Tag: breast cancer

Breast cancer lesson number 106: If you can’t smile at the needle, smile at the science behind it

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness1 Comment

Before starting chemotherapy, I, like the rest of the world, was familiar with the idea of taking a drug to relieve a symptom. But taking a drug to relieve a symptom caused by taking a drug does take some getting used to. And, what about taking a drug to relieve a symptom caused by taking a drug to relieve a symptom caused by taking a drug?! Well the mind just boggles. 

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Take Docetaxel as an example. I was feeling fine (in cancer terms) before this toxic little cocktail came along. Docetaxel causes the number of white blood cells in your blood to do a nosedive. So, along come eight Granulocyte colony stimulating factor (G-CSF) injections to encourage the bone marrow to get busy producing more. With the injections comes bone pain, for which painkillers are prescribed. That’s a nice little drugs chain to get your head around. It actually got me thinking about what the longest drug chain reaction might be. If you can top this, wow, and I’m very sorry.  

You could view this ever-increasing list of pills and potions the doctors are prepared to prescribe as confirmation that chemo is a pretty brutal regime. For me, however, it serves more as a reminder of just how amazing medicine really is 

While I can’t say I look forward to injecting myself with a drug that ages me physically in a matter of hours, I have to admire the science. The fridge and I have become acquainted with many types of needle-related devices in recent months and this little one (even if it doesn’t produce babies) is pretty nifty. You pull off the cap, depress the plunger and when you take it out of your tummy, the spring at the front opens up to enclose the needle. Clever and safety conscious. I like its style!

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So, if you’re having trouble facing those nightly injections, now is the time to think less about the needle and more about the amazing people tucked away in their labs researching and inventing new drugs – and new ways of administering them – so that we might sleep a little better at night. It may not be fun, but it would be even less fun if they didn’t exist.

Three cheers for injections and the injection makers! Five down, 19 to go!

Breast cancer lesson number 105: What the chemo consent forms won’t tell you!

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy4 Comments

I have made a discovery. There are certain chemo side effects that don’t appear on factsheets and hospital consent forms. That’s not because they don’t exist, but because patients and consultants alike would have to endure a certain amount of embarrassment to reveal them.

They may not be groundbreaking and they’re certainly not on a scale of peripheral neuropathy or fatigue. But, I believe any side effect that brings about a physical change (embarrassing or otherwise) should be noted down so that a) we don’t all think we’re bonkers when it happens and b) we go into the entire process knowing there might be a few laughs along the way. So that’s what I’m about to do.

Before I begin, I think I should start with an apology, particularly to my loyal male readers. The following post may take you to places you’d really rather you didn’t know existed. There is about to be what one might call an element of oversharing. Trust me, it is not indulgent. It is medical. While I think it wrong to apologise for the route I am about to take, I can confirm that I will be containing it to a single blog post, so you don’t have to concern yourself with a repeat performance. Who knows? You might just find it funny.

I think it is fair to say that I’m not surprised certain side effects do not get a public airing. It takes me back to my hip surgery days. I remember waking up from the operation to find that my nether regions had been dyed a rather peculiar shade of purple. It was also a rather permanent type of dye, which meant I had to live with my alien-like hue for quite a while before the colour grew out. I had been prepared for the pain, the discomfort and the lack of weight bearing. I had not been prepared to laugh every time I took a shower.

Thoroughly amused by this turn of events, I raised the point at a focus group about patient care as a way of demonstrating that even the smallest of details are worth mentioning to help people deal with recovery. The patients all nodded in agreement as if reminding themselves of the discovery. The nurses laughed. And the surgeon? Well, he explained that they must have been out of the orange dye that week!

I am afraid to say it is this same region that has triggered my search for the secret chemo side effects everyone has, but no one dares to declare. Having never had a Brazilian wax, I was rather intrigued at the possibility of losing my hair on areas other than my head. But, I have to confess, it brought with it a rather unusual problem. Without being too crude, it seems the hair does help in a directional sense and its absence means you have to be vigilant (particularly if you have a tendency to crouch in public loos). Initially I thought it was just me, but having mentioned it to a few select ears (and done some rather entertaining Googling), it seems I am on to something! Now why didn’t the oncologist mention that when he was telling me about coping with hair loss! It may not warrant a whole fact booklet, but I think it deserves a paragraph. And, as an aside for women who trim regularly, I would urge you all to stop.

