Posted in About today, Living with cancer

WeeGee and the case of mistaken identity

Since last I wrote I have mostly been sitting in the February sunshine feeling conflicted. I’ve been feeling conflicted because on the one hand there is NO WAY it should be this warm in the UK in February, but on the other hand this was my office for three whole days this week and I can’t quite bring myself to complain about it.

Garden picture
Garden office, cute penguin mug, and THE best notebook in the world

The PICC line doomy gloomies

The eagle eyed amongst you might have picked up on a certain doomy-gloominess lurking in the corners of my last post and there’s no use denying it – I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself the last time we spoke. Between you and I, the whole PICC line thing had bothered me more than it reasonably should have. Just lately, you see, things have a habit of sneaking up on me and catching me off guard by mattering an awful lot more than I expected them too. That’s what happened with the PICC line I guess, it ambushed me with it’s own sense of importance.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the past couple of days wondering why I felt such a strong sense of resistance to delaying the treatment so I could get a PICC line and coming up with a list of pros and cons.

Here are the pros:

  • Having the PICC line will make the next twelve weeks worth of chemo considerably easier for me
  • Having a PICC line will protect my veins and give me back some mobility in my arms.
  • A delay of four days will make no practical difference to the outcome of my treatment

And here are the cons:

  • Having a PICC line is a constant and visible reminder that there is something wrong with me

And that, right there, is the rub, isn’t it? Having a PICC line is a constant and visible reminder that there is something wrong with me. Most of the time, I don’t feel like there’s anything wrong with me at all, so I’m loathe to look like there’s something wrong with me. On the one hand, it’s just pride, with perhaps a little bit of vanity mixed in. But on the other it feels a bit more vital than that – because as serious as cancer is, I’m not willing to let it in to my life any more than I absolutely have to – I suppose it has taken me a little while to find a way to make space for the PICC line emotionally because it marked a significant change in how things were going for me, and, if I’m honest, it felt like a defeat even though I know that it wasn’t one at all. Above all else, it felt like  admitting that maybe, just maybe, there really is something wrong with me…

Anyway – the PICC line is in and there’s no going back. I’m pretty much over it now, although I’d still prefer it IF NOBODY MENTIONED IT. And that’s all I’ve got to say about that…..

Flowers
Sensing I was a bit fed up about the whole PICC line thing, number one brother sent me some lovely flowers on the day of the procedure. And that’s why he’s number one brother* (*He’s also my only brother, but we’re not splitting hairs….)

Does this chump think I am goddam ill or something?

Every three weeks I have a pre-chemo appointment with the oncologist. He’s a nice chap – mercifully older than me* with a no nonsense attitude and a habit of holding your gaze just slightly too long. He’s a tiny bit awkward and I like him either because of or in spite of it. He wants to know the same things each time I see him – how I’m feeling, what my symptoms have been like, whether I’ve had any sickness, or dizziness, or trips/slips/fall, or weight loss, or weight gain, mouth issues, or pain, or bruising, or bleeding or yada-yada-yada….

They feel like questions designed for someone else entirely. I answer him as best as I can** and, of course, I’m perfectly polite about it, but I can’t help wondering if the poor chap has taken leave of his senses because it does rather strike me that he seems to be under the impression that I am a sick person. Didn’t he notice me bouncing into the office filled full of vim and vigour and life? Can’t he see I’m FINE? Doesn’t he know I won’t let this beat me? I mean sure, the chemo knocks the stuffing out of me for a week or so, and I get a bit tired at times, and my arms have been giving me a bit of gip of late – but apart from that, I really am fine***. Okay, I’ve got cancer but it’s not as if I’m sitting here dying or anything is it?

Little horse
BOOM BOOM!

This is really happening

For a week or so after my diagnosis I entertained the notion that maybe there had been some kind of terrible mix up – that the whole thing was a case of mistaken identity and I had accidentally been given someone else’s awful news. Any day now, I thought, someone would realise what had happened and it would all be okay – for me, at least. Eventually, of course, I had to let go of the fantasy scenarios and accept that the nightmare wasn’t going to go up in a little puff of smoke and disappear.

This is DEFINITELY happening, even if it doesn’t feel altogether real. There is DEFINITELY something the matter with me, even if you won’t hear me admitting it very often. And I am DEFINITELY still doing my best to live as well as I can with cancer even if I do feel a bit like an imposter who has been marching around in a stranger’s life for the past fifteen weeks.

Since my diagnosis, I’ve spoken to quite a lot of people who are undergoing cancer treatment. I think I’ve mentioned before how different they’ve all been, how at first glance, they’ve only had their cancer diagnoses in common – but actually, when you reflect a little further, we all have something else in common. We are all, in one way or another, completely fucking bewildered. There is no manual for navigating your way through cancer treatment and nobody plans to get cancer, so when it comes you find you are woefully under-prepared for it. And what else is there to do when you find yourself there, but march around in a life that feels like somebody else’s entirely, putting one foot in front of the other, and doing your best to look like you know what you’re doing with the closest approximation of a smile on your face as you can manage? So that’s what you do. That’s what I’m doing. I’m not making a bad job of it so far, in the main scheme of things.

