Tag Archives: breast cancer

Lucky number seven

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

And now the calendar pages start flying from the wall. Flip-flip-flip-flip. Just like a movie.

Is it Friday already? Wow. In a  matter of hours I’ll be back in that green easy chair doped out of my head and receiving treatment. Then, in a matter of a few more hours, I’ll be back home in my blue sheets with the pink roses, sleeping it all off.

I asked time to fly. It is flying. Maybe I should have asked time to just fast forward instead so that I don’t need to actually experience all this chemo, but can still reap the benefits.

Ok. No more moaning!  It’s chemo day again! Treatment seven.

Yesterday Zsolt and I went in for my blood and consultation. This week our consultation was with the lead nurse – she’s the curly haired woman who arranged for my picc line. Definitely likeable. There’s a willingness to help that I feel more inclined to tap compared to the doctor team. For instance, my chemotherapy was meant to be at 9.30 am today. Maybe for the seasoned morning person that’s a good time. For me, it’s just . . . just . . . unimaginable. I’ve never been my best during the morning, and for something so BIG it’d simply be a train wreck.

Well, she fixed that problem in a second. Now my chemo is at 1.00 pm today.

And we talked about going home. “Okay, so how are your plans around going home?” Did she remember? Is it detailed in my chart? HOW do all these people know my story? (this blog is not advertised within the hospital for fear of offense)

I told her we still hadn’t decided and that I honestly felt quite torn. From there followed a chat about ideal vs. optimal treatment. She said that paxlitaxol is a very good drug for treating breast cancer, but also relatively new so it may be difficult to find studies that follow success rate in terms of number of treatments. So ideally I’d have all twelve treatments on schedule. That would be ‘best case’ scenario.

But don’t many people stop early? I asked.

Yes. People can stop at nine, ten, eleven treatments depending on their reaction. Apparently the tingling felt in the fingers and toes isn’t temporary – it’s permanent . . .like, lifelong. So, they carefully monitor how much sensation you feel in your fingers, whether you can pick things up, whether you stumble on the stairs, etc. If it’s gets too extreme they stop.

And here she mentioned something called ‘optimal treatment’, which is about 80-85% of treatment on schedule. At this moment, I’m still having optimal treatment despite my fever last week and my bad platlett count a while back. If you have optimal treatment then things are looking good.

But again – with this drug, there aren’t many (or any??) long term studies with hard(er) numbers.

So here is what Zsolt heard from this conversation:

You gotta do all twelve.

Here is what I heard from this conversation:

You only have to do 85%.

What was the real message? Probably this:

Decide for yourself, because I can’t tell you.

Next week I think we’ll make our final decision. The nurse is going to arrange for us to meet with the lead oncologist – the guy to which everyone refers – so we can have a direct conversation. Honestly, I can see now what he is going to say. But I want to have that talk. And next week, after that talk, I will make a decision and stick to it (for goodness freaking sakes already, Catherine!).

Here is a bit of really nice news: My fingers, so far, are fine. I haven’t had any tingling or weird reactions. I hope I don’t ever have that sensation. Every week I paint my fingernails a dark blue/purple. One of the nurses once mentioned that sometimes this helps with the tingling, so I’m hopeful!

Ok, that’s it for now. Yesterday while going to the hospital there was that familiar dread in the pit of my stomach. It sits there and begins to swell as I walk into the clinic. If only they could surgically remove the fear, this would all be fine. And today is also Zolodex day. Anyone care for a giant needle in the belly? Ugh. But it’s for the babies. The future babies.

I think a little meditation is required – so that’s what I’m going to go and do. Breath in, and out, and in, and out. Followed by a little punching and bombing and kicking around my bedroom.

See you on the other side, as always.

No, it’s a white blood cell!

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

I’m trying to encourage my immune system to step things up. Therefore, today, I honour my white blood cells through art – like an overenthusiastic talk show fan with far too much time. Oh mighty white blood cells rocketing like meteors through my blood stream, please keep up your strength and find any potentially lingering cancer cells floating around.

Seek. Kill. Destroy! Ah, hahaha!

And now I sound like an evil villain. But honestly, isn’t seeking and killing and destroying exactly what needs to happen? Yes, it is. So – Ah, hahaha!

With this new chemotherapy drug my body experiences less exhaustion, so I’d like to use my extra energy to address the cancer (preferably my lack of cancer, but because there is no test to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ as to whether it’s still in my body, I will just say – address the cancer)

But honestly, chemo or no chemo, cancer still scares me. How can I work on a problem that makes me contemplate life expectancy? I guess that’s the challenge.