On the subject of hair loss, I think it strange that the advice tends to focus on the hair, eyelashes and the eyebrows. What about nose hair?! While losing the hair on your head is not to be recommended (unless you really do like the idea of trying out every short style you never dare attempt), it is manageable. Losing the hair in your nose, however, makes it look like you are dining on a diet of curries and hot foods.

And then there’s the growing back bit! While I am yet to enjoy this rather hairy experience, I am led to believe that the hair doesn’t always remember where it’s supposed to grow. I have heard of people shaving their big toes and not their armpits!

Why is it that everyone goes on about Epirubicin and the dreaded ‘pink pee’, but nobody talks or writes about Docetaxel and the ‘sweet pee’? I’d take coloured pee any day over something that smells like an overstocked sweetie store. For those of you about to embark on this taxing drug, you have been warned!

Even products designed to alleviate some of the more well-reported side effects, such as hot flushes, don’t offer up the full picture. I have been wearing the Ladycare magnet in my knickers for a week or so now in an attempt to get a good night of sleep. I am not sure it has reduced my sweats, but it has managed to attach me to everything from my dessert spoon to my door keys. Thankfully a kind friend warned me of this, so I wasn’t too alarmed when it happened for the first time. I don’t really like the idea of being joined at the hip with all metal items in the neighbourhood.

I should also mention that there are also positive side effects that I would have loved to have been told about upfront to balance things a bit. The consent form should say: ‘by signing up to this course of chemotherapy drugs please be advised that your skin will become silky smooth and soft.’

I should probably stop here before I lose all my followers. But, let me leave you with a few final thoughts. To all medical professionals out there, fear not the embarrassing, blush-inducing side effects! If we’re going to sign off a seven-page consent form, it is best to make it thorough! And to all cancer patients, please open up about those secret side effects (post here or make your oncologist blush).

Because, chances are, the person sitting next to you in the waiting room is experiencing them too.

Breast cancer lesson number 104: Small steps can make a big difference

On By Jackie ScullyIn Charity, Chemotherapy, Happiness4 Comments

If you’d asked me at about 4am this morning, what I hoped would be my achievement of the day, I would have said getting out of bed. With muscle aches, bone pain, a sore throat, tingling in my toes and my feet and a continued sense of emptiness, I woke up today – or rather decided it was morning – thinking it might be just one of those days when it would be ok to lose myself in a good book and a packet of painkillers and try again tomorrow. Sat in the evening sunshine with a smile on my face, however, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

There are two reasons why I made it out of my pyjamas and decided to fight the fatigue. Firstly, I had a dentist appointment. Usually, just the thought of those blue gloves and shining implements would be enough to tempt me back under the covers. But, having looked after me so well before chemotherapy, I felt I really should make the effort (especially given the surgery is about two minutes from my front door). It was a rather nice experience in a way, although I confess this had less to do with the shiny tools and more to do with the fact the chair worked wonders for my pains, almost hugging my body as it tilted me closer to the dentist. You know it’s bad when you look to the dentist for a bit of comfort!

The second reason is a little closer to my heart. Today, I had a rather important message to deliver and I’d promised myself I would do my utmost to get out of my fluffy slippers and deliver it – pain or no pain. And, that’s exactly what I did.

So, at 1pm today, I wasn’t surrounded by cushions, but a group of business women on their lunch hour all waiting to hear what I had to say about boob checking and why ‘copping a feel’ might just save their lives.

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If you’ve been following my journey you’ll know that I took the decision early on not to count the days until the end of active treatment, but to make every day count (click here to read lesson 68 where I explain a bit more). Giving back for me isn’t just about raising money, dusting off my trainers and hitting the city streets (although that is still crucial and you can still sponsor me here). It’s about using every bit of my experience to make a difference. Today that meant putting on a Boobette jacket for the amazing charity CoppaFeel and striking up a healthy conversation about boobs. Today that meant encouraging people to make boob checking a part of their daily lives. Today that meant burying my pain in a pill packet and reinforcing the work of dedicated founder Kris Hallenga, who has a treatable, but incurable form of the disease.

As I stood in front of those women, I knew that even if they didn’t remember the slides, the number to text or the latest breast cancer statistics, they might just remember the woman who stood before them with a hot flush, a funny hat and a desire to make a difference. I thought my message might be that little bit more powerful if I was speaking with toxic drugs in my system. I think I was right.

