I was given an appointment to
have a chat with a chemo nurse the day before my first treatment. This was helpful not only in terms of
understanding what to expect, but also just to be in the cancer day unit and
see what it was all about. I still
couldn’t get my head around the fact that I was here in the first place!
I was nervous as I waited at
reception with Will, expecting to walk in there and be thoroughly depressed and
to be honest, downright scared. I
imagined it would have a very sombre air with sick looking people lying around
looking, well…. sick.
The reality was surprisingly
different. It actually appeared quite a
cheerful place. Nurses buzzed around
being nursey and upbeat whilst patients relaxed in reclining armchairs, most
with a companion by their side. People
were chatting, eating lunch, some were listening to music. Others cruised around attached to a drip
stand. There was a tea trolley being
pushed around and a general, soft hubbub of activity.
I felt myself relax
immediately. These people didn’t look
like they were about to die. I wouldn’t
say they were necessarily loving the experience but they were making the most of
it. They were here to do what they
needed to do, and then get out and on with their lives.
We met with a male chemo nurse
who ran through the general gist of things including the long and seemingly
never ending list of side-effects that I may or may not suffer. Everyone reacts differently it seems so they
really use the first session as a bit of a trial run to see how it’s going to
go. It seemed the only sure side effect
was going to be hair loss. Fortunately I
wasn’t hugely bothered about this. It
would grow back and it was time for a change of style anyway, I’d had long hair
for a good few years now!
The one thing the nurse did
stress was to keep an eye on my temperature.
I was given a thermometer and told that if it reached 38 degrees
centigrade, I should get myself straight to hospital. Chemo affects bone marrow and reduces its
production of blood cells so you are at quite high risk of infection whilst
going through treatment. The message was
clear here – Don’t try to tough it out, seek medical help.
My main worry at the moment was
my veins. I’m a bit queasy about veins
and this was made worse by the fact that I’d had problems since my surgery with
a vein damaged by catheterisation which had been aching and now had a fibrous
lump in it. And this was in my good,
left arm. Knowing that they could no
longer use my right arm for access due to risk of lymphedema made me even more
concerned.
I asked about the possibility of
having a PICC line (semi-permanent port which they can insert to save them
having to catheterise every time), but he checked out my veins and pronounced
them useable. It seems they’ll only
insert a PICC if absolutely necessary.
I’m not sure if this is due to cost?
Could be? PICCS do have their
drawbacks in that they can be a possible route of infection but I did like the
idea of not having to be stabbed every time.
As we left the unit that day the
nurse said to me, ‘hopefully it will all be an anti-climax for you’. I remember thinking, ‘that sounds a bit
dull’. Err….hello! Crazy lady. Why would you not wish for an anti-climax in
this situation? 48 hours later I would
be cursing myself for such thoughts.
I was feeling reasonably relaxed
when we arrived back the next day. I had
a lovely Irish nurse come and give me a number of different tablets to take
including steroids to combat the sickness and give me a bit of a high to carry
me through the first few tough days. She
then had a look at my veins and decided they could do with some encouragement
so my arm was stuck in a bowl of warm water for five minutes. Very high tech. She then had a go at inserting the catheter,
stuffed it up the first time, but got it in the second time. This didn’t bode well. Chemo number one and they were already having
problems.
The first lot of drugs had to be
given via syringe rather than drip pump.
Scarily, the reason for this is that they can do serious damage to
tissue if they leak out of the vein so the nurse has to be able to monitor it
constantly. Two different drugs were
administered this way from a total of 6 syringes. This took about half an hour which passed
pretty quickly as we chatted about her life in London. I was then attached to the drip pump for the
third and final poison (I hadn’t realised there were so many different types of
chemo drugs). This didn’t seem so bad at
all.
My only issue at the end of it
all was the desperate need to pee! I’d
been drinking gallons of water in a vain attempt to flush the shit through so
what with that plus copious amounts of fluids being pumped into my veins, my
bladder was fit to burst by the end of it all.
I was finally unhooked and made a mad dash for the toilet. My pee had already taken on the pink hue of
the drugs I’d been given.
Just a few tablets to take when I got home!
It was 4 o’clock by the time we
left and as the nurse had said, I felt exactly the same leaving the hospital as
I had coming in. That was quite weird in
itself. I’d had so many drugs pumped
into me in the last few hours it felt strange to feel no effects. Will and I caught the train home. It was a rainy afternoon so I cracked open
the first of many jigsaws I’d stocked up on for these very occasions, and
waited to see what would happen.
