Graduation Day

This is officially my last post as a Chemo Patient. I'm writing from my usual spot in the chemo suite, my port-a-cath (port-a-loo as my dad seems to genuinely think it is called) hooked up to my last dose of Docetaxyl, and I feel, well, a bit weird.

In December when this whole thing started I flicked through half of my new year diary and wrote 'LAST CHEMO!!!' in today's entry. At the time it felt like an eternity away, but here I am being looked after by 3 lovely nurses who have become people I look forward to seeing, for the last time. This kind of makes me sad. As does the fact that, although a horrible one, I'm in a routine, a programme. A long, uncomfortable, very necessary one where I do what I'm told and let other people look after my best interests. A bit like university in fact. And lo and behold I felt funny on that graduation day too. It's something about being chucked out into the world to work things out on my own. 6 months of chemo feels like a really long time, with surgery as something to think about afterwards. Now surgery is something to think about next, and this too is tingeing my graduation day with trepidation.

Nse and Pat x

I will also miss being the only girl in the chemo suite with an actual entourage. I'm sure the other patients must think I'm either a minor celebrity or really, really pathetic. But I cannot shake off my team of mother, father, boyfriend and lovely friend, all crowding round my bed (and I get a bed! Looks even worse...) and regaling me with stories of Bridge hands (Parents), illegally painting my nails (Claire), or running around fetching me water and filling prescriptions (Dadjokes). Still, one step closer to my I'm All Better party, no more nutropenic/hospitalisation fear and no more jabbing myself in the stomach with needles.

For some reason I look exceptionally yellow today. This happens every so often, the Jaundiced look. I'm guessing its something to do with my liver being assaulted by serious toxins on a regular basis, but I am no doctor. I can only tell when I am photographed next to other people and I go 'eurgh I look so yellow' and they always go 'yes you do.' From a beauty perspective, nope, ain't nothing doing. So my advice is this: use a processing app on your computer or iphone and tweak the colours artfully, so digital documentation of jaundice day will be forever altered in history. Easy, makeup-free, mirror-free and effort-free beauty editor advice there...

Some Retrospective Highlights (I never thought highlights would be possible within a chemo regime, I was wrong).

Elton John

This is what myself and my entourage call a particularly grumpy fellow patient who doesn't seem to realise that people are trying to help her. I really shouldn't judge, or nickname, but I find my highlights where I can - and she is unintentionally quite funny. She seems to be taking her fear out on her nurses, which is understandable but a bit inappropriate also. Her 'do, spectacles and attitude have the Elton John about them (I should mention here that I am one of his biggest fans, so I'm not being as mean as I sound), to the point where she exclaimed loudly that she refused to be treated with all these other people, then sat behind a curtain next to my bed swearing and complaining that who am I to get a bed when she should have one. You see? She even walked out that day. My friend Alex remarked that her cancer must be an aggressive one. boom boom. (sorry)

my lovely mum

Bonding

Its bound to happen in these here situations, but I'm so happy to see my parents smiling faces every three weeks. What with me being in North London, my family in Surrey, I didn't hang out them as much as I would have liked. Now they drive up every chemo day, which takes them around 2 hours each way, and stay the whole time just to keep me company. I owe them one. Not least for petrol money and hospital parking...

Familiar Faces

It took a good few sessions, but aside from the nurses, I also have some regular 'hello, how are you's? and particularly love seeing my bed fellow, Jonny, (not literally, he has the 2nd of the two beds in the suite, so we have that in common), who seems to be youngish like me and is so smiley and cute that he makes me feel better about being where I am. And he says things like 'keep at it girl' and 'girl, you look great today' (always a winner).

Relaaax

I've had a few emails from readers worrying about their chemo sessions, but believe me when I say, actual chemo day is the nicest day of the 3 week cycle. Ok, it hurts for a second going in, but that's the worst thing about it. Contrary to Hollywood belief, there's no nausea while you're there, there's free sandwiches and tea, and its akin to a much needed bikini wax in the slight-pain-for-ultimate-good sense, so that you feel comforted to be physically helping the situation along.

Pat, Sacha, and Nse

My wonderful regular chemo nurses who should win awards for fabulous bedside manner, patience (with Elton John types), calming influence and multi-tasking. I will miss them.

Run Team Look, Run

While I'm hooked up here, there are a load of my friends anti-chaffing themselves and lining up to run 5k for the Race For Life today. I think I would actually rather be having chemo than doing that, so bobble hats off to them, especially the Look ladies. Later next month will be the turn of The Communication Store PR company, who have been keeping me up to date with their fundraising efforts including a bake sale, aww. They tell me I inspired them to do it, so the fact I got west London's most glamorous office girls out of their pleated midi skirts and into some pink Lycra is enough to take the edge off the graduation trepidation and make me feel proud of me, them, Team Look and everyone else doing it today.

In a few more weeks the more hardcore of my band of charity nuts will doubling their efforts and sweating for 10k around Blackheath. This is team Katie Selby, led by Katie, with even one or two celeb runners thrown in for good measure. I bet the Lycra will be luxurious among this team.

