Drugtastic news

Why beat around the bush... it's good news. The trial drug is working! I'm still a bit stunned by the news, the good news, the really good news. Delivered by a doctor with a smile on his face, which was lovely to see. And the sun was out. All I needed was for a robin to fly in through the window, perch on my finger and burst into song.

Waiting for my scan

I'm sitting at home, with precisely 25 minutes to go before I have to leave the house. Today is the day of my three month CT scan, the shadows, shapes and contours of which will reveal whether the trial drug Axitinib has worked on my sarcomas. The aim has been to shrink or soften them... has it? I thought I had lots of 'things' to do before I left, and of course I do, but I find myself sitting in front of my computer just staring at it. Tick tick tick, tap tap tap... it appears I am interested in nothing. I have no distractions.

I'm back!

Hello! Remember me? The world's most unreliable blogger.... Well, I'm back and on almost a special date as well. Tomorrow, June 2nd, is the one year anniversary of my hysterectomy, the date I officially became the woman without a cervix. It feels both a lifetime ago and yesterday. I can still vividly remember my stay in hospital - lying in bed in pain, with a huge scar on my stomach that I thought may unravel at any moment. I tried to talk the nurse out of making me stand and take two steps to the chair where I had to sit and begin my recuperation. 

'I don't think you realise, Natalie, I've just had a serious operation....'.

The whole experience also feels like a million years ago, so many things have happened since then: cancer, secondary cancer, chemotherapy, side effects, getting married/committed, turning 50, battling with my fear and anxiety over being made redundant. But the overarching question I have kept returning to over the past year is one I think we all battle with from time to time, it's the question we fine tune all of our lives. Who am I?

I Am Data

I haven't posted (again) for a while and I have nobody to blame but myself *gnashing of teeth*. After learning that the chemo hadn't worked I kind of, sort of, definitely lost my bounce back factor. But, after realising that the sort of flexibility I need to be able to surf intact across, over and under these unwanted obstacles is down to me *more gnashing of teeth, breast beating and generally feeling sorry for myself* I'm climbing back on the surfboard. What else can I do? Everyone else is trying so hard to be lovely that I feel I'm missing out if I don't join the party.

Scan results - bad news

It's been a while since I posted. To be honest, having finished chemo I wanted a bit of time to enjoy the fact I wouldn't have to continue the three-week cycle that had come to dominate my life. Even though I was exhausted and everything still tastes pretty strange, a new dawn beckoned. Or that's what I thought. Our meeting with the Proff yesterday put paid to that theory. The cysts are looking more like sarcomas and have increased in size. In short, the chemo has stopped working. It's a bitter pill to swallow after six months and frankly, I'm gagging on it.

Last chemo

When I started chemotherapy last September third to be precise, I never thought I would get to the end of my sentence. A stretch of eighteen weeks seemed an eternity. Then it was stretched another six weeks when my original chemo didn't work and I was switched to a new regime. Then another two when my neutrofils dropped below a certain amount. But here I am, better than I thought I would ever feel. I did three yoga classes last week (and then lay down for the whole weekend), but hey! Three yoga classes, count them! And now I'm through. I had my last chemotherapy session yesterday. I feel astounded I have passed the finishing line. And that I've passed it because the chemo worked. Amazing.

I have become a woman who sleeps with her head wrapped in a towel. Specifically, I'm a menopausal bald woman who sleeps with her head wrapped in a golf towel. Who knew that the quick dry sports towel was the exact size to fit around my cranium, leaving a tiny tuck in that secures it just enough for me to drift off into sleep, or at least a hormone lite sleep, which finds me up and down, asleep and awake, throughout the night.