Tag Archives: chemotherapy

Pre-flight turbulance

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Life, Treatment by

Bags are packed and stationed by the door. I’m ready to go home. Except . . . this morning I received a call from Air Canada reservations, letting me know I needed medical clearance from my doctor otherwise I wouldn’t be allowed to board the plane.

Big sigh.

When I asked why they hadn’t notified me earlier, she said they only realized the requirement today while reviewing reservations. When asking why they didn’t inform me two weeks ago when I’d originally arranged for special assistance and told them about the chemotherapy – she didn’t have a good reason.

So, here’s what went down.

1. Phone call from Air Canada saying get the letter, or don’t get on the plane.

2. Panic attack.

3. Call my doctor’s secretary, who was actually helpful (probably because I was swallowing back tears), and let her know about the situation. At the time my oncologist still hadn’t arrived to work, but her tone suggested they would get things sorted.

4. Call back Air Canada and give them my doctor’s fax number and contact details.

5. Wait an hour.

6. Call secretary and check if they’re received the fax. “Yes, we received it. The doctor has filled it out and I’ll be faxing it back soon.”

7. Wait another hour.

8. Call Air Canada to confirm they have received the fax. “We have the fax; we’ll call you before six pm to let you know.”

Let me know . . .

AH! Bugger this game of nerves. They’ll let me know by six pm if I’m allowed to fly home. As Zsolt would say, ‘now that’s something.’

Therefore: let’s envision the happy Air Canada Reservation employees sipping on their warm cups of tea and eating scrumptious muffins. It’s a lovely day in the office, and oh look here – a medical clearance form for a woman in chemotherapy. La la la, happy thoughts with a stamp of approval! Let’s be nice and send her home. Yay!

Good thoughts and crossed fingers. That’s what I need at this moment.

I’ll save my outrage for later.

Two for the road

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Life, Radiotherapy Treatment, Treatment by

Today I said goodbye to the UK chemotherapy ward. This was my last chemo treatment in England, and now (2 more left) it’s all about Canada. My doctor was thanked (I’ll see him again in about 18 weeks), the chemo coordinator hugged, and a Christmas card was given to the nurses. Job done.  🙂

Last June I longed for this moment – these moments – but found it difficult to imagine time would pass. Everything was overwhelming, yet not tangible; goals were blurry shapes in the distance. But guess what? This is real. Soon chemo finishes and we’ll move forward to the next phases: radiation and hormone therapy.

The doctors like to warn me that despite chemotherapy being over, I’ll still likely feel its effects for about six months. Maybe my emotions will go bananas, maybe like treatment I’ll be left exhausted, maybe I’ll still get tree trunk legs and tingle toes and crazy hot flashes . . . maybe I’ll recover beautifully. Won’t know till we get there.

In the meantime I’m thankful for the people in England who have supported me, fed me, encouraged me, humoured me, helped me, entertained me (all those cups of tea!). You’ve seriously made a difference in my life; these past six months could have been shit, but they weren’t and that’s all down to support.

Of course that support goes beyond UK borders, but next week begins a holiday in Canada – 2010 may keep its Cancer Catherine, because 2011 starts with a cancer-free me. England will be a fresh start when I get back (with new treatment), we’ll have overcome a lot of crap. Therefore my Southampton friends and hospital ought to be honoured. Happy Almost New Year everyone!

Fourteen chemotherapy treatments down. Two more to go.

I’ll write about radiotherapy this weekend, and maybe some other stuff too 🙂  but in a seperate post.

Threeeeeee!

Posted in Bumpboobs, Canada, Chemotherapy, Treatment by

Now we are rolling! Thirteen down and three left to go.


BAM: appointment made with Canadian oncologist

BAM: ticket bought for flight home

BAM: Christmas presents under the tree

BAM: Air Canada troubles sorted

In the end it was my Dad who called back Air Canada. That’s not to say I couldn’t do it – but if I had called the UK office I would have gotten the same woman (I always get her) and would have felt the same stress. My dad instead called the Canadian customer service line and received a basket of apologies; the representative said that they shouldn’t be asking ‘why, why, why’ when a customer requests a wheelchair. Like I said before, the fact that we even ask ought to be enough.

Honestly, Air Canada has been a helpful company in the past, which is exactly why I had expected better treatment. When my mom needed to extend her compassion ticket to stay for my first chemo session, they went out of their way to help.

When I arrive at the airport, I’ll ask about a ‘meet and assist’, which means someone will come along to help me get through the airport (UK lady didn’t mention that!). It’s booked and ready to go. So Dad totally gets a gold star for helping smooth things out.

The snow is still on the ground. Chemo went well – I had my treatment yesterday instead of today. We arrived for a blood test, and because so many people had cancelled the lead nurse suggested I stay on for chemo as well. Once my blood results were returned (and my chemotherapy drugs released) I was taken to a spare room; this place was empty except for one other woman. It was such a quiet chemo room. The nurses flitted in and out, hooking me up to the machine, starting the drip, giving the anti-sickness, and finally attaching the chemotherapy. It took an hour longer than expected – Zsolt chased after our booked taxi as it drove away (not really, but it did drive away despite his arriving on time . . . taxi competition was fierce!). But the nurses were understaffed and I was tucked away in a deserted room; it was a wonder they remembered me at all!

Yesterday was chemo as usual, no surprises or interesting stories. The highlight of my treatment was the nurse popping round to change my drip and getting a shock when I appeared from beneath a pile of jackets on my chair. So that was a laugh, but otherwise it was totally uneventful.

Today Zsolt and I are hiding in the apartment. We’ve been watching cars pass by and seeing how they manage the ice. England and ice do not mix.

Still tired, still recovering, and so I cannot write anything interesting. This happens time to time.

Three left, baby! Thanks goodness for that.

Oh! Next week I have my radiotherapy consultation. That’ll certainly be something to write about.