Tag Archives: chemotherapy

Chemotherapy confusion

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Another day. This makes for my third session of chemo; once this weekend is over, there will be only 13 treatments left. (I look forward to single digits).

Yesterday we went to chemo treatment area for a weigh in and blood test, followed by a meeting with the oncologist. The nurses had a time with my arm – apparently the vein wouldn’t bleed, so they called in an expert to ‘find blood’. (Honestly, sometimes it sounds like they are drilling for oil) She was an expert and found it easily. However, the previous nurse I met, after not producing the blood, let slip that it’s around this time the veins start giving trouble.

Hmm, so now I am drinking a big mug of tea and wrapped in a warm bathrobe. Apparently a lot of liquid and being warm helps with finding veins.

My weight has dropped . . . even more from last time. I guess I’ve lost about 3-4 kilograms so far, despite my Hungarian family stopping by and encouraging me to ‘eat, eat’ and making dishes with pasta, bacon, salami and sour cream all together. I’ve never minded being thin, but now could really do with additional weight. However, the doctor didn’t seemed worried. Weight loss can be normal in chemotherapy.

But none of that stressed me out too badly. Nope, instead it was being told by the oncologist that the drug they prescribed me last time (the one that suppressed my vomiting) was a fluke occurrence. Apparently it is too expensive to be prescribed to patients in my chemo category, and I only received it because the mistake wasn’t noticed in time by the pharmacy. So, the oncologist has placed a request with a higher-up to approve the prescription. I won’t find out till today when I go in if the treatment was approved.

Blah – the idea of vomiting 16 times in a weekend (if drug is not approved) sent me into an immediate funk, and it took great efforts of my mom and Zsolt to pull me out. Here are the bright sides:

The drug is expensive, but not back breaking . . . if we don’t get it this time, we can buy it in the future.

I’ve been prescribed a different anti-sickness drug which I’ve never tried, so maybe this new drug combined with the steroid will do the trick. I hope so.

During the first round of chemo the pharmacy lady told not to take the drugs till ‘tomorrow’ (i.e. the day after chemo). But ‘tomorrow’ was way too late and I was already on a rollercoaster of sick. This time I take whatever drugs given today. It will make a difference.

Lastly – if I do get this expensive drug, well . . . for my second round I was given incorrect instructions (again). I was meant to take it with the steroid (not provided) – but instead I took it all alone. Even alone this expensive drug helped, so combined with other drugs this time (if I get it), I suspect a real difference could be made.

Anyhow I’m hopeful because otherwise I’m despairing. Here come three days of either total crap, being nauseated, or –hopefully- just needing to sleep all the time. We’ll see. It’s still a learning process, and it does get better after those first few days.

It’s 9.23 and my appointment is at 11.30. I need to go and eat – eat, eat – as my mother-in-law, Anna says.

Whew! Here I go!

Getting better

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Hello again, Hello.

Over this past weekend I haven’t touched my computer – I couldn’t  stand the thought of it. But now it’s Monday and one of my goals is to post a message on this blog. It’s gotten me up and out of bed, and sitting at the kitchen table. So  – that’s great. It’s the furthest I’ve been so far. Yay for progress 🙂


About two seconds after posting my last blog the nausea kicked in, and kicked in, and kicked in some more. It continued to kick me through the weekend. Zsolt says I had the acute response – apparently there are two general responses to chemotherapy: acute and delayed. Well, it was acute. Unfortunately the anti sickness drug they’d prescribed didn’t quite work, but fortunately the steroid did, though I had to wait a day before taking the steroid because it required a stomach with some food inside. That wasn’t quite possible till Saturday afternoon.

But that is in the past. Here I am, getting over the worse (hopefully) and waiting for the nurse to drop by and show us how to administer the white blood cell shot. I need to take one shot a day for seven days. Zsolt will be administering the needle – weird!  I’ve heard there are side effect to this as well, but have the Paracetamol  ready just in case.

So, apart for this world of side effects I’m managing okay. Today has been good so far, and has certainly put me in a better mood. Mom and Zsolt keep on with the mantra, “We’re learning.” And we are.

