Chemotherapy is barbaric. It is counter intuitive to everything we know and expect from medicine. It makes you feel poorly before it can make you feel better. Often it doesn’t make you better. It just slowly eats away at your insides and messes with your head until your bodily functions and processes are effected. Then, in theory it starts to impact on your cancer’s ability to grow.
That’s if you’re lucky, with Triple Negative this is often a short lived effect. Sometimes it doesn’t work and the cancer just grows. After 18 weeks of four types of intravenous chemo last summer, mine grew. The main tumour was bigger than 96mm when it was removed. The last lot of 18 weeks chemo I had in spring/summer this year worked at first. My RECIST (Response Evaluation Criteria In Solid Tumors) was even described as ‘0mm, a complete response to treatment’. That was for about a month, until I felt it growing again. It was another couple of months before this showed up on a scan. My secondary tumour is now bigger than it was when I started the last clinical trial and it’s in other lymph nodes too, plus a local reoccurrence on my chest wall. You can probably tell I don’t believe chemo is that effective.
You have to be dying, to want it. Enough said.
Added to this I was always way too much of a control freak and sensible scare-dy cat to take drugs (aside from a few puffs on a spliff at Uni). Having worked for 25 years in marketing, advertising, branding and innovation consulting that’s quite an achievement and a very deliberate choice. So, it’s depressing to poison your body again and again. It is beyond comprehensibilty that the cancer continues to defy the chemo’s aggressive purpose.
It’s fair to say I’ve had a few interesting reactions to drugs in the past (pre cancer) and I’m even allergic to Red Bull. It gave me altered reality and makes me hallucinate. Even without Vodka.
So as you can imagine I’m not relishing starting my daily chemo.
I put on my big girl pants (I think I will need them!) and I tucked into my seventh type of chemo drug last night.
Two years ago I was ignorant about chemo. Chemo was chemo. It was a scary abstract concept that I’d seen depicted in films. It made you lose all your hair, vomit, your skin turned grey and it hollowed out your eyes. It looked grim. It wasn’t on my to do list. It definitely happened to other people. Not people I knew and not me.
And here we are. I am no chemo expert by any stretch and having looked into the ingredients and how they discovered some of them, you don’t always want to know. I’ve mentioned the mustard gas derived Cyclophosphamide before. That really messed with my eyes when it was surging my veins and my eyesight deteriorated. Others are platinum based, taxanes are derived from genus taxus which are yew trees, a tree we played under as children and were told in not uncertain terms not to touch the sticky yew berries (or glue berries as we called them). These are not ingredients you are salivating over putting in your body. That’s why for me intravenous is better. It’s a good way to detach.
This time around I’m on oral chemo. Who knew there was such a thing? It’s a tablet. Ten to be precise. Five in the morning and five at night. So ten times a day I am expected to knowingly swallow cytotoxic chemicals. So cytoxic (not that I think anything can be a little bit cytoxic) that I have to wear gloves to pop them out into a little sauce pot and then take them. I have to return the empty shells of the packet to the hospital, presumably to incinerate (or maybe because it’s a trial). Hopefully I won’t be an empty shell too, I’m not ready to be incinerated yet.
I thought tablets would be easier, more convenient. I’m only 10 tablets in and psychologically it’s a bit more invasive.
Give it a week and it will be my new normal. Or I’ll be distracted by the side effects.
11th October 2019