5th June - 3rd chemo

I had a whole week of feeling rough after my second chemo. I just did very little and tried to manage the gut-ache as best I could - playing off the bisocodyl (laxative) against the ondansetron (anti-emetic). I began to feel much better on the 7th day and got better and better from then on. We had a great weekend at the boat, a busy week, met up with Quita, our children had end of year and GCSE exams, then a good half term - took children to London, went on shopping sprees, and tidied and cleaned in readiness for this down-time I am now experiencing after my 3rd chemo, yesterday.
I went along to the clinic yesterday armed with lots of little hats (now 2 designs) and scarves and lots of my new friends were delighted to have them from me.
I had been to the local surgery on Thursday to have a blood test. This is normal routine, so they can do a WBC (whole blood count) and determine if I am well enough to have my next chemo dose. On seeing the oncologist, 45 mins late, I was told my white blood count had been terribly low and it was a borderline decision as to whether they would go ahead. I explained how well I felt to my oncologist and he agreed to let me have today's dose, but to have another blood test at the outset, and if that showed that I hadn't picked up from yesterday I would be called in next week for some bone marrow injections.
It was really good to talk 'shop' with fellow patients.. I got a bit of hand sewing done too, while waiting over 2 hours for my meds to be mixed. Rebecca came along just as before, 2 mins before we went in for treatment.
It's odd having the drugs pumped in, especially having felt so perky and good for 2 weeks. It was as if illness was gradually descending over the two hours and I became more vague, tired and distant as time went on. Rebecca took me home via Asda, sticky buns, cup of tea, bed.
And here I still am. Say hi to Fatso, who made his Facebook debut last night..

"Say hi to Fatso, constant and faithful bed partner since 1969, and to Keith, Fatso's best mate since 2005. Loyalty is often underrated. Well done Fatso, for sticking by me through thick and thin... :)"



Over a week ago I went back for a 2nd appointment with the lymphoedema physiotherapist at Duchess of Kent House. She reviewed my use of the arm sleeve to control arm swelling, and since I had given up using it because my hand fattened, we are now trying another type. It may be that I have also to try wearing a compression glove. Hooray. Also, I was questioning the raised bumpiness of my exbreast area.. this wasn't all seroma, though some of it still is, and it isn't the raised scarring that you get along stitching lines after having been sewn up.. which gradually fades and flattens over several months. It turns out that as well as a propensity for lymphoedema in the arm, I also have some on my chest and underarm. My physio taped me up with some special tape which encourages the under-the-skin lymph vessels to allow fluid to take new drain-paths to alternative lymph node sites. The photo shows someone's back - mine is all over my front.
In addition to this physio I am still seeing my Wokingham based physio for the axillary web syndrome (cording), which as become worse and restricts my movement. I am now seeing her twice a week for specialist massage.
My 'good' arm is also achy.. perhaps coming out in sympathy.. either that or it has sore veins from the chemo drugs which are pumped in there first of all.
I got my wig two weeks ago. It's ok, not fab.. but your standards go down when you're bald already! It doesn't scream Rug! at first glance.. at least not to strangers. I like my caps and scarves because they're more comfy and they're not pretending to be something they're not.. but there will be occasions when the wig is more appropriate - when I need to melt into the background, not be noticed, let someone else have the limelight...

I've not written much about the emotional journey, because this, for me, has mostly been about how relationships with my nearest and dearest have been changing and morphing as our expectations of what we offer and receive from each other during my treatment alters with my fluctuating ability to fend for myself and to care for them. Quita remarked that she'd not read anything much of my husband in my blog and it was almost as if he took no part in my story. She suggested it'd be good to have the human side, the family dynamic story, here in my blog to record the truth about coping as a family. It's enough for a book in itself. I think I'll record all that elsewhere, because these other people have some right not to have my impressions of them published in a public blog. Suffice to say, things are often not at all easy for any of us.