Category Archives: chemo

to have and have not

09 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by in cancer, casa azahar, chemo, health & happiness, home, sevilla

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This has been a strange week for me. Exactly ten years ago I went to the Feria de Jerez and spent a fun day there with friends. And on the way back to get the train I saw this graffiti (Tengo Cancer – I Have Cancer) on the wall beside a bar next to the station, and something about it moved me to take a photo. There was something poignant yet hopeful yet… I dunno… about it. Whatever. I took the photo.

The very next day I doubled over in extreme pain and thus began two of the most profound years of my life. Not going to go over the whole ordeal again here – if you’re interested you can check out this link. Suffice it to say I somehow survived stage 4 colon cancer with metastasis to the liver and peritoneum, including 3 major abdominal surgeries and being on chemo twice (first 2 months, then 5 months). The chemo was diabolical, but apparently got rid of all the nasty cancer. At what cost to the rest of my body cells? Frankly, I don’t give a damn. I just don’t ever want to go back on chemo again. It was then that I (badly) photoshopped the graffiti photo thusly…

Fast forward to January 2018 and another routine PET scan. Except instead of being given the usual – everything looks fine, see you next year! – I was told there was concern about an area of inflammation that had grown significantly since the previous PET scan. This led to me having several tests done, including a colonoscopy, endoscopy and a CT scan. With a second CT coming up in June, so they can check the progress (or decline) of the “area of concern”. Worried? Well, hell yeah! Because that’s basically all I ever do. Not just about health issues. I worry about EVERYTHING. All. The. Time. It’s exhausting, but I can’t seem to help it.

Anyhoodle… getting back to my initial story. This week marks the 10th anniversary of the beginning of the whole cancer thing, which in my mind is always connected with the Feria de Jerez. And so today I had to go. Nothing morbid or weird, it was more like touching base. Because back then was when all that started, and ten years later I am still here and able to go back and enjoy my favourite feria in Spain. So I did. And it was lovely (nice feria pics coming soon – promise!).

Except this year I am not sure if I “have or have not”… tengo o no tengo. Still waiting to find out. And these days this is what is left of that poignant graffiti. Looks a bit ghostly. Like they tried to paint over it but couldn’t quite get rid of it. I’ve often wondered who this person was, and whether they got better. I sincerely hope so. Just like I hope I will continue to be okay too. So… bit of an emotional day.

 

it’s gone

12 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by in cancer, chemo, home, hope, hospitals

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prep room

The prep-room at the hospital. My appointment was at 3.00 today and l arrived right on time, expecting to wait at least an hour before my name was called. Five minutes later l was undressing in the prep-room and waiting for the nurse to stick a shunt in my hand (just in case). Turns out all the prep (blood test, no eating, NO WATER for 8 hours) was just in case that happily wasn’t necessary. There was some serious stabby pain when the local anaesthetic was jabbed into my chest, but other than that it was a breeze. The whole procedure took about seven minutes.

My only regret was that I didn’t get a photo of my ex-port lying in the pan. After all, we’d lived together for almost six years. In fact, I asked after I’d got dressed again and the nurse said “oooh, you should have asked straight away, we’ve thrown it into the bin now”. Apparently they didn’t think this was a weird request. In fact, I’d had a couple of other questions for them, prefacing with “I hope you don’t mind…” and they were lovely. The surgeon said there were no silly questions and that it was important that I felt at ease. ALL women on this team today. Not to say that men can’t be understanding, but when you’re yanking something out from between someone’s breasts I’m guessing there’s just a bit more empathy there with women.

First thing I did after I got out of there was drink two huge glasses of water. And this evening I’m just chillin’ at home with the cats and feeling so glad to have this over and done with. Until October. Turns out I only get a 6 month hospital break this time after all (the 6-month PET would’ve been in March) but if all goes well in October then I will get an entire year off from hospital visits. Wow. Seriously wow.

it’s coming out!

09 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by in cancer, chemo, hope, hospitals

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chemo-portI got the call today!

On Thursday afternoon they’re taking out the chemo port. And, like, wow… I don’t even know how to feel about that. I mean, it’s good timing as I would have had to go and get the damn thing flushed out this week anyhow. Though as it is I’ll have to make an extra hospital trip tomorrow to get blood work done so they can check coagulation. I remember when I had it put in, not thinking twice about it because the idea of having any more chemo pumped through my poor hand veins was more than I could bear. So even when the chemo port “post-op” proved a bit more painful than I’d expected, well, it was nothing compared to the alternative.

