I’m feeling sick.
For once struck dumb.
This can’t be right.
I’m feeling numb

I have cancer
Is all I’ve heard.
They’ve got it wrong.
It’s just absurd.

My eyes are stinging.
I must not cry.
Does this mean,
I’m soon to die?

I have cancer
Is in my head.
All day. All night.
I wake with dread.

I cannot eat.
My throat won’t swallow.
I’m close to tears.
My stomach’s hollow.

I feel depressed
Which isn’t me.
Never had to face
My mortality.

I’ll plan my funeral
Just in case.
That’s one less thing
For Nick to face.

But if there was
A choice thereof,
I’d still choose me
Than one I love.

The Scan

I’ve not long had my 50^th birthday and am recovering from surgery to remove what we now know was a cancerous tumour.

I’m sent off for a P.E.T scan which will determine exactly where the cancer has spread in my body.

What to Expect

It’s like a combination of a CT scan and an MRI scan.

A radioactive dye is injected into the blood-stream. Then you are left in a dark room for about an hour. You are then put through a scanner very similar to an MRI.

The dye attaches itself to any cancer which appear as ‘hot spots’ on the scans (simplified explanation).

Afterwards, I’m told that I must avoid close contact with anyone under the age of 18, or pregnant, for 24 hours, though I believe this time frame may have changed.

Secretly I’m confident that they’ve made a mistake and that the P.E.T scan will show no cancer at all. We can then go back to normal. Job done.

Clinging to Hope

Two days later I get a telephone call from the lovely nurse who has been looking after me for the last few months.

It’s definite.

I’m still clinging on for a shred of hope. Were they sure, could it be something else?

My hopes are dashed. Apparently I lit up like a Christmas tree!

As the Irish would say – Oh Feck! This is turning out to be some year.

Don’t Underestimate the Impact of Bad News.

Once again, I feel my throat constricting. I call my GP surgery and speak to Sam the practice nurse who has been my rock these last six months. She immediately prescribes Fortisips, a drink which will help give me nutrients whilst I am unable to eat.

It is amazing how a few words can change our mood, our ability to think, eat, drink, swallow.

At last, I’ve been given some clarity.
I’m scheduled to have chemotherapy.
They’ve shown us the scans
And worked out a plan
And I don’t need radiotherapy.

I’m bouncing and walking on air
For there’s hope where there once was despair.
It’s a positive view
We’ve a lot to get through
Though the downside, I might lose my hair.

We all know a girl’s hair is everything
Only topped by a diamond engagement ring.
My Mum’s hair is curly
My is Dad is a baldy
It seems I am going to take after him

It’s a small price to pay for a cure
Say goodbye to my precious coiffure
My hair will get thinner
I’ll be a dead ringer
For Telly Savalas for sure

Now the stress of these weeks has abated
And I am suddenly feeling elated
It was awful not knowing
With all the foreboding
All I needed was to be updated

I am going to savour some wine
I’ve not drunk for a very long time
I’ll eat with great zeal
My favourite meal
My appetite’s back – it’s sublime!

 

The Power of Knowledge

This is the strangest thing. I know I’m in for a shitty time, because let’s face it, chemotherapy is a big deal, but the fact that I now know what is going to happen to me has left me with a feeling of relief.

I did ask the question of my Oncologist, what would happen if I decided NOT to have chemotherapy.

She told me I’d have 9 months, tops. Well, that certainly put everything into perspective.

However, I have a curative diagnosis with chemo and surgery.

That’s it then. It’s a no brainer.

She is lovely and kind and I feel like a huge weight has lifted. 

I’m suddenly starving!

I was frightened to have you. It was daunting at first.
The gut-wrenching panic whilst fearing the worst.
But you were essential to beat this disease,
So, I put all my faith in their expertise.

The insertion was painless, it was done in a jiffy,
Then covered with Tubigrip. Not what I’d call pretty.
Sent off to X-Ray to check your position,
Then back home for tea with my newest addition.

