After two weeks of Bears Bile and Milk Thistle, my liver has regenerated itself enough to be allowed to go back to the full dose of chemo drugs this week, hurrah! I love that word "regenerated" - it makes me imagine a little mini Dr Who inside me doing his thing (the David Tennant version, obviously, I wouldn't be allowed any other type...oh come on, he does look like him a bit.....). Dr Who does need to pull his finger out a little, as there is still some work for him to be getting on with, but he has made excellent progress.
And I did check, the Bears Bile is thankfully synthetic, so we don't need to worry about the dear little bears in China, or wherever, with taps in them. Phew.
I was ruminating the other day - one of the really shitty things about The Thing is that it turns you (well, it has turned me) into a complete hypochondriac. You have these meetings each week with Doctors, who tell you to report any new symptoms (and often they helpfully tell you what to look out for). After a few weeks of having nothing much to report, you start to feel like someone who's not really playing the game - and start thinking about trying to do your homework. This is disastrous.
This week, I managed to convince myself that I am starting to have Congestive Heart Failure - a one in a zillion side effect of the previous lot of drugs. My reasoning - I felt a bit breathless after 20 mins on the treadmill, and after walking up a steep hill while chatting at the same time. So I dutifully report this to Papa Smurf who (kindly) tells me not to be a prat. 1 in 100 people on chemo would even THINK about going on a treadmill and fewer than that can actually manage to do it. I am just less fit than I used to be - get over it! But being Singapore, she does offer me repeat echo tests etc, which I decline. I am just being a prat.
But it's not just that though - you start to question and analyse every bruise, spot, ache and pain; Is this something I am expecting, Should I be taking any of my meds for this? Does it mean anything? I absolutely hate this - gone are the happy days of UDIs - it's SO BORING both for me and for poor J who has to listen. Perhaps I should just disable Google on my laptop.
I suspect it may all just be a side effect of not being able to drink a drop - I now know that I am a very very very bad teetotaller. I guess that comes as no surprise to anyone! I now dream about that lovely first gulp of a cold beer on a hot evening (ooh with the condensation on the outside) - surely one of the most blissful things in the world, along with kicking off your shoes in the taxi and taking off your Bridget Jones pants (not in the taxi, obviously). Diet Coke or Ginger Ale does NOT cut the mustard.
Still - only 7 more weeks to go and it will all be over. And that IS something to be excited about.
As zen-like and serene as ever, J xx
Thursday 28 July 2011
Friday 15 July 2011
About those 4kg....
It seems that putting on 4kg in 4 days is not merely a question of eating all the pies. I did think it was a pretty good effort, even with all the free Margaritas and endless croissants - but it turns out to be a first hint that all is not entirely well with my liver.
When I go in for my pre-chemo blood tests this week, the results confirm that my liver is being affected slightly by the chemo - and that more tests are needed to rule out liver damage, tumours, hepatitis and auto-immune diseases before I can go ahead with the next cycle.
I take this badly. The idea that another, previously healthy, part of me is potentially now damaged is horrible, as well as the delay to the chemo (I just want it all to be over). And of course the underlying terror that they will find tumours in the liver, which would be very bad news indeed. So I am perfectly foul to J who is doing his best to be both cheerful and rational while we wait for more blood tests and an ultrasound to be done.
They also decide that I need to have my womb, ovaries etc scanned at the same time. Papa Smurf asks me when I last saw a gynae and her horrified reaction to my response of "I never have......" says it all. It's hard to explain that, in the UK, that question is a bit like asking when you last saw a brain surgeon - if you've never had a problem, you never see a specialist.......
So I have the scan (involving probes you don't want to know about) and at the end the scanner lady leaves me on the table, still covered in jelly, for 15 mins - to "go and talk to the Doctor"...... This is where I hate the Singaporean way - there is no allowance for the fact that you might draw some conclusion from the fact that your scanner lady has suddenly rushed out unexpectedly, there is no effort to explain what is happening, you are just left wondering. When she comes back I pounce on her - well not literally, as I am still covered in jelly and that would be messy - and make her tell me if there is anything in the scan that she's seen. Her response of "Nothing so special" is only marginally reassuring, but even I can tell it's the most I'm going to get out of her.
We are then told to go home and wait for the results, which will come in a few days. Of course, being me, this is the cue for much Internet searching - and for once the information is reassuring - mild liver damage is a very common side effect of chemo, and fixes itself once chemo ends.
Thankfully, the results come back quickly as being all clear on all counts - so I will be allowed to continue with chemo, under close supervision by a Hepatologist (Liver Man).
The next day, we meet with the liver man who gives me some pills made out of bear bile (yes, you read that right - although I'm hoping this is now synthetically produced) and milk thistle. He also gives me the worst news yet - not a drop of alcohol during treatment from now on. This is bad news indeed.
Then off to the Den for this weeks cocktail - a reduced mixture this time as Papa Smurf wants to minimise the chemicals until the liver issues are stabilised. She is hoping that this will have happened by next week and we will be able to go back to the full whammy then.
Nothing is straightforward, it seems.
As zen-like and serene as ever, J xx
When I go in for my pre-chemo blood tests this week, the results confirm that my liver is being affected slightly by the chemo - and that more tests are needed to rule out liver damage, tumours, hepatitis and auto-immune diseases before I can go ahead with the next cycle.