Of course now I’m all nervous. And almost afraid to give it up, you know, just in case. It’s like I’m tempting fate or something, like it’s too hard to really believe that IT won’t come back. Anyhow, my appointment is for 3 pm on Thursday. Can’t eat after 7 am, which won’t be a problem. But they told me I can’t even drink water. I don’t remember that from last time. No water?? I need to find someone to come with me as I’ll be sedated and have a local anaesthetic so may be woozy afterwards. And then I’ll go home. And I won’t have a chemo port in my chest anymore. Huh?

hope 2016

03 Saturday Jan 2015

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hope_2016

Continuing the “tradition of hope” started back on January 3rd 2009 when I posted my first ever Photohunt entry. The theme that week was “hope” and I put up a photo of my daybook turned to January 3rd 2010 with the words “STILL HERE!” written on it. I had finished a second stint on chemo just a few months previously and hoping felt like a very bold thing to do. Since then I have posted a similar photo on this date and – as always – hope with all my heart that I’ll be here to turn the page and see this next year.

This year is especially meaningful because in October I joined the “5 Year Club” marking five cancer-free years. But I know better than to assume anything and I feel just as tentative writing this as ever. But hey, it’s good to have hope.

back to school

08 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by in azahartravels, cancer, cats, change, chemo, hope, tapas tours, websites, work

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printingMorcilla overseeing the printing

I’ve often thought that September feels like the real “new year”, rather than the first of January. Summer holidays are (mostly) over, shops and bars have reopened, there are lots more people out and about. This week especially has a distinct “back to school” feel to it as I get things organised for the whack of Sevilla Tapas Tours booked over the next couple of months and settle back into a routine of getting chores done and going to the gym. Meanwhile I chip away at the iceberg of blog posts and articles that need to be written or updated, including editing the 3000 or more photos I took over the summer. Any spare time is being spent on putting together my new Trip Planning biz, which is pretty much ready to go but still needs fine tuning before I properly launch it.

It’s also a time for taking care of practical matters like tax stuff (ick) and finally seeing the dentist. I had planned to put the latter off until the next PET scan, but after having lost a fourth filling (plus much tooth) last month, another fell out over the weekend and, well, FIVE half-gone teeth seems like too much to ignore. I’ve got my oncology appointment on the 22nd, so blood work will have to be done before that, and then the quite possibly scariest PET scan of all will be sometime in October. So much hinges on this one coming back clean as it’ll mark five years since my last chemo and – if all is well – a change in how I’m monitored. Most likely I’ll switch to having annual PET scans instead of every six months and maybe they’ll even remove the chemo port. Both of these would be such much-needed positive changes in my life (I can’t even bear to consider the alternative) that I’m almost too scared to hope. I’ll let you guys do that for me. 😉

But at least so far, it’s all good this September. Lots to do, lots of new stuff coming up. Very exciting. How about you? How’s your “new year” coming along?

unprintable

03 Monday Feb 2014

Posted by in cancer, chemo, weird

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FingerprintsToday I went to renew my residency card, which included getting a fingerprint taken, and the woman at the immigration office couldn’t get the machine to “accept” my print. She said they were very faint. It was then I remembered hearing something about this while I was on chemo, that taking Xeloda could actually wipe out your fingerprints, as happened to this guy. After quite a few tries with both thumbs and a couple of fingers the machine finally gave a little “ping” and I was okay. I was beginning to worry, wondering what would happen if they couldn’t get an acceptable print. So that was a relief. Also a good thing I never tried using the fingerprint ID option on my new iPhone…

the best I can be

06 Tuesday Aug 2013

Posted by in blogging, cancer, change, chemo, friends, hope

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polaroid patThe other day I came across this post written by Pat Is this the best I can be? in which she’d linked to this post that I’d written on the same day in October 2009, and in those blog posts both of us were questioning our lives and our behaviour, ways of coping, etc. And it got me thinking…

First of all, I spent a bit of time on Pat’s blog listening to her voice again. She was such a naturally talented writer along with being wonderful in so many other ways. And I realised that it’s been almost three years since we wrote those posts. I’m still here, Pat is not. But who knows what the next PET scan in September will reveal?

And so what I mostly started thinking about was “wasting time”. It seemed that for awhile I was doing everything very intensely because it truly felt like DEATH was just around the corner. These days I am mostly aware of my condition (stage 4 cancer survivor – at least so far!) during my monthly visits to the hospital to get my chemo port cleaned out, and of course every six months when I go for my PET scan. The latter always terrifies me and I’m a mess for about a week or so before. Lucky for me that I get the results straight away and don’t have to also go through the stress of waiting a couple of weeks afterwards.

Anyhow, there are, and always have been, a lot of things I don’t like about myself, so that is a daily struggle. I mean, I think I am mostly a “good person” (whatever that means) but my days are full of self-criticism because I could always be Doing Better. And then I don’t do better because this (rather abusive) inner-dialogue tends to wear me out, though I think I still end up mostly Doing Okay. When I was going through chemo and recovering from operations I tended to cut myself some slack and not be so hard on myself and I guess that reading those blog posts made me aware that I’d slipped back into this beating-myself-up rut. Which is, frankly, a waste of time. Not to mention counter productive. And exhausting.