Smiling
On my way to chemo number four…. Still just about smiling.

Meanwhile in other news

Meanwhile in other news, I was very impressed with the excellent level professionalism on display in Harborough Superdrug this morning. I bought 43 hair bobbles**** even though I CLEARLY HAVEN’T GOT ANY HAIR, and the young lass on the till didn’t even blink…..

Bobbles
Who says baldies don’t need bobbles?

That’s all from me today, save to say that I hope you’re all happy and shiny and peopley….. Here’s a song to play us out. It’s an old one, as usual and it has no particular relevance, as usual….

 

Love you all lots, like loads and loads of jelly tots,

WeeGee xoxox

 

 

*I’m nearly forty – doctors are getting younger and I’m just going to have to get used to that. But when you’ve got breast cancer, the doctor wants to see the affected area whenever you meet so, you know, under the circumstances, it really does help that my doctor is a grown-up, relative to me and my hopeless childishness….

**None of the above, nosey parker

*** I’m reminded of a guy from the heady days of my undergraduate studies who insisted that he didn’t really get hang-overs. He said he just got a headache, and a bit of nausea, and felt really tired…..

****For REASONS.

Posted in About today, Living with cancer

Nobody mention the PICC line….

Since last I wrote I have mostly been busy trying to keep my mind off two sore arms and one minor setback. Settle in and I’ll explain….

The first thing you need to know is that I’ve got really tiny veins. And I’m not just saying that to show off. Every time I meet someone who is tasked with getting a blood sample from me*, I have to open with “Oh hai! I’m WeeGee and I’ve got really, really (really) tiny veins” and then they don’t believe me until they actually SEE the veins at which point there’s usually a small sigh before the hunt for a teeny tiny needle begins…..

Here’s the thing though. If you start pumping really powerful, corrosive chemotherapy chemicals through really really (really) tiny veins at three weekly intervals, it turns out they get damaged and start to grumble about it. The veins in my left arm started complaining after chemo round one, then the right arm joined in after round two and by round three they were both screaming and shouting about it like bloody loonies. I’m making light of it a bit, but between you and I it’s not actually funny at all. As things stand, both of my arms hurt like buggery and the left one doesn’t exactly work. I’m assured this is a known side effect of the chemo I’m on, if not exactly one of the more common ones. But hey – at least it can’t be said that there’s anything common about WeeGee……

Anyway – to solve all of this, the oncologist decided we’d give up on the really, really (really) tiny veins and insert a PICC line so we can go straight for the heavy duty veins. The hope is that if we go for the big guns, they might not complain about the toxic chemicals quite so much but unfortunately, to get the PICC line in, we’ve had to delay the next round of chemotherapy by FOUR WHOLE DAYS. And that’s the story of how I came to be sitting here chatting with you today, instead of getting my fourth round of chemotherapy done as planned…..

I’m not over the moon that my treatment has been delayed. For me, the fourth round of chemotherapy marks the half way point and that had come to matter an awful lot to me in recent weeks. I kept thinking that by the time I got the fourth one out of the way, I’d have have climbed all the way up to the top of the mountain and would soon be on my way back down the other side. Halfway is a milestone – it’s progress of sorts – it’s something I can tick off the list. I know it’s only four days, and I know it could be a whole lot worse but the HALFWAY point mattered and I’m annoyed that we’re not doing it today. I was all set to smash my way through it.

On reflection, chemotherapy so far has felt  like a series of right decisions I wish I hadn’t had to make – the PICC line is just another of those. Of course I don’t want a permanent, visible reminder of what’s going on with my health attached to my body. Of course I don’t want to be faffing about with a district nurses in and out of the house all the time because, I mean, DO THEY THINK I AM ILL OR SOMETHING? And of course I don’t want something as simple as jumping in the shower becoming a military-fucking-operation. But – and this is an important factor to consider – I’d also quite like to have a pair of working arms when I get better. That’s what I got to choose from – the PICC line, or lifelong mobility issues. In the end, I brooded about it for a day or two, did a bit of swearing in my head and then I got over myself, sucked it up and moved on because what else are you supposed to do anyway? Just don’t mention the PICC line and we’ll be absolutely fine…..

Meanwhile in other news, the sun came out over Market Harborough this weekend. I know that climate wise it isn’t exactly great news that we’re all walking about in t-shirts in February but I do like the sunshine, and I do like the spring. I made a point of getting myself out and about in it because who knows how long it will last, or how many more weekends like that we’ll see this year? I was lucky that the sunshine fell on my third weekend and I was determined to make the most of it with a fairly decent walk in the Northamptonshire countryside. The fresh air and exercise did me the world of good and if I was tucked up in bed by 9pm as a result then it was absolutely worth it….

IMG_3491
Weekend sunshine

That’s all from me for today so I’ll leave you with a bit of a song for you to sing along to and bid you farewell.

Love you lots like jelly tots, WeeGee xoxox

 

 

 

 

 

*There are LOADS of them, recently

**They were every bit as bad as all that.