Well I went home to await the chemo time bomb of potential side effects.
Could not get to sleep until 4am due to the steroids but I will only be taking them for a few days now. Had major pins and needles in both legs but luckily that had gone by the morning.
Metallic mouth taste all day today. I missed out on that one during two pregnancies, looks like it's finally caught up with me now.
Thankfully no nausea yet but not counting my chickens, we're only 24 hours in!
Have lost all spatial awareness (Dan would say I didn't have much to start with). Knocked over a glass of water last night which has now found its way in to the workings of my bedside lamp and probably ruined that.
Nearly knocked over two further glasses today and banged my blood test bruised hand on a door handle.
Other than that, TIRED!
My friend took me to the hospital for my jab this afternoon. Side effects from that might be bone pain as happy white blood cells are hopefully created!
So now I am up to date with my blog. I will try to continue to post updates and periodically put the link on fb so that my friends know that another exciting instalment of fun and games is available for consumption. X
Showing posts with label Chemo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chemo. Show all posts
Saturday, 22 June 2013
First Chemo
After the port insertion they can use it straightaway so I was now good to go for my chemo.
I am on a regime known as FEC-T. Three sessions of FEC (yes this stands for something long and complicated) then three sessions of Taxotere. Highly toxic and one hopes, highly effective, drug regimes. Hair loss is virtually a certainty with FEC, usually within the first three weeks of starting it. Not massively bothered by that. Will see what sort of wigs are around, or if it's not too cold you might well see me with no hair at all but I will of course wear earrings to assist with identifying gender...
So I am on four hours bed rest following the surgical procedure. I am taken to one of three curtained bays within the chemo factory. There are also two areas of chairs where patients sit with their chemo drips. By the end of the afternoon most of those chairs are full!
A nurse called Laura looks after me. She hooks me up to a saline drip and then puts some steroids through my new port. This is called the "hedgehog injection". It temporarily makes women feel as if they have sat on a hedgehog. True. It was nowhere near as bad as childbirth though and only lasted a couple of minutes. How weird though!
Then it was time to start the FEC. The E stands for Epirubicin which is BRIGHT RED. The nurse puts everything through my port manually. I had expected to be hooked up to a drip bag. I asked about this and whether next time I would be in a chair. As the nurse injected the Epirubicin in to my main vein she casually answers no, Epirubicin is too dangerous for infusion from a bag. I resolve not to ask any more questions of this nature in the future :-/
Apparently when I start Taxotere that might be in a drip but the three FEC sessions will take place in a treatment room with a nurse.
I don't even feel the liquids going in to me and that part of the treatment passes without a hitch and takes around an hour. I have to wait a bit longer to finish my prescribed bed rest then I am packed off with steroids, anti sickness drugs plus back up anti sickness drugs in case the first ones don't work. I am armed with the phone number for the ward if I need to call anytime for example if it starts to look as if I have contracted an infection.
An appointment is made for me to come to the ward the next day for a white blood cell boosting injection to try to help my body guard against infection.
Whilst they don't expect you to lock yourself away, better safe than sorry so I am going to be taking sensible precautions and not really having visits from other people's children or going to really crowded places. My own children are germ ridden enough, thank you very much!
I am on a regime known as FEC-T. Three sessions of FEC (yes this stands for something long and complicated) then three sessions of Taxotere. Highly toxic and one hopes, highly effective, drug regimes. Hair loss is virtually a certainty with FEC, usually within the first three weeks of starting it. Not massively bothered by that. Will see what sort of wigs are around, or if it's not too cold you might well see me with no hair at all but I will of course wear earrings to assist with identifying gender...
So I am on four hours bed rest following the surgical procedure. I am taken to one of three curtained bays within the chemo factory. There are also two areas of chairs where patients sit with their chemo drips. By the end of the afternoon most of those chairs are full!
A nurse called Laura looks after me. She hooks me up to a saline drip and then puts some steroids through my new port. This is called the "hedgehog injection". It temporarily makes women feel as if they have sat on a hedgehog. True. It was nowhere near as bad as childbirth though and only lasted a couple of minutes. How weird though!