When Azar, the love of my life, died last September I made a promise in honour of his memory to try and be the same person I was with him when with other people. You see, he was just so easy to love and it turned out I actually really liked who I was when I was with him. Because with Azar I was always the best I could be. And well, I haven’t always remembered that promise but all this recent thinking has brought it back. So I’m going to start making that my daily goal, and I even think I’ll try to include myself along with those “other people”.

Wish me luck!

port cleaning queue

05 Tuesday Jun 2012

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So most of you know by now that just over four years ago I was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer with metastasis to the liver, blah blah blah…

The second time I had to go on chemo (April 2009) I was saved from frying what was left of my hand veins by having a chemo port surgically installed. Actually in a bit of an awkward place, right between “the girls” (most diagrams I’ve seen of ports show them higher up and to one side).

Anyhow, as I am still considered high risk for recurrence the port will probably stay in place for about five years and it requires monthly maintenance – a flushing out and then an injection of an anti-coagulant so that the tube doesn’t get blocked up with gunk and end up killing me. And so yesterday I headed over to the hospital for the monthly port cleaning.

Sometime last year they moved port cleanings over to the blood lab building, which at first I though was a pain because I could only go between 12- 1pm. But after going a couple of times I realised that it was way better than going to the chemo room and waiting sometimes up to an hour and having to see all the others undergoing treatment while I had the port cleaning done.  At the blood lab there is normally nobody there when I arrive and I am in and out in a flash, and am even on a first name basis with the nurses.

But today there was a queue. Not a huge one, just four other people ahead of me. So no problem. Except that all of them were obviously so much younger than me, perhaps in their early thirties. And that made me so sad…

it’s official!

03 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in cancer, change, chemo, hospitals, sevilla, silly, weather

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Forget equinoxes and time changes, for me autumn doesn’t officially arrive until the first day I have to put on shoes. Which was today. Had to go out to the hospital this morning for the monthly chemo port cleaning and, while the heavy overnight rain had stopped, it was still a bit blustery and coolish. Dammit. I didn’t need to wear a jacket, but bare legs and mostly bare feet seemed like pushing it, so out came the dreaded tights and the (very dusty) purple shoes.

Not bad, I guess, but some years I’ve managed to keep wearing sandals until the last week of November. Basically it depends on if it rains.

Anyhow, I got a taxi over to the hospital. It’s different since they changed the port cleaning location – I used to go to the chemo infusion room in the evenings when they weren’t so busy and now I go to the blood lab building between 12-1pm. It’s actually a bit better not having to go to the chemo room, but it’s still a monthly reminder of THE CANCER and that the reason I have to keep this port in for five years is that they expect that I’m going to need it again…

But not today. There were two nurses on duty when I walked in and they immediately asked why I was dressed totally in black. I said I wasn’t, that I was wearing purple shoes and red earrings, but that didn’t satisfy them. Then I realised they must have thought I was in mourning, so I told them I was mourning the sun. Cracked them up. And they also relaxed, no longer worried I was a recent widow on top of having a chemo port in my chest.

So now that it’s autumn (it’s not officially winter until the Christmas lights are turned on) I need to go through my pathetic array of “warm clothing” and see what I can pull together. Even though it actually got up to 20º this afternoon. But I don’t want to buy anything new until I lose another ten kilos…

How’s the weather where you are?

scanxiety!

22 Wednesday Jun 2011

Posted by in cancer, chemo, hope, hospitals

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It’s that time again … got a call from the hospital yesterday (while I was fretting about having to make this terrible decision) and was told my next PET scan would be on Monday at 8am. And then the scanxiety set in. I haven’t had it this bad since last year at this time. In fact it will be almost exactly a year, just one day off. Though of course I had my last PET in January.

I was nervous last time but, as I only had a couple of day’s notice, I didn’t have so much time to worry. This time it came as a surprise because I thought it wasn’t going to be until the end of July, and so now I suddenly have almost a whole week of sleepless nights ahead of me.

The other thing that makes it scarier this time is that since my last “all-clear” two very dear friends have had inoperable recurrences and have been given chemo as a last resort, and I worry that I’m next. As usual I am kicking myself for not having made all the healthy lifestyle changes I should have, as if daring the cancer to come back – how stupid was that? But of course there’s nothing I can do about that now to change Monday’s outcome.

I have so much planned for the summer now that work is finally picking up, and I so want to be able to do it all. In fact, I have a tapas tour on Monday evening. Wonder how I’ll manage to do that if I end up getting bad news. BUT… all of this is scariest in the wee hours as I lie awake and turn it all over and over again in my mind. Right now the sun is shining and there’s lots to do.