Will cooked some dinner whilst I
sat on the sofa trying to ignore the signs that the nausea was beginning. By the time he put dinner in front of me I
could ignore it no longer. Yep,
definitely feeling sick. I tried a few
mouthfuls. Not happening. And then the vomiting began, very suddenly
and very violently, as only vomiting can.
The relief was that I felt better
afterwards. Ok, maybe this wasn’t going
to be so bad.
But an hour later and it was
happening again. This wasn’t good. The nurse had told me to expect a bit of
nausea, but that I shouldn’t actually be physically sick. Will called the chemo hotline. A doctor was paged and called back within 2
minutes. Will was told to get me to
A&E if I vomited again as it would start a whole world of trouble if I
became dehydrated. Oh man, this was
starting to feel a bit miserable.
I took myself off to bed and
thankfully crashed out. I was aware of
being awake several times in the night but for the most part slept
through. What a relief. No hospital visit required. I woke feeling weird and definitely nauseous. I tried to eat but nothing much would go
down. I think I managed half a banana
and a piece of toast all day. Will went
to work, satisfied that I was out of the danger zone and I sat staring into
space most of the day.
I forced myself to get outside
for some fresh air and made it to the nearest bench overlooking the river where
I sat, feeling a bit like an alien being.
I was sure I must have a visible toxic haze around me and was surprised
when people didn’t feel the need to give me a wide berth. My head felt heavy and very much like someone
had placed a big, wet, heavy blanket on it.
That day and the next passed
slowly, and nothing much changed. The
nausea continued but at least I wasn’t being sick. I moved from bed to sofa for a change of
scene but couldn’t concentrate on anything.
Reading was a no go, even watching TV could not hold my attention. Knitting was really the only thing that
passed the time. The days lasted an
eternity!
The hat I knitted! I'm amazed it turned out as well as it did.
When I found myself on all fours
on the sofa because I’d run out of positions to put myself in, I asked Will to
call the hotline again as this was really not right. Will explained my symptoms and it sounded
like the doctor on the other end had heard it all before. It was the steroids she said. Shame, I’d just popped four of those! Will mentioned the metoclopramide
(anti-sickness) and she said I should definitely take those to quash the nausea
I found myself dusting (dusting,
me??), just to keep moving, even though I was feeling sick and all I wanted to
do was lie down. I dragged will round
the block a million times which we had to do at snails pace because I just
didn’t have any energy, but I needed to keep moving. All very bizarre and downright
uncomfortable. I was relieved to know
that my course of steroids was finished for this treatment. We’d have to work out something different for
the next one as I couldn’t go through this again. Thankfully, the agitation slowly eased and
the ants disappeared but it took a good few days. . (I later found out that I was given the wrong
advice on the phone, and it was the metoclop giving me the jitters).
Every morning I’d wake up and pray
that this would be the day I’d turn the corner but although I did see small
signs of improvement, I still felt pretty ropey and fragile. My vision was blurred and I found it hard to
hold a conversation, it was like my brain had gone on a go slow. Words just wouldn’t form properly. How was I going to get through five more of
these? It was a very depressing thought.
It was day 9 when I first woke
with no nausea. Hallelujah! The hangover was gone! I went into town that day for a wig fitting
and my old college mate Joyce came with me for a laugh. Will also came along, I think to make sure
Joyce didn’t talk me into getting anything too outrageous!
We were directed to the patient
appliances department of the hospital.
How lovely. Were the wigs going
to be stacked on the shelf next to the toilet seat extensions and zimmer
frames? It didn’t strike me with great
confidence that I was going to find a wig that I was happy to be seen out and
about in I must say, but it was free so I couldn’t complain. And I was pleasantly surprised when I saw the
selection on offer. All three of us
tried on a variety of styles (obviously) and I finally selected a ‘Lou’, a
shaggy type bob in a shade very similar to my own hair colour. I wasn’t brave enough to try anything too
drastically different. We all agreed it
looked pretty natural. But I still had a
full head of hair at this point, why was I getting a wig? Weird!!!
From that day on I just felt
better and better until by the end of week three, I was pretty much back to
normal and ready to take it on again. If
it was going to be 1 horrible week out of 3, I felt happy that I could deal
with that. Bring it on! I reaslised that that’s why the Chemo ward had
seemed so buoyant, the patients are feeling the best they have in a few weeks!
A terrible photo but its part of my hair diary.
This was 16 days post first chemo, still very much there
Keep strong sweetie! I am glad you are making use of the hotline!
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