My positive approach to the breast cancer itself has been genuine. I’ve never considered that breast cancer might lead to death, not for one moment. I don’t know why such certainty - perhaps it’s been a coping mechanism, perhaps my Land of Denial has been duping me. More likely, my obsession with being or feeling sick and the associated dread of anxiety and panic attacks have been a huge diversion. This has all worked to my advantage, even when I’ve been lying there Dementored (it truly doesn’t get worse than that!). I’ve never felt at risk from breast cancer. How good is that?
Now things have changed. Dr U talking about my cancer as though it was still there and still a major problem was a shock to me. I’d been told by nurse T I was officially cancer-free, that what lay ahead was to ensure any microscopic vestiges are destroyed and there is no recurrence. So am I or aren’t I?His comment about how ‘dangerously ill’ I’d been was another shock. I didn’t feel ill; drained beyond belief yes, but not ill. But unfortunately I’ve not been able to avoid thinking about it since, particularly as he said it was ‘likely’ it could happen again. Did he mean the alarmingly low blood count? I’ll be checked weekly now so surely the chances of it happening again will be lower because I’ll be monitored, not left for 18 days. Did he mean the infection/neutropoenia? I’m not only going to be more alert and not take the slightest risk, I’ll have a stronger immune system (relative to last week’s disaster, at least).
But the damage has been done. The cracks in my certainty have appeared. I find myself thinking about what might have happened had I not rung the hospital just to appease Dennis. Something inside me shrivels at the thought of only a 50% chance of recovery - because I realise that means a 50% chance I could have died. I joked about Death By Runny Nose but the reality isn’t a joke. Then I think about Dr U’s eagerness that we don’t interrupt the chemotherapy. Why didn’t I ask if there were any risks? I had a long list of questions from Dennis, which I adapted a bit. Plus he was running almost an hour late and, though he answered all my questions, it was obvious he wanted to move me on. Plus I’ve adopted a policy from the start of not asking what I don’t want to know.
I find myself in a contradictory position now. I don’t want to know but I realise that I should know. It’s good sense. I find myself experiencing tiny waves of anxiety about what lies ahead. I thought being halfway through would be a major turning point for me. Instead, my heart just sinks at the prospect of 9 weeks of continued vulnerability as ‘one of the unlucky few who don’t respond well to chemotherapy.’ I’m beginning to understand what that doctor on Tuesday meant. But just how vulnerable am I? I appreciate I can’t join the ranks of those who sail through it barely noticing the side effects but I was looking forward to being more active, driving, popping to the shops, meeting people - things I’ve so far only managed on rare days. Now I’m worrying about the new drug, Paclitaxel. I was originally optimistic. Now I have no optimism. I’m anxious about tomorrow (thank god for the Lorazepam). I’m anxious about afterwards (no additional steroid days to reinforce the anti-sickness treatment). Basically, I think I’ve lost my capacity to bury my head in the sand. How do I get it back?
I think I’ll hold back on pressing the ‘publish’ button till I’ve had time to think more.
And so I did. I’ve had my first new treatment and will be watching myself like a hawk now. I have had a small meal though, which is promising. The session was LONG. Poor Carol - we both expected to be out by 4. They hadn’t started by 4 and we went in at 1.50. First they needed a new blood sample (90 minutes at least till the results came back). Then they had to gauge the dosage. Then I had to be prepped and wait 30 minutes for that to work. Then I had to be got ready for the actual drug and that was in a 1-hour drip. Everyone else had gone apart from one man who’d come a long way, missed his blood tests but refused to leave till it was all sorted. Good for him - I gave him half my sandwiches lol.
However, Dr U popped to see me - a real sit down and chat pop. They hadn’t transferred my original prescriptions so there was no lorazepam. WHAT?? Presumably they consulted him. Anyway, he asked how I’d been over the weekend and I decided to be honest. I told him how my spirits had dropped and went through each of the issues noted above. He was taken aback that he’d given that impression and basically clarified everything ‘better.’ Cancer has gone. Halfway through chemotherapy and weekly visits from now will ensure everyone is alert to early warning signs. So... I just need to get through the next 24 hours without nausea and I’ll be back where I was before The Runny Nose. I’ll be satisfied with that :)
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