1 down, 5 more to go

Yesterday I had my first chemotherapy session. I was extremely anxious and I am glad that both S. and my mom were with me the whole day. It must have been a long hard day for them too.
It was a long day, but not as bad as I had anticipated. I went in at 9am and only got home at 4.30pm. Later in the evening I started feeling a bit queasy and had a funny taste in my mouth but it could very well be just stress. It is a strange experience, knowing I will feel sick from the cure and not from the illness.
I am waiting for the side effects to kick, not knowing when and what, I am just waiting. Weird, very weird. I don’t feel like myself, I am tired, feel heavy, a bit nauseous, my cheeks are red and of course, I am anxious. I cannot stop thinking about the toxic drugs I have inside me and that are killing my good cells too.
I am having FEC-T chemotherapy which I understand it is quite heavy. It is divided in two parts, three sessions of FEC and three of T (the letters stand for the drugs’ names). To manage the side effects I have a bunch of medication to take and even an injection I have to give to myself tonight which will stimulate the bone marrow to produce more cells, boosting the blood count. Again, this has side effects that I have to manage with more medication. And I really hate to swallow pills. I have a diary of the medication I have to take at home, it is so long I am always afraid of taking the wrong ones at the wrong time. To help me S. numbered the boxes and does a brilliant job reminding of the times.
As the chemotherapy drugs may affect my heart, I had a heart scan before the session started. It is good to know my heart is working well, healthy and strong. I had also blood tests done and one hour before the treatment started I took anti-sickness drugs and started wearing the cold cap.
One of the drugs came in three huge syringes filled with a bright orange/red coloured liquid (I think it was the Epirubicin) which took more than one hour to administer through a cannula inserted into my left hand. The liquid is so corrosive that the nurse was wearing goggles, gloves, sleeves and an apron. Imagine what it does to my poor body! The nurse pushed the content of the syringes, slowly, through the cannula one syringe after the other. The other two drugs (Fluorouracil and Cyclophosphamide) were given through a drip. Not painful.
The room where the chemotherapy treatments are administered is very pleasant, with big windows, quiet and bright. Yesterday there were only three patients and it is funny how we all briefly exchange a sympathetic look.
During the treatment I had reflexology. I really can’t complain about the treatment I have been receiving so far. They do absolutely everything to ensure patients are comfortable.
This morning the nurse called me to know how I was feeling and if I had any questions. It is very reassuring to know I can really count on them.

Hair

In preparation for the chemotherapy, I’ve been cutting my hair from very long to shorter and shorter. It is quite short at the moment. Apparently, the shorter it is the better the chances of not losing it. Also, I’ve decided to try the “cold cap” which is a cap that helps cooling the scalp, restricting blood circulation during the treatment and reducing the risks of hair loss. And the cold cap works better with short hair. It was very uncomfortable, almost intolerable (minus six degrees), but I managed to stoically keep it on for more than 4 hours. I hope it works because I find the idea of losing my hair quite distressing. At the moment people cannot tell I am ill, but once hair starts falling out it will be very visible that I am going through treatment.
In case I do lose my hair, I have already several fun scarves that I will learn to match with my clothes.
I have to admit that I had fun cutting my hair. One positive thing about cancer was finding a couple of good haircuts that suit me well and are easy to manage.

Here I am looking funny with the cold cap on during my first chemo session.
Obviously the cold cap did not work for me as I lost all my hair during the second week after the 1st chemo.
This picture has been added to this post on the 11th of Dec. 2010

One better than none

Only one egg was fertilised with success and is ready for freezing. One tiny little embryo will be waiting for me when I get an all clear from the doctors. All it takes is one, so I will stay optimist and will hope for the best. Science is amazing, there's a little me stored in a frozen tank!

