245. Looking promising

 First of all, it’s day 13 of cycle 6 and I’ve been for a drive. More of a drive than I planned and I wasn’t overwhelmed by information overload from other cars as I feared. Changing things like the heater and air con are beyond me for now. Partly, I can’t remember where the buttons are but mainly because I really have to keep focused or I swerve. Friday I got a car valeting service in as the car was filthy - I think there’s a load of dust in the top of the garage. I have never seen such a shiny sparkly car. But they reversed into the garage so I could just drive out. That’s not what I do. I reverse into the laurel that is three times the size compared to when we moved here and then I smoothly (?) drive out of the second entrance. This time I had to drive across the drive and then turn out of the first exit and on the third attempt to avoid the stone walls each side, we were off - wondering how much damage the scraping sound had done. It’s a garage job but no dent, Dennis is using it as evidence that I’m not really fit to drive but I did it once before, exactly the same low wall - and I was normal then. Oh well, you see plenty of cars with scratched sides, don’t you?

Yesterday I had my quarterly CT scan. Joyce took me so we were half an hour early but I went straight in, got cannulated and we’d finished by the time of my actual appointment. I took a picture because she did it so perfectly despite the warning on the front of my file. I’m forever branded as Difficult To Cannulate!At our last consultation, Dr U said I was having my head scanned. I said the letter specified pelvis, abdomen and thorax so he said he’d put it right. Nope. Just the three areas. They looked up my details and said I’d had an MRI on my head in January and everything was clear so not to worry about it. I pointed out that 8 weeks later, the ophthalmic surgeon found secondary cancer in my eyelid so the scan had missed it and, since that’s where the cancer is located, I needed my head doing because it was something to worry about after all. They weren’t really listening so I’ll have to go back for another scan now!!

Usually they are very conscious of patient modesty. They give you a gown and a curtained area to remove any garment with metal in. This time, no such modesty. I lay on the scanner bed and then had to roll down my jeans till the zipper was past my knees, desperately trying to keep my knickers in place. Then one of the radiologists placed a sheet of paper over my knickers for modesty (while others were milling around). I thought such things didn’t bother me but obviously they do. I was as cross as one can be after taking one lorazepam -I stopped smiling maybe. Then I was warned I may feel like I want to pee but I wouldn’t. Great. The contrast dye shoots up your arm and then you lose track of it till whoooosh, it hits the throat, you taste metal and everything feels very warm for a few seconds, by which time you’re distracted because whoooosh, it hits the pelvis and there’s a ball of heat pressing on your bladder (no wonder people want to pee)/ Then it’s utter boredom as you hear a disembodied and almost incomprehensible voice issue instructions about when to breathe, hold or exhale.Unfortunately they don't tell you when it’s ok to breathe normally so you’re kind of stuck there wondering how much longer you can hold that breath!

Now comes the scanxiety, as I’ve learned it’s called in the world of secondary breast cancer (from now on referred to as SBC as it seems no one likes to write the actual words). I don’t get scanxiety. How can I when almost every scan I’ve had has failed me, starting with that false mammogram result. Look where it’s got me. Well, actually, don’t bother because no one seems to know where it is at the moment. A few possibilities but nothing worth looking into - let the capecitabine slaughter it. I thought it was slaughtering me but I’m delighted to say that apart from sporadic dry mouth/throat, almost perpetual constipation and fatigue, I feel so much better this month. Presumably my body has adjusted to it now. I do hope that’s a good thing because I know one day, capecitabine will stop working and I’ll need another treatment to control the cancer as it spreads wherever it spots a weak spot. Not having to take 18 tablets morning and evening will be the only good thing about it.

The PPS I was warned about is beginning to show up. I have bright pink patches on my palms, my heels are bright pink and I have a patch on my big toe that is lurid pink, feels like (but isn’t) an ingrowing toe nail and I stubbed it last night. Ouch.  Now I have to wait till Thursday when I’m to see Dr K, the oncologist who encouraged me to be treated in the Bexley Wing. I don’t know why I’m not at Friday’s clinic with Dr U so I’ve started imagining things, none of them good. Maybe it’s my alternative to scanxiety.