Then it was time to start the FEC. The E stands for Epirubicin which is BRIGHT RED. The nurse puts everything through my port manually. I had expected to be hooked up to a drip bag. I asked about this and whether next time I would be in a chair. As the nurse injected the Epirubicin in to my main vein she casually answers no, Epirubicin is too dangerous for infusion from a bag. I resolve not to ask any more questions of this nature in the future :-/
Apparently when I start Taxotere that might be in a drip but the three FEC sessions will take place in a treatment room with a nurse.
I don't even feel the liquids going in to me and that part of the treatment passes without a hitch and takes around an hour. I have to wait a bit longer to finish my prescribed bed rest then I am packed off with steroids, anti sickness drugs plus back up anti sickness drugs in case the first ones don't work. I am armed with the phone number for the ward if I need to call anytime for example if it starts to look as if I have contracted an infection.
An appointment is made for me to come to the ward the next day for a white blood cell boosting injection to try to help my body guard against infection.
Whilst they don't expect you to lock yourself away, better safe than sorry so I am going to be taking sensible precautions and not really having visits from other people's children or going to really crowded places. My own children are germ ridden enough, thank you very much!
Oncologist Appointment
On Friday 7th June I head to see the Oncologist. My sister Helen kindly takes me whilst my brother in law has his first experience of flying solo with a pre schooler. Thankfully the baby was at nursery all day.
This is the first appointment Helen has attended. We don't have to wait too long and we go in and meet another lovely chap who has not one but two nurse bodyguards!
The first thing he asks me is what my understanding of the situation is. Good opener, helps him gauge what sort of uphill struggle he might have, I'm taking that one away with me to use when I return to work.
Luckily for him I am able to confirm that I have seen a copy of the letter from my surgeon that he has in front of him and that I am aware of what's being recommended for me. Knowing that this might be his opportunity to catch up on his list, he seems quite relaxed then! He is brilliant, takes me through everything. We have a conversation about whether I want more children. After peeling myself off the floor I explain that I don't and demonstrate my sparkling sense of humour by informing him that the one good thing about this illness is that it has avoided an awkward conversation with my husband if and when the subject of a third baby had ever reared its head.
He then fills in the best and most detailed consent form I have ever seen - potential side effects ranging from diarrhoea to death. He pushes it across the table to me and I cannot resist saying brightly "Well, sign me up!!!". Helen silently guffaws.
Afterwards I realise I could have added "And it's free? What more could a girl want?!" But I didn't want to be sectioned there and then on top of everything else, so probably best that I refrained...
Not much else to report other than that he confirmed what my surgeon had said would happen next. He also got in on my jokes by saying "Sometimes your ovaries start working again after the treatment. But we won't tell your husband that!". Good man.
A small caveat here - I do not mean to sound flippant or ungrateful on the children issue. I am very very happy and eternally grateful to have my two babies. But, cancer or no cancer, I personally did not want any more. And this is my blog, and I'm talking here. So there... ;-)
This is the first appointment Helen has attended. We don't have to wait too long and we go in and meet another lovely chap who has not one but two nurse bodyguards!
The first thing he asks me is what my understanding of the situation is. Good opener, helps him gauge what sort of uphill struggle he might have, I'm taking that one away with me to use when I return to work.
Luckily for him I am able to confirm that I have seen a copy of the letter from my surgeon that he has in front of him and that I am aware of what's being recommended for me. Knowing that this might be his opportunity to catch up on his list, he seems quite relaxed then! He is brilliant, takes me through everything. We have a conversation about whether I want more children. After peeling myself off the floor I explain that I don't and demonstrate my sparkling sense of humour by informing him that the one good thing about this illness is that it has avoided an awkward conversation with my husband if and when the subject of a third baby had ever reared its head.
He then fills in the best and most detailed consent form I have ever seen - potential side effects ranging from diarrhoea to death. He pushes it across the table to me and I cannot resist saying brightly "Well, sign me up!!!". Helen silently guffaws.
Afterwards I realise I could have added "And it's free? What more could a girl want?!" But I didn't want to be sectioned there and then on top of everything else, so probably best that I refrained...
Not much else to report other than that he confirmed what my surgeon had said would happen next. He also got in on my jokes by saying "Sometimes your ovaries start working again after the treatment. But we won't tell your husband that!". Good man.
A small caveat here - I do not mean to sound flippant or ungrateful on the children issue. I am very very happy and eternally grateful to have my two babies. But, cancer or no cancer, I personally did not want any more. And this is my blog, and I'm talking here. So there... ;-)
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