So, ask me what my achievement of the day is now and I’ll probably overlook the getting out of bed part (although I’ll admit, it was key). Back in my fluffy slippers now, I can rest easy knowing I did my bit to stamp out the late detection of breast cancer and give young women the confidence to go to the doctor. 

I’d like to say that had earned me a lie-in, but I have pilates first thing! Here’s hoping the pain starts to ease soon! 

NB: By the way, if you’d like to find out more about CoppaFeel and even get a visit from a Boobette at your workplace or school, please do get in touch. I am on Boobette training at the weekend, so will be a fully-fledged volunteer come Saturday!

Breast cancer lesson number 103: Tax by name, taxing by nature

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy3 Comments

Chemo drug Docetaxel (which sounds more like a dinosaur than a toxic infusion) certainly lives up to its more commonly used name ‘Tax’. The side effects appear deliberately complicated, just the mention of it makes most people go a bit pale and the administration of it usually brings about pain. Whether you’re paying it, or receiving it intravenously, tax is no fun.

It started so well – although I think this had more to do with the extra helpings of steroids, which did give me the feeling I could take on the world (or at least the kitchen floor)! There was no nausea (thank you Emend). And, for the first 48 hours I had little more than mini bouts of fatigue, disturbed sleep, hot flushes and a general sense of unease. I had started to think we were going to get on.

Then, at around 4pm yesterday afternoon, the picture changed. All of a sudden, I went from Duracell bunny to flat battery. I lost my taste in the space of about half an hour. I ate early, was in my pyjamas by 6pm and drifted through the last Harry Potter film before making it to bed at a less-than-respectable 8.30pm. I had my first bone pain inducing injection. I wrestled with the bedding, got hot, got cold, got stiff, got up and eventually rolled out of bed when I couldn’t think of anything else to do to get comfy.

Six hours on and I am still trying to work out exactly how I feel. Strangely, it’s like my limbs feel heavy, but my body feels empty. I’m finding it hard to focus and everything from my back and my boobs to my sternum hurts a little bit – like someone is slowly tightening a band around me. I’d like to say I was having a nice time sat here in the garden with the light breeze on my neck. But, it’s not particularly fun.

And, the worst part is, I’m not sure what’s round the corner. I know there are another seven injections to come in this round and that injections mean pain. I know the steroids are over so there is nothing to help me with the housework or the cooking (when my lovely mum heads home). And, I now think I know what chronic fatigue is really all about – and I really wish I didn’t.

I’ve been warned that this drug is tough. All I’m hoping is that I am just that little bit tougher!

I think it’s going to be a long week!

Breast cancer lesson number 102: It’s better to give than receive, particularly on chemo day!

On By Jackie ScullyIn Baking, Chemotherapy, HappinessLeave a comment

Having been awake pretty much all night on a steroid-induced high (thanks to the dosage being doubled), I wasn’t expecting today to be as productive or as enjoyable as it has been. Especially with the words: ‘Docetaxel cycle one’ ringing in my ears.

The good thing about steroids, however, is they don’t stop working when you wake up. With four more at breakfast, I was answering emails, sweeping the floor, clearing papers and popping my next batch of chemo cookies in the oven (this time using a recipe all the way from Germany) all before 9am. I could have run (well, maybe jog a bit) all the way to the hospital, but instead decided it might be wiser to conserve my energy and just take a leisurely walk to the train in the sunshine through Greenwich Park.

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For me, today was as much about giving as it was receiving, and that fact makes me smile. I handed over a tin of sugary ginger cookie treats to the cancer day unit and wore my Breast Cancer Care T-shirt to raise awareness of this superb charity (click here to find out what they’re up to or visit my Justgiving page to help me raise funds to support their great work). In return, I got a slow-release infusion of T (the drug is administered over a longer period, with no red syringes in sight), some anti-sickness meds (including miracle worker Emend), eight pre-filled syringes to start self-injecting on Sunday (to boost my immune system) and what I can only describe as the world’s largest sharps box! It needed its own bag to carry it home.

