I'm on chemo. I'm supposed to.

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