Another update from friend Rosie who is now halfway through her chemo treatment for Breast Cancer, (you can find the others here and here). Before we get to that I thought I would share a conversation between another friend, who has been through and beaten Breast Cancer, and her son when she told him of the initial diagnosis. She had the difficult talk with her boy who would have been 10 or 11 at the time. He paused for reflection and his mother nervously waited for the response. This is how it went,
Son: 'So Mum, you have to see a doctor?'
Mum: 'Yes, I've been to see him a few times. He's very nice and kind.'
Son: 'and Mum, he touches your breasts?'
Mum: 'Yes, he touches my breasts.'
Son: 'and you don't mind?'
Mum: 'no, I don't mind. He's a doctor and he has to do that to make them better.'
Son: 'and Dad doesn't mind?'
Mum: 'no, Daddy doesn't mind because the doctor is doing his job and is going to make me better.'
Son: 'That's OK then. I think I want to be that kind of doctor when I grow up.'
Over to Rosie, let's see what she's been up to.......
Reasons to be cheerful part 3......
Apologies for update delay, but much excitement celebrating precisely half way through the horror and terror that is chemotherapy and the final instalment of hideous pink Epirubicin and Cyclophosphamide. For the next 4 Cycles, Docetaxel is the way forward. Naturally, Docetaxel comes complete with new and exciting side effects, but I am told on the whole, it is easier to assimilate than Epirubicin and doesn't leave one feeling quite so revolting..... Instead fatigue is the main issue I gather...but as I permanently feel as though I am the dormouse at The Mad Hatter's Tea Party these days, no change there then...
Secondly, also had an appointment with my Oncologist just before being chemically coshed by Cycle 4 and felt it was worth waiting for that meeting and recovering from the immediate side effects to bring maximum news : (Drum roll and Ta-Dahl! moment...) At the half way point Ladies and Gentlemen ... it's definitely working and Alf is a little smaller, softer and suffering. Longing to swap the word "little" for a "lot" and if I could get my foot up there to stamp on it myself to speed things up, I would.... but I'm told all is well and progressing as expected and I must be patient. The patient patient.....
The only teensy piece of bad news is that my haemoglobin levels are in free-fall and if they get much lower, a blood transfusion might be required. Whilst this sounds alarming, I have been told that the results are spectacular and rather like a vampire after a particularly good night out, I shall feel fantastic with hitherto unknown energy levels, so I am now thinking quite possibly the only way to deal with Christmas efficiently anyway. Until that time, I am chomping my way through as much kale, spinach, steak and red wine I can muster.... although sadly I don't think Lynches-Bages is available on the NHS yet.
Meanwhile I am mourning the loss of what was left of my brain. During my meticulous research on Google at the start of this fiasco (because Google is always a measured and utterly believable resource in health situations) I was reconciled to chemo being responsible for losing my hair, my breakfast, my sense of taste and my boob, but I wasn't prepared for losing my mind. I think I might have mentioned this before, but because I can't really remember, I can't be sure... so I have to keep repeating myself incessantly just in case.... This is excruciatingly boring for all concerned and confirms my belief that I am actually turning into my mother. If I don’t write absolutely everything down (tattooed on a daughter’s forehead or something) I forget it completely within seconds, however earth-shatteringly important… and what was a mildly annoying habit of leaving sentences hanging mid-flow BC (Before Chemo) has developed into a serious conversational issue AC (After Chemo) : half way through a sentence I will just stop speaking as I have totally forgotten the point I was attempting to make. Can't even claim to "lose my train of thought" as I can't remember which station the train left from in the first place. I am like a goldfish with a particularly short attention span....except this is probably unfair to goldfish (though to be fair we both respond to shiny things and the promise of food).
So until next time, I leave you with the Good...... I endeavour to return to work in a real studio (despite handicap above)
The Bad.... Pray I can remember how to read...
The Ugly.... What happens if I remove my headphones and inadvertently remove my wig at the same time?