Harvesting day

As chemotherapy and hormone therapy are most likely to cause infertility, after long discussions with doctors and aware of the risks involved, I’ve decided to go through IVF treatment and to have some embryos frozen. After two weeks of daily injections (that I had to give to myself, and the first injection took me almost 15 minutes to give!), today I went for egg collection. Disappointingly, from the 7 follicles shown in the scan, only two contained mature eggs, of good enough quality to create embryos. This means the chances of ever having a biological child are very very slim. Mother Nature hasn’t been very generous with me lately. But the way I see it, better two than none, so I will keep my fingers crossed and hope that the embryologist manages to fertilise them both successfully. Tomorrow afternoon I will know how the fertilisation went.

A tough cookie

Someone recently told me “You’re a tough cookie!” She was right because I feel strong and able to deal with cancer :)

Waiting for the chemo to start

The worst part of all this is the waiting. Waiting for appointments, waiting for tests, waiting for results, waiting for surgery, waiting for treatments to start,... and waiting for more results and more appointments... the anxiety this creates is unexplainable.
But finally I have a date for the first chemotherapy session. Somehow I feel calm now.

Life-changing news

When I initially went to the doctor I was told that it was probably just a cyst and that I shouldn’t worry. I had no risk factors for breast cancer, apart from being white and a woman. I am young, with no family history and in good health. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, I am not overweight and I sport.
I was referred to a breast specialist who decided to have a mammogram, an ultrasound, an MRI and a biopsy done. I never thought I had cancer, I was sure it was just a lump, so when I was told I had breast cancer I was incredibly shocked and my first reaction was to think it was a mistake. I asked the doctor if he was sure, if the file he had in front of him was really mine and I even asked what were the chances they had swapped the samples in the lab. He calmly told me yes, there was no doubt it was cancer, my file had been discussed in a group meeting and although they never expected it, he was sorry to confirm that I had cancer. He explained me the hospital protocol and that the chances of swapping samples was minimal to nil. I was then given a box of tissues and a glass of water. I didn’t cry and I didn’t need water. I asked: “So, what is the next step now?” and “What do I need to know about cancer?” This was on the 11th of June 2010. I went alone to the appointment because, once again, I never thought it could be cancer. When I went in the doctor’s room that day, he asked me if I was alone. In the room was also a MacMillan nurse. I immediately felt there was something wrong. It is a very strange feeling to be told you have cancer. I knew very little about it and didn’t even know what to ask.
After being diagnosed, I felt I had to tell my family and close friends, I didn’t quite know how to tell them but I wanted to say it out loud to make it more real. Until I started talking about it, it felt like it wasn’t me who was ill. I received the most amazing support and heard encouraging words from my family and friends, they helped me to see it wasn’t all bad and that I could survive this and have a healthy happy life afterwards.
I was diagnosed on a Friday and spent most of the weekend crying, feeling afraid, angry and sad. I started reading about breast cancer and the more I read the more I realised my whole life was about to change. I had to stop trying o get pregnant and maybe even accept the fact that I wouldn’t be able to have children at all in the future. My physical appearance was going to change. I would have to have surgeries and to go through heavy treatments. It would have to spend the next year in and out of hospitals. I would have to stop working. I knew very little about cancer and I felt things were taken out of my hands and that I had very little control.
Although most brochures refer to it as a life-threatening condition, I don’t see it like that, for me it is a serious illness, a long term condition.
In a short period of time, I lost my father, I lost a pregnancy and I was diagnosed with a serious illness. I hadn’t yet recovered from the losses when I was diagnosed and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to cope with one more bad news. But I am lucky because the support I’ve been receiving from my family and friends is amazing. It helps me go through this very tough period and gives me strength to keep on going.
My biggest fear at the moment is that I get secondary breast cancer, that it has spread to other parts of my body. I know my prognosis is good but I cannot stop thinking about it. More frightening than the treatments or the changes to my life, it is the uncertainty of having recurrent cancer. All it needs is a little cancer cell to get lost somewhere in my body to start this whole ordeal over again.

One in eight women...

...are affected by breast cancer over the course of their lifetimes.
I am back but unfortunately with not so good news this time.