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How do I feel now? A bit tired, a bit anxious about how the next week will pan out, but otherwise fine. The calm before the storm is a strange place, and I just hope the storm doesn’t involve nausea, chronic fatigue, bone pain, muscle pain, mouth problems and peripheral neuropathy. I have survived the first part by not having an immediate allergic reaction to the new drug. And, I have done what I can to lessen the side effects. I have had some exercise, taken my pills, sucked on a rather strange mango and passionfruit (or at least that’s what it said it was on the packet) ice lolly while the drugs went in (it’s a bit like the cold cap for the mouth, but more bearable if you actually suck on something flavoursome) and am now relaxing in the garden with a scarf over my head and shoulders so I don’t get exposed to the beautiful sunshine.

The good news? The cookies went down well (so much so I couldn’t locate the tin), the cancer day unit makes me feel like I am returning to see old friends and, at last, I got the free lunch I have heard so much about. There wasn’t a lump of mash in sight sadly, but they didn’t scrimp on the ham. I even returned home to a wonderful parcel of hats from a new friend I met at Breast Cancer Care’s Younger Women Together event back in May.

I am strong, so let’s just hope I am stronger than the drugs currently working their way around my body.

Only time will tell.

Wish me luck!  

Breast cancer lesson number 101: Nothing takes the past away like the future

On By Jackie ScullyIn Brighter Life List, Chemotherapy, Happiness2 Comments

Change is afoot in the Sloan/Scully household. Now by this, you might think I’m referring to the fact I’m about to start chemo drug Docetaxel. But, there is actually something far more newsworthy happening that I feel I really must mention. The three-piece suite that has been comforting my bottom for the last 21 years – and that I vowed would never make it through our front door in Greenwich – is now outside our house waiting to be taken away.

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Now we are actually parting with my parents’ old grey sofa (complete with embroidered leaves) I do feel a twinge of sadness. We’ve had some good times (curries, TV dinners and movie nights) and some bad times (it’s not good for sleeping on and it has swallowed up a few too many coins). But, overall, it’s been a pretty good sofa. Until Saturday, we are now sofa-less and all I hope is that the new one fits through the door. I’m not sure I fancy recovering from chemo cycle four on the floor!

That brings me neatly to the real subject of today’s blog. Tomorrow marks the official halfway point (not the unofficial one I claimed in lesson 88) in my chemo treatment. Out go red syringes and pink pee and back comes the fear of the unknown I thought I’d left behind in lesson number 49. How am I going to feel by Friday evening? Chances are, it won’t be as well as I feel right now (and by well I mean not in pain). 

Chemo cycle four does sound a lot closer to the end than chemo cycle one, but as the first cycle of my new drug, it feels as though I am right back at the beginning. There are, however, two key differences. Firstly, I’m not as healthy as I was when I started the first course. Will that have an impact? I’ll let you know. And secondly, while I don’t know what side effects will pop up to taunt me, I do know that it’s often the ones you least fear that are the ones that get you the most. I feared the vomiting on FEC. I should have feared the mouth ulcers and the loss of taste! 

I have heard that swapping FEC for Tax (as it is often known) is like swapping a stomach bug for a flu bug. It is likely I won’t vomit, but the muscle and bone pain don’t sound particularly pleasant. Apparently, the muscle pain is caused by the chemo drug itself and comes on in the first week. The bone pain is added in by the injections I have to administer from day 3 to help boost the number of white blood cells in my body (oh yes, this one wreaks even more havoc with the immune system). At least when I was self-injecting for fertility treatment I got eggs at the end of it. Sounds like all I get is pain this time (not sure I will be able to feel my boosted immune system). The list of side effects is long, so let’s just hope the drug is kind. I even get more steroids, which will either help me with the spring cleaning or the piling on of pounds!

The day before my first chemo, I wrote down ten chemo tips I was keen to test. Here’s a quick glimpse into how I’ve got on so far…

1)  Dark nail polish: I’ve painted it on and so far my nails have not fallen off, so I will claim a victory. My big toe is a little on the dark side (under the polish), so let’s hope they last the course. I also have interesting nails for the first time, so even without the
benefits, dark colours work for me.

2)  Sleep caps: They certainly catch stray strands of hair, but they do make it a little tricky to manage those hot flushes. I love wearing them when I am really cold though, even if I look a bit like a gnome!

3)  Senna (or your favourite poo-charming substance): Who needs Senna when there’s All Bran in the house! Ok, so I used it once when I couldn’t remember if I had ‘been’ and then regretted it. It is a handy item to have on standby, but you can’t beat a few mouthfuls of bran with your brekkie!