You had to stay dry. My lifeline to protect.
But how would I shower without getting wet?
So, I wrapped you in clingfilm as a temporary solution,
Which allowed me to have my daily ablution.

I soon came to realise you were nothing to fear,
But you were ugly as hell and looked so severe.
And my one piece of Tubigrip was now looking bleak.
It wasn’t what I would call terribly chic.

You needed a cover to make me feel normal.
Lightweight and fun, or even more formal.
So, when I went out, you’d be covered discreetly,
All, of your bits and bobs tucked away neatly.

But search as we may, there were none to be had
Within the UK and that made me mad.
I made me a promise that I would achieve,
A quality, comfortable, affordable sleeve.

So PICC-Me was born out of sheer frustration,
To deliver a product to service our nation.
Proud to be British. I’m grateful I’ve had,
A PICC-Line experience. It was not all that bad!

Caring for your PICC Line

Dressings

Try not to get your dressing wet as this may cause an infection which you don’t want. There are many different waterproof sleeves on the market. Those with a neoprene seal usually works well for showering.

It is possible for a member of your family to change your dressings and flush your line with the right training, which your community nurse can provide.

The one thing that is very tricky; they will be required to wear disposable gloves for hygiene. The clear dressing is, to paraphrase Rowan Atkinson in Blackadder Goes Forth, “Stickier than Sticky the Stick Insect that’s got stuck on a sticky bun”, so will easily stick to the gloves. However, the nurses are experts and can show them what to do.

Blood clots

It is well established that blood clots can occur with PICC Lines, ^{(1, 2)} so look out for painful and/or swelling of your hands, fingers, wrists and arms. Let your healthcare professional know immediately if you develop any of these symptoms.

I was advised not to take Ibuprofen as it can hide the signs of clotting by reducing pain and swelling. Again, discuss this with your healthcare professional if you have any concerns.

References:
(1) Jones D, Wismayer K, Bozas G, Palmer J, Elliott M, Maraveyas A. The risk of venous thromboembolism associated with peripherally inserted central catheters in ambulant cancer patients. Thromb J. 2017 Sep 19;15:25. doi: 10.1186/s12959-017-0148-y. PMID: 28936124; PMCID: PMC5604407.

(2) Guys & Thomas’s NHS Foundation Trust: OVERVIEW: PICC lines (peripherally inserted central catheters) https://www.guysandstthomas.nhs.uk/health-information/picc-line

Today’s the day.
It has arrived.
I seem okay,
But churn inside.
Nick grips my hand.
I’m reassured.
He gives a wink.
No need for words.

The Nurses smile.
They are so kind.
I take the chair,
That I’m assigned.
Go through my notes,
Confirm it’s me,
That’s when I cry,
For all to see.

Sat next to me
A lovely man,
Who reaches out
And takes my hand.
He tells me that
We’re wrapped in love.
His wife, with tears,
Gives me a hug.

Two strangers who
Instinctively,
Show tenderness
And empathy.
I wipe my eyes,
And thank them both.
Must get a grip!
There is some hope.

The Treadmill

The next 9 months became this strange treadmill. Every fortnight, we’d go to the hospital on a Wednesday, to have blood taken before my oncology appointment. It was tested there and then, so by the time I met with my Oncologist later that afternoon they already had the results.

The more chemo you have, the more your immune system is weakened. So, when it gets too low, you are put on injections to boost your immune system to get you back on track.

If it was a go, then we would be back on the following Friday for my infusions.

If it was a no, then a week of injections before another blood test.

Either way, I would go to the appointments desk where I would book the next session of chemo and/or bloods before leaving. It was very efficient.

Chemo Days

On the Friday, all being well, we’d head back to the hospital where I’d sit in a chair for several hours receiving my chemo. During this time there would be an urgent need to pee, so every chemo suite has a disabled toilet with a wide door. This is so you can wheel in with your drip when needs must. 

Just before leaving I’d be attached to a portable dose that I’d carry around in a bum bag until Sunday. That’s when my 3 day session would finally finish and be disconnected. I was also given a stash of anti-sickness pills and steroids to be taken at regular times. I took them without question.

