#4 THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY

At college in the late 80s I did an A Level Film Studies course. I took it because, coupled with English Literature and Media Studies I thought it would fit nicely, my friend Bev was doing it and I also thought it would be an easy subject to boost my A levels as I needed 3 to get into the journalism course I wanted to do afterwards.

I never expected to enjoy it so much. The tutor was a young, quirky, funny Scouser called Andy who sported his Mod dress style with panache. His passion for movies was addictive and he introduced us to cinema classics like Citizen Kane and Taking of Pelham 1,2,3. We watched and studied endless Doris Day musicals, Hitchcock thrillers and Westerns. Spaghetti westerns became one of my go-to genres and I must have watched The Good, The Bad and the Ugly a dozen times over those years and I even bought the soundtrack LP. This movie popped into my head this week.

Surprisingly throughout this whole cancer saga there is always good stuff amongst all the bad and downright ugly stuff. And when it arrives it’s like a shot of euphoria. Chemo Tuesday was one of those days.

Firstly, Dr Kildare presented the results from an MRI I had two weeks ago to investigate ‘dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones’ further after something showed up on an initial skeletal scan. The MRI, if you have been lucky enough to have never had one, was like squeezing a Barbie doll into a paper towel tube and leaving her there for an hour and half whilst banging pots and pans in very close proximity. Fortunately, Barbie can’t move and is deaf. But you get the idea.

However when Dr Kildare said the MRI showed no sign of cancer in the bones I didn’t care because suddenly having ‘just’ breast cancer is a bonus. It’s very strange how we come to accept our situations. Two months ago I was a sobbing distraught mess at the prospect of breast cancer. Now I am delighted that’s all it is because it could be so much worse.

And that wasn’t the only good news. The results of the genetic blood test show it is negative for the BRCA1 or 2 gene.  A genetic cancer would mean there’s an increased risk of it returning (hence double mastectomy suggested) whilst you are also at risk of ovarian cancer (not that I need those anymore thank you).  The most distressing prospect of genetic cancer however is the difficult conversation I would have needed to have with my kids and my sister. Handling this crap myself is one thing. To consider the possibility that it might affect your children in the future is another thing entirely.

But it means the buck stops with me. It doesn’t answer my ‘why?’ question but I’ve learnt over the years that there is often never a fitting answer to the ‘whys’ in life and sometimes you just have to accept that some things cannot be fully explained or excused and instead I am focusing on ‘what’ I need to do to help myself and ‘how’ I can heal myself.

In addition, my tumours are responding well and because I am not having any major side effects from the chemo and my blood results every week so far are coming up in the ‘normal’ range I have been sent to the top of the cancer class as a healthy cancer patient (oh the irony) and henceforth I am now excused from the early morning blood tests for the next two treatments and can basically queue jump and head straight to the chemo room at an allotted time.

It felt like I’d just been given an A+ in my math’s GCSE.  Impossible and would mean I’ve cheated. But I’ll take it!

The villain in all this is the control cancer has on your life. It can take over. If you let it. It dictates and invades your thoughts and schedule, and your day-to-day life revolves around it to a certain extent. The really hard thing is to keep things normal when normal is the last thing you feel.

With the consultancy over I was thrown a slight curveball this week and chemo treatment was bumped to Thursday due to the consultancy appointment running very late and a backlog of chemo patients and not enough chairs/hours in the day coupled with a national holiday on Wednesday (fiestas stop for no-one here!).

I was going to point out that this buggers up my Tuesday Chemo blog. But felt Dr K perhaps wouldn’t appreciate this particular difficulty in life.

So this week it’s Chemo Thursday which was the chemo and immunotherapy mix. About 3.5 hours of treatment, which thankfully went without any reaction this time although I do notice the difference when it’s pumped in. My body isn’t happy with it but it is begrudgingly accepting it.

Meanwhile there is an ugly side to cancer – mostly relating to physical and mental changes and challenges. Most people associate cancer/chemo with hair loss. Apparently, chemo attacks cells that are in the process of splitting into two new cells. The body is made up of billions of cells and most cells don’t divide and multiply much once we are fully grown. They only divide if they need to repair damage.

But cancer cells keep on dividing until there is a mass which becomes a lump (tumour).  Chemo is sent in to damage the cells as they divide.  But it also attacks other cells which are constantly growing -such as hair, bone marrow, skin and the digestive system – which is why there are side effects in these zones – such as hair loss, bone pain, rashes or eruptions and nausea.

My hair loss began last Friday in the shower with clumps coming out in my hands. Expected and not at all shocking, but still a bit of an ‘oh shit it’s happening’ moment. My beautiful hairdresser, who gave me a pixie cut 6 weeks ago in preparation, has been on standby and I shot round for a number 2 GI Jane buzz cut.

When I got home later that day, Sol surprised me with his matching shaved head he’d done whilst I was out. He might be an irritating hormonal non-verbal teen whose favourite saying is “I’ll do it after” but he makes my heart melt how he is dealing with this shit storm.

So for those who haven’t already seen my look this spring season – here you go: