Walking through fire

I arrive at the chemo unit in good time just before 9am on Tuesday 22 December, just under a week ago. Pleasant winter day, not too cold, not actually raining. The chemo unit is a big airy room set out with comfy chairs and a central nurses station. Nice windows looking across the fields to the Hampshire countryside. A few others arrive - they've clearly been doing this for a while. I feel like the new girl at school, shown to my place in the classroom, not quite sure what's going to happen - except of course, that it's probably not going to be nice. The chemotherapy treatment I'm having is called FOLFIRINOX and consists of three different cytotoxic drugs (cyto = cells, toxic = well, you know... so cytotoxic drugs kill cancer cells. Unfortunately they also kill other cells too). There's a fourth drug in the 'cocktail' which improves the effectiveness of one of the others. They will give the drugs through the PICC line in my arm (little plastic tube which goe

So since I last posted on this blog, things have started to move. On the one hand I feel like I can't start treatment soon enough after more than a month of tests, appointments and uncertainty. On the other hand, as things gather pace and the days tick away, the reality of the situation is sinking in. If I'm going to wake up and find this is all a dream... well that's going to have to happen very soon. Please? Last week they put a PICC line in my arm. PICC stands for 'peripherally-inserted central catheter' - in other words it's a tube that goes through a vein in the arm into the central vein just above the heart. They use it to administer the chemotherapy drugs. Provided it's looked after, it can stay in place for months or even years - in my case, it'll likely be there for at least six months. I guess I will get used to it, but at the moment all it does is make the skin under the bandage itch, and act as a constant reminder of why I need it. (And

Lots of friends have been asking me what's been happening so here's an update. I last wrote just over a week ago when I was waiting for (and rather dreading) a gastroscopic ultrasound. This is a procedure where they put a tube down your throat and into your stomach and then do an ultrasound scan of the pancreas through the stomach wall. They can also take some biopsies of the pancreas at the same time. Sadly I seem to have typed 'gastroscopic ultrasound' so often that my phone can now autopredict it... I'd had a gastroscopy (ie the tube but without the scan) a few weeks ago and was really not looking forward to this. But the reality is rarely as bad as the dread, and the procedure all happened without any hitches last Monday afternoon. This time I had conscious sedation which was a big improvement. Note to self: don't be brave, take the drugs on offer. Then on Thursday I had a PET scan. This is the one where they inject you with some radioactive glucose. The can