Please sponsor one or all three teams here, its for the most great of good causes, and if you knew how loathe the fashion industry were to wear trainers for an entire day, you would realise the importance of their sacrifice and dig deep immediately.

Team Look
http://raceforlifesponsorme.org/LOOKettes

Team Selby
http://raceforlifesponsorme.org/katieselby2510

Team Communication Store
TBC - I'll update this when they've stopped baking and organised a justgiving page!

Which they've done already! Running in July, so plenty of donating time, at

http://raceforlifesponsorme.org/TCSRACE14

Right, I'm off to toast my non-chemo patient, graduated with honours status, with some chicken broth and GCSF injections, tra la la...

First ever chemo day, complete with post-bawling puffiness crossed with I Am Dead Brave face. Fooling anyone? er, no

p.s. OK, ok, as requested: My dad's ever present and outlandish efforts to make me laugh... (they work too)

Parked Life

I've not been able to write this post before now since I've been holding my breath for the great Hospital Avoidance Experiment to work out. The lack of oxygen has rendered me incapable. I'll explain.

Since my move to the f*@!*&g Docetaxyl I've ended up in A&E on exactly the 7th day of each chemo cycle, with a high temperature - which basically is bad news if you have low white blood cells, since temperature = sign of infection, which in some round about, soul destroying, chemo-induced, hospital stay way, means risk of septicemia.

So you have to take all the precautions, have a TUBE put in your VEIN, just in case you might need antibiotics intravenously, (pathetic I may sound, but did I mention before all this I've never had so much as a filling?), have everything you can have tested tested, stay in an 'infection room' in the A&E, which is closed, cold, more fluorescent lit than all the other cubicles, and hope for a bed on a ward when you're inevitably admitted, which I always am, for 3 days. Although the doctors like to break it to me hard-ly with 'yep, nutropenic (which means zero white blood cells), hopefully you'll be out after a week.' Which always makes me call my mum going 'I'm fine (*crying*), don't worry (*sobs*), I just have to be in this room for a week (*wails*).' - But that's mostly because I've already been up for 24/25 hours, since the temperature always strikes at night, like an inconvenient, hot burglar, burglarizing my nice night in my own bed. Add in the inedible food - literally for me since there is no such word as 'healthy' in the Whittington catering code, the solitary confinement, and assisted showers, and Septicemia is suddenly a not so ugly option.
Nevertheless, I would like to hang onto whatever health and body parts I am able, so with trepidation and various avoidance techniques to plan, my day 7 approached, passed, and...here I am, writing this post, in gorgeous wonderful early morning sun coming through my OWN living room window, thank you very much ladies and gentlemen!

Here are my new rules:
Injections to boost my white blood cells, (self administered these days - see how far I've come from my never-even-a-filling stance?) - increased from 5 days to 7, starting 3 days early.

Bone marrow soup. This sounds disgusting, but is actually just glorified chicken stock. Poach the whole thing in slowcooker with carrots, celery, bones, skin etc. so the marrow from the bones gets into the broth you later drink. My new nurse Ivy told me it was a good idea, since bone marrow is where you produce your own white blood cells, so an increased intake makes sense. Even from a chicken? Who cares...

Even more Life Mel honey

And this one - the hard one - forced house arrest. Yep, I now have to avoid all places for two weeks, till my nutropenic stint is over, just in case I've unwittingly been picking up work germs or bus germs or tree germs. If you feel you know me even a little bit by now you will realise this is god awful. I'm so bored I've gone beyond bored to the point where I even resent the TV, like an irritating in-my-pocket husband who won't leave me alone. Not even TOWIE can motivate me to switch it on. And yes, The Outnet hasn't seen the security code of my credit card for some time now. This is a state of emergency.

My flat is not equipped for protective custody. I fantasise about DadJokes romancing me with boxes of Scrabble and Monopoly, gift wrapped in a huge shiny red bow, or laying on a city garden picnic (i.e sitting in our minuscule concrete courtyard) with organic strawberries and veggie cupcakes. Problem is, these things are no fun for one, and even if they were I'm not allowed to the shops to get the required components. Instead I have resorted to staring at my laptop straining for things to Google. "Sarah Burton on Ebay" was a particular highlight. No results mind...

Thank god for mums, cats and nail varnish. The former has moved into my spare room for 3 days, kept me entertained with gardening (while I watch), rudimentary rules of Bridge (yes really), and excellent mum-type chats. The cats are just never ending sources of hilarity and softness, and nail varnish can be removed and replaced a countless number of times to make me feel fresh and prettified all over again. Even if my nails are only accessorising the latest in waffly dressing gowns, and my feline companions can't even register 'pink' let alone appreciate it.

Still, complainy I may sound, but it is worth the slow softening of my brain cells to not be in the hospital right now. Plus I never get those red 'you've missed the postman so you now queue for a week at the post office' cards anymore. I'm like a reformed Joey Barton.

And next week I get double, no, triple excitement at the which-outfit/lipstick-conundrum, although my 'cost per wear' ratio is really not working out these days. Oh well, the global economic issue can wait, I have more pressing matters at hand. Google is calling me. 'Can cats appreciate pink?'