Sunday was also the day that my PICC Line needed to be flushed and re-dressed with a clean dressing.

Lucky Me

I am very lucky that hubby Nick is extremely competent and ex NHS. He was happy to do it, so was shown by one of the community nurses what to do. This meant that they could concentrate on others that needed them, and we didn’t have to stay in all day Sunday waiting for someone to arrive.

Hiccups

There were some hiccups along the way; I developed a blood clot and as a result, my PICC Line had to be removed and I was put on blood thinners. After a month I had another PICC Line fitted in the other arm. 

Just So You Know

The removal of a PICC Line is quick and painless. I didn’t feel a thing.

Tingly fingers, stabbing toes,
Wobbly legs and bloody nose.
Cold drinks cause my throat to close.
It could be worse.

Can’t touch cold, I’ll get a zap,
Electric shocks when touching taps.
The fridge and freezer, nasty traps.
It could be worse.

Meals have weird, metallic taste,
The food I hate I now embrace,
Except for peas, I will not grace.
It could be worse.

No iced beer or chilled white wine,
No cold vodka with some lime.
Lukewarm lager is a crime.
It could be worse.

Raging furnace through my core,
Overheating, clammy pores.
Seems, it’s early menopause.
It could be worse.

Always tired, feeling wan,
Blurry eyes, this isn’t fun.
Have no choice, it must be done.
It could’ve been much, much worse.

My Side Effects

Apart from the bloody nose, tingly feet and menopause symptoms, everything else was only whilst having chemo, so effectively 3 days in every fortnight. These were my side effects.

Electric Shocks

Touching anything cold would give me an electric shock. Handles, plates, cutlery, glassware, zips, buttons, taps. Have you tried washing your hands without touching the taps?

All my cutlery had to be soaked in hot water before I could handle them. I couldn’t touch plates unless they had been warmed or glassware unless they had something hot in them.

My Nemesis

The fridge and freezer were an absolute no-no. There was no way on earth that I could put my hands in, let alone touch, anything in there.

Food and Drink

Drinking during chemo days was a challenge. My temperature of choice has always been a cold drink. I’m not a tea or coffee lover, so, hot chocolate became my only option. Food also started to have a metallic tang. My jaw would go into spasm at the first bite on either side. Strangely I started to crave things that I generally didn’t like, for example fish, and especially salmon, which up until then I didn’t care for. I discussed this with a fellow patient who had the same thing but in reverse. She was a fish eater but was wanting meat. We concluded that our bodies were craving what it felt was lacking in our diet.  

Tingles and Jelly

My fingers would constantly tingle as would my feet. During my 3^rd round of chemo, my legs started to feel like jelly, to the point that I could not climb the stairs. It would be a crawl on hands and knees going up, and a sit on my bum going down.

The Hair

My hair did start to thin but I didn’t lose it. Unfortunately, I have fine hair so I just kept it short, and my lovely hairdresser Hannah did wonders with what I had.

Cold Air

The absolute worst by far was cold air. My throat would immediately close, I couldn’t breathe and felt I was going to die. This happened twice when I inadvertently sucked in cold air during the winter months. As you can imagine, I became paranoid about going out even on non-chemo days.

I’m ever so grateful to have an ‘all clear’.
Those beautiful words I’ve been longing to hear.
We are elated.

The chemo has finally come to an end.
My PICC Line has gone and I’m now on the mend.
What just happened?

My life now, has changed, it won’t be as before.
It must have some value, of that, I am sure.
A second chance.

Be thoughtful of others, and always be kind.
Do something deserving for fellow mankind.
And yourself.

Regardless of outcome, whatever the strife,
Embrace every day, we’ve only one life.
Make it count.

With Love & Thanks

I have several people to thank for the amazing support they gave to both Nick and I during this time. It’s hard to do this alone and we are very blessed to have some fantastic friends and family.

