I have pink pee. It started off red, and I am so thankful someone warned me otherwise I would have been running all the way to the nurses’ station. That, a mild ‘ice cream’ like headache, a bit of a sore right eye (random and linked to headache methinks) and a general feeling that something weird is going on, is all I have to report. And, most importantly, my morning cup of tea tasted great!
As mornings go, it was a pretty pleasant experience. I have been wondering why there isn’t much discussion about chemo and breakfast. It was only this morning that it struck me. In many ways, this morning was just like any other. No nil by mouth, no random taste issues. Just me and my muesli. When you throw in the fact that you’re not greeted at the hospital with a gown, general anaesthetic or anti-embolic stockings – just a comfy recliner and a hospital wristband – it feels like you’re going in for a nice sit down, not a helping of toxic drugs.
So here’s what happened. Having selected my chair (very excited that I got to choose a window seat), I was quickly handed six pills to swallow (four steroids and two anti-sickness tablets). As soon as that started to kick in, my very friendly nurse talked me through the toxic stuff (getting me to call out my name and date of birth with each one just to make sure they were going in to the right arm). First up there was red-coloured Epirubicin (the reason why my pee is pink) in four giant syringes. Then there was Fluorouracil (5FU) in two smaller syringes. Finally, there was Cyclophosphamide in a drip bag covered with a red sleeve. So, EFC not FEC if you go by order!
I felt good as my PICC line (when you’re sat opposite watching someone get their arm soaked to find a vein, you do feel pretty smug too) was hooked up to a saline drip, which is used to dilute the first six syringes. I felt better when the tea lady came round and I could enjoy my first tea of the day. And I felt even better when the pump beeped to indicate the drugs had run their course. It wasn’t a particularly sociable occasion (was in a bay with three older men who knew the ropes), but with mum at my side, we managed to laugh and smile through most of it. And the nurse – newly qualified in the giving of chemotherapy – was really lovely. Did you know, the children of OBE recipients can get married at St Paul’s Cathedral? (you learn something new every day).
I think my fascination for what is happening to me is keeping me positive. It feels like I am watching a scientific experiment rather than actually having things happen to me. It’s the first part of my treatment that really is all about cancer and, I still feel like I’m not really a cancer patient – I’m just surrounded by them. One day, it might kick in, but right now, I am more than happy asking lots of questions about syringes and watching my PICC line with interest rather than fear as the drugs go in.
On returning home, I was not only greeted by a tasty egg sandwich (yes I broke a rule and ate something I liked post-chemo, so let’s hope it doesn’t come back to haunt me), but I had pretty hats from Suburban Turban through the letterbox and news that my Breast Cancer Care feature has been published in my inbox. Not a bad day so far.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t fear this first session. I think it’s because, up until now, it’s just been about my boob, my tummy, my right arm and my ovaries. Now the whole body (my nice well feeling body) is in on the action, and I’m not sure how I’m going to react. Only time will tell.
Chemo and I are getting on well so far, so watch this space…
NB: by the way, I saw the scalp cooling kit today and hat’s off to anyone who tries it. Looks like an inverted rubber pyrex-style dish and cap attached to a large cooling machine. Glad I chose not to try and delay the hair loss.