4)  Flavoured water and ice lollies: It’s nearly summer, so I now have two reasons to eat ice lollies. While I wouldn’t recommend frozen grapes (tried them on chemo 3 to keep my mouth in check and they tasted a bit too weird), I think there is a lot to be said for sucking on something cold while the chemo drugs are going in. It’s a lovely sugary distraction!

5)  Inflatable bath pillow: I think I need to stay in the bath a bit longer. I am still a bit of a speed washer.

6)  Toweling robe: Love it! Not sure I love it because of chemo, but I love it all the same. Who couldn’t love a soft, fluffy robe?!

7)  Queasy drops: Tick! They taste nice, they distract me from thinking about nausea and I don’t get bored eating them.

8)  Pineapple chunks: I would go as far as to say that they taste even better on chemo. Same goes for blueberries and strawberries – and extra strong mints of course!

9)  Ginger tea and ginger nuts: I am finding it hard to tolerate the smell of any herbal teas (so much so I wonder whether I will ever be able to enjoy one again). Ginger nuts are great for baking (as we all know from lesson number 79). But, whether or not they help with nausea, I just haven’t a clue. It would help if I actually ate one when I felt nauseous rather than just when I felt hungry. 

10)  Brow Zings: I’ll tell you when my eyebrows fall out!

The cancer kit list of tips and suggestions is coming, but there is one tip I want to add in for now. Plan in something that makes chemo day a day to look forward to rather than fear. For me, that means baking for the cancer unit so I feel excited about giving something back. I’m also so busy thinking about what ginger chemo cookie (or gingerbread) to bake next, I momentarily forget about the drugs making a beeline for my veins. It certainly works for me, and I hope it will work for you too.

This week it’s out with the old and in with the new. Let’s hope both the drugs and the new sofa are a welcome addition to our little London life.

Breast cancer lesson number 100: Don’t expect your top to stay on for long!

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy3 Comments

I should have known. It’s a rare trip to the hospital that doesn’t involve me stripping down to my waist. But, when you’ve dressed for a pre-chemo blood test and a chat with the oncology nurse, you just don’t expect to end up in a gown.

In truth, this is a strip I could have prevented. I did, however, think it might be time to mention the fact that when I try to sleep on my left side, my heart starts to race. I knew it wasn’t normal, but with a PICC line in my arm, I just thought it was a side effect (that could be prevented by me sleeping on my back). As it turns out, even with a PICC line, it still isn’t normal.

So, instead of my usual trip from the oncology department to the pharmacy to pick up the next round of pills, I found myself next to a man with a sling waiting for a chest x-ray. Quick change and x-ray blast done, I then had to make my way to another new (to me) area of the hospital. This time haematology! I am certainly clocking up those departments.

As it turns out, I’m very glad I did get the chance to wear yet another gown. The PICC line was 3cm too far in to my body, which means that every time I turned onto my left side in bed, it was getting a little too friendly with my heart. Thankfully, it’s not hard to fix and, in a quick 15-minute appointment, the nurse pulled a bit of the tubing from the hole in my arm and kindly redressed the lot. Given I had only had the area redressed two hours earlier, my arm is still throbbing in protest! The only slight problem is that the tubing quite likes finding its way back into my arm. For now, it is taped in place, but I have to make sure it doesn’t slip back in.

Of course, it wasn’t all gowns and sterile dressings. I met one of the beautiful ladies from the Haven exercise video (see lesson 94) in the oncology waiting room and had a lovely (albeit quick) catch up. The oncology nurse was brilliant too and is going to see if she can dig out some menopause tips for me given my clinic appointment is booked for July. And, I am loaded up with painkillers for chemo round 4. Only downside? I didn’t like what I saw on the weighing scales (we always have to be weighed to check that the chemo dosage is appropriate). More exercise for me and less quiche making (we have been eating leftovers from Sunday’s lunch – pretty much half of the table in lesson 99 – for the last three days).

So, with the PICC line sorted and the painkillers in the kitchen, I am ready for chemo 4 on Friday. Let’s hope my blood agrees…

Breast cancer lesson number 99: You are so much more than the illness that tried to take your life away

On By Jackie ScullyIn Baking, Chemotherapy, Happiness2 Comments

As my official 100th post (before you think I’ve mislaid my abacus, the first one wasn’t actually a numbered lesson), I have felt under pressure to say something more meaningful than offering an extra strong mint or Ladycare magnet update. That’s why it’s taken me a good few days to sit down and start writing!