I take this badly. The idea that another, previously healthy, part of me is potentially now damaged is horrible, as well as the delay to the chemo (I just want it all to be over). And of course the underlying terror that they will find tumours in the liver, which would be very bad news indeed. So I am perfectly foul to J who is doing his best to be both cheerful and rational while we wait for more blood tests and an ultrasound to be done.
They also decide that I need to have my womb, ovaries etc scanned at the same time. Papa Smurf asks me when I last saw a gynae and her horrified reaction to my response of "I never have......" says it all. It's hard to explain that, in the UK, that question is a bit like asking when you last saw a brain surgeon - if you've never had a problem, you never see a specialist.......
So I have the scan (involving probes you don't want to know about) and at the end the scanner lady leaves me on the table, still covered in jelly, for 15 mins - to "go and talk to the Doctor"...... This is where I hate the Singaporean way - there is no allowance for the fact that you might draw some conclusion from the fact that your scanner lady has suddenly rushed out unexpectedly, there is no effort to explain what is happening, you are just left wondering. When she comes back I pounce on her - well not literally, as I am still covered in jelly and that would be messy - and make her tell me if there is anything in the scan that she's seen. Her response of "Nothing so special" is only marginally reassuring, but even I can tell it's the most I'm going to get out of her.
We are then told to go home and wait for the results, which will come in a few days. Of course, being me, this is the cue for much Internet searching - and for once the information is reassuring - mild liver damage is a very common side effect of chemo, and fixes itself once chemo ends.
Thankfully, the results come back quickly as being all clear on all counts - so I will be allowed to continue with chemo, under close supervision by a Hepatologist (Liver Man).
The next day, we meet with the liver man who gives me some pills made out of bear bile (yes, you read that right - although I'm hoping this is now synthetically produced) and milk thistle. He also gives me the worst news yet - not a drop of alcohol during treatment from now on. This is bad news indeed.
Then off to the Den for this weeks cocktail - a reduced mixture this time as Papa Smurf wants to minimise the chemicals until the liver issues are stabilised. She is hoping that this will have happened by next week and we will be able to go back to the full whammy then.
Nothing is straightforward, it seems.
As zen-like and serene as ever, J xx
Sunday 10 July 2011
Onto the next stage......
The final countdown has started - I've now finished two of the last 12 chemo cycles - only 10 more to go........ It does finally feel as though the end is in sight.......
Whilst I would definitely argue with the "walk-in-the-park" promises given by Papa Smurf - this lot is considerably easier than the last lot. Imagine a 2 day hangover of the middling variety (too much white wine, say, rather than too much whisky or, heaven forbid, too much tequila....). Not go-back-to-bed grimness; not even must-lie-on-the-sofa grimness; more a general feeling of headache and vague malade/lack of energy.
The shitty thing about this lot is that it is every week.
This means pretty much a whole day in the den (Tuesday) or waiting to go in. Then a day of feeling absolutely fine (Weds) followed two days of feeling hung over (Thurs/Fri) And then only 3 days of feeling normal before starting all over again.
I can tell already that this will feel very relentless - having treatments once a fortnight meant that I didn't have to think about The Thing at all for a whole week, which was great for morale. To be honest, I feel pretty fed up with it all at the moment (not depressed or miserable, just fed up and bored) - hence the lack of blogging; there's just not really anything interesting to report.
In the meantime I also have to try to lose the 4 kg (yes, 4kg) that I put on during our lovely 5 days in Bintan. I was roundly told off by Papa Smurf for eating all the pies, and was made to promise to do better before next week - oh the pressure........
An image to leave you with, J and I side by side having a facial and massage in Bintan. J has a fetching pink facepack on - I am next to him (obviously) bald, with a blue facepack on..... Think less "Avatar", more "Blue Man Group"...... and we are both wearing nothing but black paper pants and a skimpy towel. Enjoy.
As zen-like and serene as ever, J xx
Whilst I would definitely argue with the "walk-in-the-park" promises given by Papa Smurf - this lot is considerably easier than the last lot. Imagine a 2 day hangover of the middling variety (too much white wine, say, rather than too much whisky or, heaven forbid, too much tequila....). Not go-back-to-bed grimness; not even must-lie-on-the-sofa grimness; more a general feeling of headache and vague malade/lack of energy.
The shitty thing about this lot is that it is every week.
This means pretty much a whole day in the den (Tuesday) or waiting to go in. Then a day of feeling absolutely fine (Weds) followed two days of feeling hung over (Thurs/Fri) And then only 3 days of feeling normal before starting all over again.
I can tell already that this will feel very relentless - having treatments once a fortnight meant that I didn't have to think about The Thing at all for a whole week, which was great for morale. To be honest, I feel pretty fed up with it all at the moment (not depressed or miserable, just fed up and bored) - hence the lack of blogging; there's just not really anything interesting to report.
In the meantime I also have to try to lose the 4 kg (yes, 4kg) that I put on during our lovely 5 days in Bintan. I was roundly told off by Papa Smurf for eating all the pies, and was made to promise to do better before next week - oh the pressure........
An image to leave you with, J and I side by side having a facial and massage in Bintan. J has a fetching pink facepack on - I am next to him (obviously) bald, with a blue facepack on..... Think less "Avatar", more "Blue Man Group"...... and we are both wearing nothing but black paper pants and a skimpy towel. Enjoy.
As zen-like and serene as ever, J xx
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