Next time will be better – next time I’ll get a better anti-sickness drug, I’ll take the drug sooner, and the effects will be less. Why? Because we’re learning.

I feel bad for my poor family, there were times when my mom and husband would  be looking over the bed with concern in their faces, or off in the other room whispering about side effects and ways to help me through. However, today everyone seems in a better mood. We’re listening to my wedding CD and nodding along to the music.

I think that I’ll write a list of things that have helped me through the nausea – because if anyone ever does read this and wants to get prepared, this stuff could be good to have on hand.

Happy music: some of the drugs cause melancholy, so it’s pretty important to have a happier distraction in the background.

Homeopathic remedies: because sometimes I couldn’t even manage a mouthful of water, so taking some anti-sickness homeopathic remedies has been a good alternative.

Anti sickness bracelet: This triggers an acupuncture point on the wrist to help reduce nausea. It helps, but if you’re getting up be sure to go slowly and rub the balls into your arm.

Damp, cold face towel: It’s a total miracle if becoming sick, and even helped me stop the nausea from peaking a few times.

Fan: Whether electric, hand held, or a good strong breeze through the window – the movement of non-scented air is wonderful. . .  air with the smell of pizza, soup, or warm food of any kind is a very, very bad idea. My bedroom door has been shut with the cracks sealed while my mom cooked dinner for her and Zsolt, and even then I could smell the bloody food. There’s a new rule in this flat, NO hot food allowed.

Protein powder, rehydrating powder, probiotic power: mixed in very small doses with a reasonable amount of water – helps with nutrients, hydration and bowels. When you can’t eat anything, these come in handy.

Good company: Essential! Even if I could not carry on a conversation, having loved ones nearby during the difficult times is something for which I am SO grateful. My mom goes away at the end of this week, which will be difficult, probably very difficult – but I’m thankful for each day she’s been here, and I know that whenever I need her or my Dad, they’re always on the other end of that Skype camera. And Zsolt will be here too, rubbing my back and kissing my forehead, googling every question, side effect, and noteworthy bit of information that will help make this easier.

Okay, I guess that’s it for now. I don’t want to plough into details, and I don’t want to freak anyone out. I think the acute has passed, and I’m very, very grateful. My mind has finally turned to food, and a few more grapes seems quite appetizing at the moment. Hmm, and maybe even a cracker or two…

Chemotherapy pre-assessment

Posted in Bumpboobs, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Well tomorrow it all begins. My appointment is at 12 pm and I’ll be sitting in the number 5 green chair of the chemo treatment room. It’s an easy chair – lazy boy ‘esque’ – and beside it is a low square table and a seat for a guest.  The room itself is square and the chairs are all around, people can easily turn to their neighbours, there is no hiding.

On Tuesday I had a tour of the facilities, which is why the details are running through my mind so much. The chair, the room, the smell, the people. It was all introduced to me last Tuesday.

So here’s how it is going to work: Go in the day before, get weighed, measured and blood drawn. If all seems well (my white blood cell count is sufficient) come in the next day for another treatment of chemo. Ideally the treatment will last less than an two hours. So in out and home again. Ideally.

Easy breezy. Except for the decisions.

First decision: I had to decide whether or not to use a cold cap. A cold cap is this red helmet they can place on your head to stop the blood flowing so much to the scalp. It’s about minus five degrees, and circulates a very cold liquid – this cools your head to about 27 degrees (so that’s like an almost 10 degree drop?). Cold cap treatments require the patient to wear the cap thirty minutes before chemo, during chemo, and two hours after. My choice: no thanks. While loving my new hair cut, and dreading the look of a muted head without any hair, the idea of staying in that chair a second longer than required is repulsive. Repulsive. I want to get out-out-out, not stay in.

Second decision: Would I like to be part of a study? Initially I had ruled this out as a category no, thinking they’d be trying a new drug or something, however I’ve only been offered a questionnaire with blood sampling. Needles! More needles . . . Reviewing the study I decided to do it, except I’m not giving blood. Understandably this must be disappointing for the researcher, but needles and I do not dance well together . . . so forget about that. My body, my decision.