The inspiration for this post actually came from my neighbour. Sat next door in the kitchen sipping tea (naturally) on Sunday, she turned to me and said: ‘It’s so important we remember that you’re not just an illness.’ And, you know what, she’s so right.

I was a fairly-rounded person with hopes, dreams, ambitions and smiles long before I made friends with the hospital waiting room. And, I am still that person – albeit with a few cosmetic adjustments! I re-read my first ‘Dear cancer’ (click here if you missed it) post just yesterday and I am glad to report I still mean every word. The engagement Champagne is slowly being enjoyed – in a glass not the bath. (Quite frankly, when you’re tumour-free every day is a celebration!) And, I’m still smiling (most of the time when my cancer isn’t being upgraded and my body isn’t conjuring up another new chemo side effect to catch me off guard).

So, I thought, for my 100th message, it would be apt to talk not about cancer and lymph nodes and lobules, but to go back to the beginning and offer a glimpse of the person behind the shopping list sized prescriptions. The person I was, am and will be, but the person that sometimes gets lost (like my veins).

For those who don’t know me well, I would liken myself to the following table of food.

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Here’s why:

1) Home is where the heart is: With my love of nesting, cooking, crafting and cleaning (admittedly less love and more satisfaction), I often think I was born in the wrong era. For me, being at home is like waking up to a long and happy hug every morning. There’s no queuing, no travelling, you get to pick the menu and, most importantly, you get to fill every inch of your home with happy memories. There’s only downside I can see – the washing up!

2) Family means the world to me: the only dessert I ordered at grannie’s house for a good decade was her special lemon cheesecake. I loved it so much that when Kraft changed the packet sizes of their Philadelphia cheese many years back (the recipe always talked in packet sizes not weights) it caused such cheesy chaos, I contacted them for advise on my grannie’s behalf. Without a conventional oven, however, the recipe had always been beyond my reach. What a great gift it was when we moved into our house in 2012 (complete with correct oven) and I could start cooking it. My version doesn’t taste quite as good as grannie’s version, but every mouthful comes complete with a whole lifetime of happy family memories.

3) The more I share, the more I have: My bread was made to be broken with friends. Good friends make the good times better and the bad times easier and I feel so blessed to have some many to try out recipes on!

4) If at first I don’t succeed, I just keep trying: determination is cooking a quiche recipe for the second time when you know the first one was a complete disaster – so much so the pastry dripped its way to the bottom of the oven and we had to munch on cubes of cheese and bacon. The second one worked! Just have to find time to squeeze in those falafel scotch eggs I have promised at two parties now (I even got as far as boiling the eggs this time)!

5) I take life a bit too seriously: No lunchtime event is complete without a timing plan, recipe list, homemade bread, fresh pesto and at least 10 hours in the kitchen. Did I need to do it? Nope. Did I love every minute of it? Absolutely (if we overlook the scotch eggs)! I may always want to get things right, but it’s only because I care so much about everything I do. It’s part of who I am and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Happy faces and happy stomachs are a wonderful reward.

6) While I love baking, it’s savoury all the way: I surprised a friend a few weeks back by ordering a starter and a main rather than a pudding. When you love baking for the office, clients, parties and the chemo ward, it does seem strange to not be attached to some sort of sweet tooth. Give me a bit of homemade bread, quiche, cheese and some salad and I am a very (if slightly stuffed) happy woman. A table with 75% beige and 25% bake works for me (two of my favourites are on the pic, including these white chocolate and raspberry tarts). After all, even a savoury girl knows the stomach has its own dessert compartment.

So, that’s what I’d look like if I were a spread of food. I am not cancer. I am an imperfectly-formed pastry case with a soft and creamy centre and lots of cheese. I may not be much to look at most of the time, but there’s a lot of filling, it’s quite nice (when it makes it out of the oven) and there’s always time for extra helpings!

