Honesty, realism, tears and chemo 6.

Ok, I realise I have many people reading what I write at present (12910 page view's at the last check). Some of you may not like what I am about to write, some of you may not even agree with the fact I've so openly and honestly decided to write this, but I need to. I set up this blog to offload how I feel, a way to write how I feel and leave the feelings there, something to look back on in the future and something, most importantly, to help me move on through my journey with some of my sanity intact.

Yesterday I had chemo 6, my last chemo to fight this lump. I am scared to say last chemo ever in fear that that may tempt fate and almost invite cancer to darken my doorway once again at some point in my future. Before they give me each chemo I see my oncologist, he checks how I'm doing both physically and mentally, prescribes any medicines that may help me and ensures I am fit for the next infusion. Now chemo 5 wasn't exactly an easy ride. Not only do the side effects of each dose provide a cumulative effect, ultimately making me feel weaker and weaker and making me look sicker and sicker, but this time as my immune system dropped I picked up three bugs. Firstly, I have two ingrown toenail's, I had an pre-assessment appointment for surgery needed on them that I had to cancel as it was on the day of the cancer diagnosis. After this they became the least of my worries and due to low immunity and low clotting levels during chemo I knew nothing could be fixed until I was through this cancer business. Those still being ingrown, and the fact my body is so run down and not quite bouncing back as it quickly as it has previously,  I ended up with them becoming infected quite nastily and quickly over about two days, requiring antibiotics. I also picked up a cold at about the same time thanks to the change in weather, I am asthmatic, prone to chest infections, so no surprise there I developed a chest infection, requiring a different antibiotic course. Now this would take a "healthy" person time to heal from, I had 5-7 days from starting antibiotics to seeing the oncologist. Luckily my bloods have picked up, despite them being at their lowest so far prior to chemo. My oncologist asked how I felt about having the last dose. I could quite easily have said I wanted a week off to recover; I could have walked out that room and had a week to myself where I could begin to feel well again. Instead I said I wanted to go ahead, my stubbornness raising its head again, however if I'd have taken a week off I know I'd have been disappointed in myself almost. That is the first time I have had an option to say no to chemo at that time, the first choice in this madness I have actually been given, but I did it anyway. It probably means I am in for a really rough couple of weeks, but that is it then, or so I hope.

Sitting having chemo for me is a strange experience, that fight or flight natural body response kicks in with a vengeance. I so badly want to push the nurse away, rip the needle out or run as far and as fast as my shrivelled up body can physically manage and then some more. All that release of natural body chemicals and having no way to escape makes me very tired, all I want to do is curl up in a tiny ball as they poison me. After the first half hour, I kind of come round and sit there with half a smile on my face giggling with my mum and the nurses. Yesterday halfway home I cried and I cried repeatedly quite a few times for the rest of the night. Feeling unwell from all the bugs, lack of sleep, being wired from the steroids, feeling like I should be happy like everyone else that the last dose is in but knowing I have two weeks for the worst of the side effects to be over and then 6-12 months before all the side effects are fully gone. Then there is the fact I never ever thought I could possibly get to number 6, there are so many times I have wanted to give up. It really does all get a bit overwhelming sometimes.

As you can imagine I wasn't feeling at my best yesterday, the last thing I needed was to get into the argument I did with someone who I thought was meant to love me and care for me as much as I do for her. I was, and still am, so cross, upset and hurt right now, hence why I need to clarify a few things and offload how I'm feeling. I was told last night that I needed to get over myself, I "only have cancer" and that there are a lot of people with cancer who are worse off than me, mines only mild and I should stop moaning as I'm "lucky".

Firstly, yes, there are people who are worse off than me, and in some respects I have been lucky. I was originally told by a specialist in a hospital breast clinic that that lump was nothing to worry about, many women would have grasped onto that and have left it there. I feel gut instinct counts for a lot, so when just months later it was twice as big I went back to the GP. Which I tell you now isn't easy, knowing that you'll have to get your breasts out for at least 3 different strangers to have good old poke at is often enough to put people off going the first time never mind going again after being told it's nothing. Anyway I went back, and it's a good job I did, statistics say an average of 1.4 people per 100000 will be diagnosed with breast cancer aged 20-24, that makes me unlucky I feel, but I caught it before it managed to spread. Had I not gone back when I did this awful disease could have been practically anywhere in my body, suppose in some weird twisted way that might make me lucky.

Oncologist's have a special computer system in which they input the details of your personal cancer, such as age at diagnosis, size of tumour, grade of tumour, node involvement and positive statuses. This spits out an almost personal average survival rate for the next 5-10 years, this is normally done post-op, I however needed to know how much difference chemo would make to my long-term survival rate to help me through the last few doses. I was told that with surgery alone and no further treatment I had a 48% chance of being dead in the next 5-10 years! Still lucky? Chemo gives me an average of an extra 17.7% chance at life; other treatments give me more and more chance too. This has helped me push myself through; an extra 17.7% is huge! Some people are told 1% benefit of chemo and are then given the option. 17.7% means I had no choice; chemo is too beneficial for the oncologists to give me the decision. Definitely helped me sit through each and every infusion after I'd heard that!

As for that lump being a "mild cancer", if there even is such a thing, mine's not. It's grade 3, the highest grade they have (different from staging which I will be told post-op). This means the cells divide rapidly and they look very different to "healthy" cells under the microscope. Hence why it grew so rapidly, 3.5cm at diagnosis and 3-4 weeks later it was seen at 6cm on MRI with a suspicious patch next to it that they originally felt to be the tumour breaking apart, possibly the first sign of it trying to spread. That patch was not visible on ultrasound, so I pray it is hormonal as they then suggested it may be, just like the streak on my left side. This is why I require an MRI again before my op, to ensure it's no longer there as that would change my surgical plans quite drastically.

If I have the gene they have tested me for this thing could turn back up anywhere and at any point. For the rest of my life with every innocent headache, stomach ache or pulled back I will be in constant fear that it is not so innocent and the thing has returned somewhere else, uninvited and definitely unwanted. All they can do with the TP53 gene is regular scans, there is no preventative measures like there are with the BRCA genes. This is something I am currently trying not to worry about, as I may not have it and the thought of having it is a little overwhelming right now.

I sometimes feel as if I am sat still in life watching my friends have a social life, worry about normal things such as their weight and how they look, watching people get pregnant or get married. I am over the moon for these people, do not get me wrong, sometimes however it is hard not to feel sorry for myself. I may never be able to have children, I have changed so much both physically and mentally these last 4-5 months and I have no idea if cancer is what will ultimately cause my death.

For the last 4-5 month's I have avoided looking past the next three weeks, some days I have not even been able to see past the next day. Now I feel that I can look a little further into my future, have a life, be happy and maybe at some point in the distant future feel "normal" instead of the freak show I currently feel. 6 months ago the majority of people probably wouldn't have taken a second look at me in the supermarket, now I feel people staring, either at the back of my head or quite openly as they stand near me in the queue or walk past me. I crave normality, hair and the usual worries that come with being 24.

I'm sorry for the length of this post and I'm sorry if there is anyone out there who disagrees with me offloading this. I need to do it for my own benefit for a change. Maybe I should stop putting a smile on my face so often and tell people how it really is. Cancer is horrific, I would never wish it upon anyone.

Yes I have, in some ways, been lucky, in other ways I'm not so lucky. However you view it I am still fighting for my life every single day, at just 24.