Third decision, explained to me today and the choice must be made by tomorrow: Fertility protection, again. Man! I am so freaking tired of having to make these large guilt-weighted choices. Do I protect my ovaries or not? Is there even a point? So far, having spoken with two doctors on the subject, neither are convinced that Zoladex makes any difference in regards to fertility. They say – maybe it might, possibly but could but not sure, help. The evidence is not incredible. I don’t know too much about Zoladex, though hopefully will by tonight, but it puts the ovaries to sleep with the idea that this will protect the eggs. They’ll need to inject something into my stomach every month, which will throw me into menopause and stop ovulation.

I fucking hate needles. And lately my PMS has been so bad, that I’m afraid I’ll become a permanent stressed out monster as I wade through menopause at 28 years old. Plus, how many drugs are too many drugs? I take a drug for this, and a drug for that, and then a handful more for good measure.

Up until my encounter with mighty mighty morphine, I had never had a stronger drug than aspirin. I haven’t even smoked a joint (and I’m  from Canada, where weed is more available than fresh water) . . .  but, if the side effects become difficult and I don’t like the pain killers we’ll see what happens.  Where would I even get marijuana in England? I have no idea. In Canada it’d be a lot more straight forward. But maybe the hospital prescribes it? I don’t know.

SO I sound like my head is twisted on backwards. But it’s not always like this. Actually, Tuesday was incredibly good. I walked into the chemo centre and wasn’t scared, wasn’t nervous, wasn’t intimidated. The visualizations, writing exercises and treatments were working. Last Tuesday I was in the zone.

Today not quite so much. Zsolt, my mom and I arrived at the check-in desk and I handed the secretary my appointment letter. She says ‘go take a number and sit down. You need to be weighed’. And I say, ‘I’ve already been weighed. Last Tuesday, the nurses told me to go to their room when I arrived before sitting down.’  To which she replied: ‘Everyone is weighed every time they arrive. Get a number and take a seat, we’ll call you.’

I think people generally assume they’re in the right, otherwise we couldn’t walk down a street without questioning our footsteps. Today, I was in the right and Mademoiselle secretary felt exactly the same.

Taking a number I walked over to the nurses’ room (a slight compromise . . .) to let them know I had arrived. Unfortunately they were occupied with patients, so I waited in the hallway. And of course, after about forty seconds, the secretary came over to repeat our conversation.

‘You need to take a number and sit down’

‘I have a number, but last time I was here the nurses said to come over to their room and let them know I’m here.’

‘We know you are here, but there are people before you waiting.’

‘I don’t need to be weighed, I’m just meeting the doctor.’

And we would have kept going in a circle of assertions if not for the head nurse jumping in to break it up.  IN this case I was right, I didn’t need to be weighed or whatever, and I did need to let them know I was in clinic . . . but who cares, because by the time this was settled, I was unsettled. My day tipped in the wrong direction and ever since I’ve felt a little bit cranky.

Therefore I need to go back to work (and write out my crank in this blog). Gotta get back to the zone – gotta re-establish my protective bubble.

And in light of that sentiment, here’s a moment that has nothing to do with cancer or decisions or contradicting opinions:

Remember that cemetery by the hospital, the one with the horses? Zsolt and I go there fairly often, and lately we’ve been taking my mom along too. It’s a lovely cemetery with a very nice memorial to WW1 soldiers who were lost at sea, there are even some Canadian graves.  And in this neat, well kept part of the cemetery, there is a large white cross made from stone, and on either side of the monument are beds of lavender.

Walking up to the cross and looking down over the flowers, we saw the most incredible amount of bumble bees. So imagine the purple flowers swaying on their thin green steams, and these tiny dark bees gently hovering and landing and searching and flying. It was amazing. The thought of swarming with killer stings did flick through my mind, but it was just too incredible for fear. And quiet – you would never have expected the silence, nothing but the sound of a lush flowerbed mixed with breeze. The bees were too busy to buzz.

It was a bit of natural beauty that was just mmm, mmm good. One day, when I have a garden of my own, maybe I’ll plant a corner of lavender – just in case the bees want to stop by for a quiet drink of nectar.

Ah, good. That was very good. I feel much better now. 🙂 I love a beautiful moment.