Let’s hope the hospital agrees tomorrow when I am back for my pre-chemo blood test…

Breast cancer lesson number 98: If you can’t stand the heat, find someone to help you cool down

On By Jackie ScullyIn ChemotherapyLeave a comment

With a trip to the menopause clinic on today’s agenda (in yet another part of the hospital – this time Women’s Services) I was planning to fill this post with practical tips to help those going through both an enforced chemically-induced ‘change of life’ and the real thing. Trouble is, you don’t learn much when you don’t get further than the waiting room!

I always like to be punctual, but while turning up two minutes before an appointment is fine, two months is a little on the eager side! Whether it was a glitch in the admin system or an attack of chemobrain (which I am still trying to convince myself won’t affect me), I will never really know. But, let’s just say, the date and time in my diary (agreed over the phone last week) didn’t match the system or, in fact, the letter they’d sent me following the call (that I had failed to scrutinise).

I had a good laugh with the receptionist (who thankfully saw the funny side too) and it wasn’t a wasted trip (I got a PICC line flush and a beautiful back and foot rub thrown in from a kind Dimbleby Cancer Care lady), but the problem I now have is, the appointment is so late in my chemo regime (more than a week after my last poisoning) it almost isn’t worth having. Plus I am now facing two more months of hot flush fuelled nights. Trust me, two nights is enough! I could, of course, go to discuss the fact I may get more sweats on Tamoxifen, but I’m not sure the NHS would appreciate a hypothetical discussion about side effects I might get.

Sadly, the cancer card does not work in all parts of the hospital and I left with little more than a red face – probably due to the hot flush that had appeared as if on cue in protest. So I did what any woman in need of a natural cure would do and I rejoined a beautiful friend and her daughter (who I’d enjoyed a 30-minute pizza trip with an hour earlier) for a consolatory ice cream. It certainly didn’t magic up a new more useful appointment, but it was a brilliant temporary fix.

Hopefully I will be able to ask the oncology nurse for some advice next week (can you really be examined for hot flushes anyway?). In the meantime, I have turned not to Dr Google, but to the Young Breast Cancer Network Facebook group. Within a matter of minutes I was inundated with tips. My favourite has to be a lady care magnet, which you attach to the front of your knickers! Sounds strange and a little heavy, but I am absolutely going to try it.

I’ll let you know how I get on. Just don’t ask me about it in polite company! And, if all else fails, at least there is ice cream!

Breast cancer lesson number 97: Reclaim your tastebuds!

On By Jackie ScullyIn ChemotherapyLeave a comment

The only things I am currently taking in extra strong helpings right now are my mints. That’s right. Trebor Extra Strong Mints are my not-so-secret weapon in the fight against chemo. They hit the spot in a way no other foodstuff knows how. And, for that, my tastebuds will be forever thankful.

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The nice thing about developing a rather unhealthy obsession with these giant pill-like (yes the resemblance isn’t lost on me) sweeties, is that the extra strong mint and I go back a long way – to the school run in fact. The last time I remember popping a peppermint treat in my mouth was in the car with my mum on the way to lessons. No journey would be complete without a mint. Every time I crunch one now (I am too impatient to suck it for too long) I think of my mum and I smile at the thought that this small ritual from my childhood has made such a mark on my life.

I think it is only right I clarify that my diet does not now consist of mints, mints and more mints and I am not advocating you all rush out to the newsagents. But, it’s just so refreshing to find something that doesn’t taste of cardboard when I pop it in my mouth. Chemo has its own special way of turning the most delicious smelling (and looking) plate of food into something akin to gruel. And, gruel is something that belongs in a Dickens novel, not on my plate.

Of course, I can’t give mints all the credit. Blueberries and strawberries are putting in a good performance and pineapple chunks (the fruit pretty much everyone has on the list) are pretty special. And, let’s not forget eggs in purgatory from lesson 80 (to which I have added onion, sausage and all types of cheese in an attempt to vary it slightly). I even find that, the cheaper the wine, the better the taste (especially white wine). But, when I wake up and can’t face the sight (let alone the taste) of a glass of water, I know to what item my thoughts drift first.

I will be posting a more comprehensive guide to chemo when I think the side effects have all worn off after my last poisoning. At the moment, life is so unpredictable I fear a tip may be out of date before I press publish. For now, my advice to all those facing the toxic cocktail that is chemo is experiment. Find a way to get reclaim your tastebuds. You might not find them in a bunch of bananas or a slice of peanut butter on toast. But, they’re there and they want to tempt you once more.