Apart from that, a scratched but shiny car and fatigue that makes me want to lie down and sleep yet again (I did it this morning - till 12.30!!), all is hunkydory. Fingers crossed. And yes, I know I owe some emails. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful - just bone idle (I now understand why they used that description). 

50 Years and we can celebrate

 Well, sort of. We’d decided not to celebrate our Golden Wedding until I can at least taste something properly but Dennis suggested afternoon tea, my friend Anne who coincidentally married at exactly the same time (but in Blackburn - we wouldn’t meet for another three years. She’s now widowed) suggested she come round and we can reminisce together. Unfortunately the weather is preventing the proposed set up round The Shed so we’ll have it in what is euphemistically known as the Sun Room. It’s the extension which does get awfully hot when the sun’s out and is quite dreary without it.

I’ve been searching for our wedding album everywhere but can’t find it; same with my falsie - I can find the first one I had but it doesn’t fit. I’ve grown a bit. But I’ve found a knitted knocker which will suffice. I haven’t worn a bra for months! Anyway, eventually I found a few pictures, including this one of all the first-wave guests (second-wave joined us for the reception of 150!! I come from two very big families).

It was a wonderful day, one of the few where I didn’t mind being the centre of attention. Den wasn’t quite so happy about it but he did as he was asked, cut the cake and made a toast to the bridesmaids (thank you for the pressie, Sheila). Here we are, posing for the photographer, something Den would never do again. I don’t have a single photograph of us together since 1971. I think all his energy was expended at the wedding!

Anyway, back to the important stuff. I went to the oncology clinic yesterday and my blood markers have gone down from 128 > 86 > 27. Dr U said it was “an unexpected but remarkable effect”. I wasn’t too happy with the ‘unexpected’ but the ‘remarkable’ is great news. Unfortunately, it does mean I stay on capecitabine indefinitely so I have to hope  1. It keeps working (at any time, it will stop and we’ll have to find other treatment) 2. I get more used to it so I get the physical strength and mental agility I need for driving ie. normal life. 27 is actually lower than the average adult as, it seems, we all carry these marker, excreted from various types of cell, not just cancer.

Well, afternoon tea has just arrived and I wanted to use our wedding present plates (which we still use every day) so it’s not glamorous. But there is plenty of it!

So, Happy Anniversary Den and sorry we can’t celebrate in style. One day… Here’s to many more years, I hope.

243. I’m a winner!

 Yes folks, after years of silence from the premium bonds/NS&I, I almost deleted a lurid email from NS&I telling me I was a winner. £25. After all this time, with £4K invested. Not a great return, though it would have been once. But then I wouldn’t have had so many. Now what can I buy for £25?

We’ve decided to celebrate our golden anniversary with a luxury afternoon tea delivered. We’re deferring the rest till I can enjoy it. I’ve no idea when that will be but what I will confide on you is that, this cycle, I’m on Day 11 and, apart from being clumsy because I can’t feel with my fingertips and sleeping a lot, I actually have none of my previous symptoms. I know I have next week to face when I feel the full force of 252 tablets so I hope I haven’t tempted providence! But it feels strange to feel strange but not be able to say how.

Secondary breast cancer is surreal. I know I have it but I’m fine apart from a slightly swollen eyelid. No scans have identified cancer, just suspicious masses (too many for my liking). My oncologist admits that he hasn’t come across this before but my blood markers were soaring, showing some very aggressive cancer (but not saying where). All this uncertainty makes it feel a little unreal, which makes it easier for me to defer the big questions. All I can do is accept what I’m told and do as I’m advised. Anyone who knows me knows that doesn’t come easily to me.

Maybe my next appointment will bring good news. And at last I have my July CT scan date - 28 August!! I have to say I’m longing for normality. Dentist, hairdresser, hugs, going somewhere instead of drooping around in my pjs.