Walking through fire

Last time I made the mistake of writing this: 'I'm beginning to see the pattern in how I react and recover and know what to expect...' and (even bigger mistake) this: 'By a week after treatment day, I begin to feel a tiny bit more energy...'. I should have known better. That was after Chemo 3. A week after Chemo 4, I felt so washed out I could barely get off the sofa, let alone go for a walk. Hence no blogs for the last month... I've now had five (out of a probable 12) chemo treatments. Treatments are every fortnight so it is pretty relentless. I've already mentioned lots of side effects so I won't go through all that again. On the positive side, I've recently been doing some work from home for a couple of days each cycle which has been a huge boost both mentally and emotionally. Another postive (and I hardly dare write this one down) is that the pain that's been getting gradually worse since last spring has started to recede. Still there but a l...

We're all living in a shrinking world. My world seems to have shrunk faster than most. A few months ago, even in lockdown, I could go for long walks, and I was still working full time from home - so that even if my body didn't leave the sofa, my mind did. Now, in the middle of chemo, I'm stuck inside, with not much to do, and even less energy to do it. I try to get out for a walk each day but the most I've managed in the last week is around the meadow across the road, and I haven't felt up to it every day. (One of the side effects of the drugs I'm taking is sensitivity to cold, so the weather hasn't helped.) I've been trying to do a few small things each day - a phone call or a little bit of cooking - but then I have to rest up. I've always been active - someone who keeps going - and it's frustrating to say the least. I'm so envious of friends whose photos of long winter walks fill my Facebook feed. I keep wondering what it would be like if t...

I didn't expect to be writing a blog post today because I was due to have chemo treatment number 3 on Tuesday, which pretty much wipes me out for at least a week.  But... a regular blood test at the weekend showed that my neutrophils (type of white blood cell) are too low, so my oncologist has postponed treatment for a couple of weeks to let my cell count recover. I'm not unduly worried by this and it's nice to have a bit of breathing space! It also gives me an opportunity to update the blog and today I'm going to share the first of several blogs (I hope) about some of the things that have made me who I am. My passions and interests and with them some memories of special times and people. So this blog is going to be all about my interest in science, and particularly in biology and  the brain. Growing up, discussion of scientific ideas was very much part of family life. My father was a physicist, and both my older sisters studied science subjects at A-level (and went on ...

NHS gold service I could not have had better service from the NHS throughout the last six months. They say the NHS is the nearest thing the British now have to a collective religion. I'm a card-carrying member of the Church of England - but I can see the truth in this. Actually I think the whole idea of the NHS has profoundly moral - even theological - underpinnings. It's based on a belief that each person has value in and of themselves. It is one of the few areas left in our collective life that is actively egalitarian. It is about need, not about some kind of perceived 'worth'.  As I said in my first blog, I've been pretty healthy for most of my life, but my husband has had different health problems and issues and I've sat next to him in many a hospital corridor or waiting room, plus I've had two kids and been in and out of casualty and Minor Injuries over the years. Reflecting on my experiences recently, I realise that as a cancer patient, I have been on ...

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...