Karen – My friend and angel. She brought home cooked meals for me in hospital. Helped me shower and gave me my injections when I couldn’t. Took me to appointments when Nick was away, and I couldn’t drive. As a keen photographer, she took headshots of me when asked, so that I would have a decent photo for my funeral. She understood.

Fiona – My ginger, feisty friend who has the biggest heart. Her door and arms are always open, and we are often there. She was also there for us every step of the way, and it was always ‘we’. We can do this. Not local to us, she would jump in the car at a moment’s notice to help when needed or just to visit. A doer and a giver, life keeps her busy, but she is never too busy for a friend.

Joanne – My counsel, my confidante, my friend. I can tell her anything and everything without fear of being judged. I have told her my darkest thoughts and fears, and she tells me it’s okay to feel as I do because our feelings are real and there is no right or wrong. She has helped me more than she will ever know. Our husbands joke that we are always talking. Damn right we are!

Jeremy, Brian & Werner (their husbands) – Thank you for being there for us both.

Prash – My lovely optician who helped with my sight which was rapidly deteriorating. He saw me so many times over the first year that I was surprised not to get an invite to the staff party.

Sam – My practice nurse who would see me at a drop of a hat to sort out my dressings and prescriptions. Always there with a hug and a smile. Another angel.

To all the other family, friends and work colleagues who visited, called, texted, emailed and messaged. Your words and gifts lifted my spirits and kept me going.

I love you all.

I will leave you with what I believe are the 3 essential things in life: good food, great friends and quality toilet paper!

Con xx

My biggest thanks, is to you, My Bear.
No matter the challenge, we work as a pair.
We take in our stride the cards we are dealt,
We face it together in sickness and health.

This was by far our biggest test,
Thrown in to uncertainty and unrest,
But with you as my champion, I was sure,
That whatever was hurled at us, we could endure.

We knew that this road was going to be bumpy,
And let’s be honest, you can be quite grumpy.
But you’re kind, hardworking, honest and true,
You’re also quite funny, that’s what I love about you.

Thank you for being there every step of the way.
For holding my hand when there was nothing to say.
For doing the pink jobs that I couldn’t do.
I could never have done this without you.
xx.

The NHS – This Incredible Institution

To all the doctors, nurses, technicians, carers, admin staff, volunteers and everyone within.

These wonderful people work harder than you will ever realise. They do their jobs without complaint, working longer hours than contracted, to make sure that patients receive the proper care.

So, to all of you out there that feel that they have a right to criticise and complain – be warned. Don’t ever let me hear you mumble and groan. I WILL verbally shoot you down.

If you’ve had to wait 2 hours for your appointment. WAIT PATIENTLY. They are dealing with someone who is in greater need than you. Be thankful that it is not you who is the emergency.

They are doing their best with the limited resources they have. Be grateful that we have an NHS at all.

Thank you to all who work within this incredible institution. YOU ARE AMAZING.

11^th July 2022 – I have received the telephone call that we have been waiting for.

The latest scan and bloods still show no evidence of any disease, and as I have been cancer free for 5 years, the hospital is signing me off, back to my GP.

We are over the moon.

Travel insurance will be available and without a hefty premium – hurrah.

Great Friends

Our beloved friends in Hampshire and Wiltshire dropped everything that day and drove up to join us for dinner and champagne in celebration and on a school night!

The Statistics

I am lucky. However, the number of cancer cases are rising. I remember years ago when the stats were 1 in 4. When I was having my treatment in 2016, it was 1 in 3. Now it’s 1 in 2!

Cancer Research

This is why PICC-Me donates monthly to Cancer Research UK, as I have done personally for over 30 years after the leaflet first popped through my letterbox. This research has saved my mother and now me. Not to mention all the hundreds of thousands of others who are either now cancer free or been given more time.

And Finally..

To all of you who are going through this right now, we understand and wish you all the very best for the future. I hope my story helps you in your personal battle with this hateful disease to find some strength and comfort, knowing that you are not alone.

Connie xx

Here is a list of support organisations that can help: Click Here

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