Round 4 and getting weakerOk, so it has taken me a long time to recover from my fourth round in this sick prolonged cage fight with myself. I had picked up a small virus at the time my white blood cell count was low and got sent into a nearby hospital, for what I can only describe as one of the most horrific shambles I have experienced, leading to a temporary relatively 'minor' breakdown. For those of you who may not know, my first three cycles of chemotherapy consisted of the FEC drugs. My fourth however, materialised into what they call, "FEC's big ugly sister" and that my friends, is Docetaxel or by the pet name, 'Taxotere'. Now, incase your wondering, the administration of Tax is a bit more easier to deal with in some ways, especially on a physical level. I am pleased to say, instead of the intensive injections, Tax takes the form of a bag just like any other drip, but it is concealed in a black case as it does not like the light, In many ways its like a vampire (hates light, screws with your blood and tries to kill you). Anyhow, apart from the obvious intrusion of the intravenous, you can not feel the drug seeping into your veins in the same uncomfortable way you become accustomed to with FEC, you also do not get the same 'heady high'. On the other hand, Tax and myself really did not get on, like a two faced demon, it lures you into a false sense of security. Tax made me believe that I was going to be ok, and we were going to get on really well. I was going out for walks, I was eating ok, I was actually feeling... dare I say... near enough normal (apart from the tiredness but thats so consistent you kind of get used to it), this was all until about 3-4 days after my 'hit'. 'Breakfast' on Tax On Monday, I physically could not get myself out of bed. Imagine a really bad flu, being hit by a bus and the day after completing a 100 mile bike ride when you are not fit, all at once. UNBELIEVABLE, really. Anyone who has had a disagreement with Tax will know exactly what I mean, the feeling is absolutely incomprehensible. Around 5pm that same day, my temperature rose to around 38.3C' and after a quick call to the chemo pager I was admitted to a Hospital just over 10 miles away. Felling very faint and weak, I managed to get myself down two flights of stairs and into the car, at this point I realised this was my first time in public being completely bald and in my night clothes, but no fucks were given at this point. The daylight was intensive and having to sit upright for over half an our was an absolute torture that we usually take for granted. Upon arrival, Nick and I slowly wandered around the corridors looking for someone to direct us to where we needed to be, and we ended up in a small waiting room where I had to keep myself upright for 10 more minutes, which seemed an eternity. The doctor called me into what felt like a storage room, with lots of staff coming back and fourth. They sat me onto a bed while an awkward doctor explained the immediate situation to me as he took my blood pressure and an abrupt nurse asked me questions and filled out paperwork. To my right side, a junior doctor plugged in an intravenous with no warning, right into the joint of my wrist after explaining to him that my veins were very sore from chemo and sure enough, my body acted accordingly to the intrusion and ejected a liberal amount of blood from my tender veins. Over my shorts, my hand and all over the 'cold hard recliner' (been here before?). Things went from bad to worse. The doctor was clocking off and assured us it would be about a 1 hour wait before we got my blood test results back and we would have to take it from there, it was likely I was to stay overnight, given my physical state. I was unable to move my right hand as the needle from the IV was prodding into my vein with every minor action, but nobody was willing to remove it and put it somewhere else. The 1 hour wait ended up to 6 hours in all, stuck in the brightly lit storage room. Those who know me are aware I hate asking for things, especially from busy nurses that I believe have genuinely more important things to deal with at that moment. So when I started to need the loo (they were 'flushing' me with fluid it was inevitable), I ended up having to wait over 45minutes in all. But its ok, they are very busy... Nick went out to ask for the fourth time for one of the nurses to 'unhook' my bag so I could go... to his surprise there were over 8 nurses all gathered around the desk chatting to each other. One nurse did eventually come in to unhook me, and passed me the Saline to hold with my left hand, while my right hand was immovable (how do I wee?) she also did not clip the fluid to prevent the flow, so when I stood up, my blood started filling the pipes and flowing the wrong way. Nick had to call her back in to 'fix' it. I must have looked a mess, wandering around the corridors, with a fully bald head, blood on my shorts and holding Saline in one hand whilst it is attached to my other hand... None of the nurses came to help, we could not find the toilet. After Nick asked again, we were directed but then in a rather undignified time of desperation, he had to come in with me to hold my bag of fluid and help me undo my shorts so I could go. There was also a whole thing about a wee sample, I will not go into cause we will be here all day. When I got back to the room the nurse forgot to clip me back, so I was sat there for a while with nothing going in and I still couldn't move my hand. Long story short, the nurse who was meant to be looking after me was never seen again after 1 hour of being there. Nobody came to check on me, regardless of the number of things that went wrong. I was in a fucking storage room. I nearly pissed myself. They left the IV in for one hour after it finished and I had to hold up the pipe with my left hand as it was sucking the blood out of my body. My blood was clotting in the tubes. I was left holding a pee sample waiting, not knowing what to do with it (at this point highly prone to infections). What we were told was going to take one hour took six. I was still sitting in my own dried blood. I was in pain because the IV was in an awkward place. Nobody seemed to know what the hell was going on and I didn't stay in overnight because there were no beds available. Fucking Fantastic. It has taken me a long time, both physically and mentally to come back from that experience. It hit home that nobody really, cares about you and it is just a job to them (in that ward anyway). I have the upmost respect for doctors and nurses and there are many who are so good at their jobs and go unrecognised it is such a crime. It makes it all the more horrible when you come across a team like that, which I feel give the NHS a bad name and I am sorry for saying that. But what happened that night was truly unprofessional and unacceptable, I left that place feeling like my life did not matter and that stayed with me for a long time after. You really don't need it at this point in chemo, when it is already getting unbearably hard to keep going. I am dreading my next round and am terrified, my strong facade is beginning to slip and one more episode like that is going to tip me over the edge. Apologies for the negative, whiney post about self entitlement... |
A ' no holds' page about my life with incurable advanced Breast Cancer, in the hope it will give a realistic, detailed account to other young women going through the unfortunate illness.
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