I know that I don’t want to get cancer ever again. I know I don’t want to do chemotherapy ever again. I am 100% positive that I’m ready to get on with my life, totally cancer free. If I can’t be sure of my chances, I can at least be sure of these things. It’s a starting point. Funny how these starting points keep appearing and reappearing. Mood goes up, gets knocked down . . . and there is another starting point.

Today I will try and focus on having a  really healthy immune system, which targets any oddities and removes them from my system. I’ve drawn the picture, and now I’ll try and write about it – in private, away from the blog.

Honestly I just wanted to show everyone my superhero white blood cell. Sometimes it feels like I’m still in grade school doing show and tell. “Hey, look what I did!”


PS – Zsolt just introduced me to Purple Rain. Twenty eight years old, and I’ve never heard this song before!

Too early for Christmas?

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Finding Home, Life, Love, Treatment by

I’m starting to think about Christmas. And no, I do not mean Christmas in Canada.

Every year Zsolt and I celebrate Christmas together, but in actual fact – only one of those celebrations has actually been on the 25th of December. Long distance means long distance families, long distance celebrations, long distance flights and, ultimately, high priced tickets. It’d be awesome (if not also exhausting) to celebrate Christmas in Canada, then hop on a plane and continue celebrations in Hungary. Awesome, but totally ridiculous. So, until that Star Trek transportation option becomes available, we generally spend the holiday apart.

But not quite. We have our own celebrate before separating, and it’s an event that I love. The month of December starts with the revival of old favourites on the speaker: Santa baby, White Christmas, Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, Silent night, Jingle bells, Baby it’s cold outside, and so on.

Next comes out the box stored above our dresser marked ‘x-mas decorations’. We have years old tinsel, paper snowflakes, greeting cards, lights, and a bent up Woolworths tree that cost £2 and stands at about 75 cm tall. The box also contains ornaments in the shape of stars, wooly sheep, pickles, beets, angles, birds, fish, and those tiny bells you can pull off Lindor chocolate figures. Whenever Zsolt and I travel to a new country(or any  place we like) we buy an ornament. So, nothing matches but everything has a meaning or memory attached.

And following the decorations I turn my mind to baking. Not sure how it’ll work this year, but I traditionally like to prepare for the celebrations with cookies.  My grandmother, Lulu, makes the most wonderful gingerbread cookies, and while my cookies pale in comparison – I still give it a try. Back when I must have been three or four years old my family would go to Lulu’s for Christmas, and I would watch the baking gingerbread men inside her oven. Then, on Christmas eve after réveillon, we’d put out a plate for Santa Claus with some milk on the side.

I bet Santa thought they were the best cookies on the block, or even in the whole of Montreal. Or the world, for that matter. I did too.

And so I bake cookies every year to celebrate with Zsolt. Running up to the occasion we might go to the Christmas Market in town, or Winchester if time (and energy) allows. And then we start watching the movies –White Christmas, Nightmare Before Christmas, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Love actually. Any suggestions for a new film?

“Don’t get too Christmassy yet,” says Zsolt just now. “It’s only October. That’s more than two months.”

Pshhh. I’m waving away that idea. Heck! They don’t even celebrate Halloween in England. There’s nothing blocking my view of the upcoming festive season. Okay, okay! Clearly I’m getting ahead of myself. But what else is there to do? This year I only have a couple productive days per week – without planning ahead, where will I find the energy to make and do and prepare?

Well, anyhow. Chemo went well yesterday. Apart from the drowsy drug they fed me at the start, it was tolerable. I lay in the chair with my toque on and waited to leave, and once home things  improved. Second treatment no nausea. 🙂  Now it’s time to rest, which explains my drifting mind.

The final bit of Christmas with Zsolt is when we make a large meal and share presents and dance to our favourite music. So this year it might be Indian take away instead of chicken with stuffing. That’s okay. Zsolt will be there. I will be there. We’ll still dance.

It’s all two months away, but time is flying. It’s flying. I has to fly. Afterwards – after all this – it’s welcomed to slow again. Crawl if it wants. Time can turn into treacle for all I care.

Right now is good. I’m not sick, Zsolt isn’t sick, and we’re enjoying the sun through our widow. Now is good. But time is still flying, as it must, at least until this is all over with.

At which point, I demand a vacation.