My drops of tears I'll turn to sparks of fire

A couple of weeks ago, I came across this article about an oncologist who experienced cancer for herself and realised how trite some of her 'reassurances' to patients can be.   Two key observations have come out of this for me. Firstly, I didn't know about 'ringing the bell' at the end of treatment. I didn't know this was a thing.  And today, I found the bell at Velindre. But I haven't rung it yet.  Why not?? you may ask! Because I really don't feel like I'm at the end of treatment.  I still have a good number of herceptin treatments to go, and this whole ovary removal thing to explore.  Yes, I am past the biggest stages: surgery, chemotherapy and radiotherapy are all done and that is fantastic. A massive relief.  But I'm not finished yet. And on that note, and Secondly, I met with my lovely surgeon - Kelvin - last Monday, and effectively he signed me off his list.  He is really lovely, and in many ways I'm a bit sad that I won't see

Nearly at the end of radiotherapy - just two more to go, as I write this.  I had a review today and I was reminded that the soreness may get worse over the next two weeks before it gets better, and given a pot of cream to help keep the area moisturised. All good.  However, the nurse I had the review with unintentionally upset me a bit.  She started with "I've been reading all about you. Gosh, haven't you been through it. To get it twice..." or words to that effect.     I know she really only means to be sympathetic and understanding, but when I hear a medical professional express some shock and horror at my experience, it makes it feel worse, heavier, serious, scary.    I end up being the cheerful one, telling her how "other people have it worse" (her expression told me that they don't, not all of them), and that I've coped quite well with all the treatments, really. I have. I really have.  I was reading today of one of the other ladies on the Br

About time I gave an update, and as I am now half way through the radiotherapy treatment, this seems as good a time as any. Daily radiotherapy started on 10th May, and during that time I have been back to work.   The round trip from home, to Bristol, to Cardiff and home again is approx 140 miles, so I am working from home on some days to reduce the driving and help me keep any tiredness at bay, and working short days so that I can get to Cardiff in good time.  This is working well, and I feel pretty much OK. I do notice myself getting tired by 2 or 3pm though - but tired of thinking and having conversations, rather than too tired to drive! It is a different kind of energy. Lymphodema On 14th May I took the day off work, as I had a 'lymphodema education session' in the morning, and radiotherapy in the afternoon.  It made sense to do something nice* in between, rather than travel home or to Bristol and back again. The lymphodema session was just over an hour, and quite use

It has been a while since an update, so let me bring you up to date. Back to work I went back to work, doing short days, on 30th April and everyone I work with has been absolutely fantastic.   I got gifts from my team and other lovely Library colleagues when I returned, and more hugs than I can count!  I'm so lucky to work with such wonderful people.   I am feeling a little tired by around 2-3pm, but getting a bit stronger every day, and starting to remember what I do for a living!!  In the last couple of days, I've also gone back to a few Faculty meetings, and all have been supportive there too.  I'm still feeling a bit "don't ask me any difficult questions", but getting there. Emotionally, the week before I went back I was still coming out of the end of the side effects of the final chemo, and had felt incredibly low.   Not depressed, as it didn't last more than a few days, but I had felt that nothing was worth the effort, blank, dark.   It was real

I recently discovered the hospital where all of my treatment comes from, and most of it has been delivered, has been the subject of a short documentary series.  Velindre: Hospital of Hope is a 4 part documentary looking at the work that they do. Quite a number of the staff who appear on there are ones that have treated me.  Chris the chemo nurse was one who helped me recover when I had my first allergic reaction at Nevill Hall.  Amy in chemo hasn't directly been my nurse, but she's been around and checked my IV line while I've been in.  Frederick who does the bone scan in Episode 4 is the guy who administers my MUGA scans, the room where the bloods are taken, is where my bloods are taken. My name has been called out on the waiting room tannoys in the same way they show. I'll be laying under one of those radiotherapy machines in a couple of weeks time. The series really shows what a fantastic cancer centre this is, and I think people may be able to better understan

Today I had my final chemotherapy treatment, but it nearly didn't happen.  Clinic was yesterday, with Tej, and I reported that my bone aches had been worse but that I'd taken cocodamol and that helped control it.    Tej reminded me that although this is my last chemotherapy, it doesn't end once the treatment has been delivered.  The drugs will be in my system for another 3-4 weeks, and if I have any symptoms or questions, I need to call the chemo page line.   She checked that the medical genetics referral had happened, and that my radiotherapy was all in hand.     She said she would also book my next MUGA (heart) scan for June, as this is done every 4 months during herceptin, and refer me back to Theresa Howe to discuss my next stage of hormonal treatment, as they don't want to put me back on Tamoxifen.   She set my expectations that I may have to have injections of Zoladex to stop my ovaries making oestrogen until my ovaries can be removed.  I'm fine with