I am grateful that the protocol for breast cancer is now 5 days of treatment - I know people who had 15 days of treatment relatively recently, and people who had 5 or 6 weeks further back in time. Modern linear accelerators are able to deliver highly targeted and precise doses, and I went into this with a high level of confidence that there wouldn’t be collateral damage to other organs. I am also grateful it’s my right breast, as it takes the heart out of the equation. There had been some question as to whether it was worth going ahead with this, given I have a secondary on my liver, a bit of a case of closing the gate after the horse has bolted. Both the clinical oncologist and medical oncologist both felt there was value in going ahead, which I hope I read correctly to mean they think there is a reasonable chance they can keep me alive for long enough for it to potentially matter. I will hang onto that hope. The clinical oncologist did advise me that as I have large breasts, there could be some toxicity.
I wrote about the experience of having radiotherapy on my previous blog entry. Treatment 3 was cancelled last week, leading to me having sessions Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday of last week, and Monday of this week. I think the off days probably helped my skin recover a bit between sessions. The final treatment was on a different linear accelerator to the first four, and I was reunited with one of the members of staff I met on the planning appointment. The final treatment was in a much smaller room than the first four, with very little space around the enormous machine. The ceiling light panels of a cherry blossom tree were reduced from 9 panels to 6. Definitely an inferior suite. I had joked on Friday, when they dimmed the lights for treatment, that I was having my last candlelit supper with linac5 before going off on a date with linac2. They both treated me well, but I did prefer linac5’s bedroom.
The after effects have slightly blindsided me. I sailed through chemo, compared with a lot of what I have heard. On chemo, I had days with stomach problems or other issues, but I never felt particularly tired. Radiotherapy has left me feeling like my battery is flat and I can’t find the recharging device. I slept for an hour yesterday afternoon. I went to bed at 9:30 last night and slept for 12 hours. None of it touches the tiredness, although I am pleased I don’t feel ill. I think I need to crack on and try to operate normally, as resting isn’t making a difference. Skin seems ok at the moment, but the breast is a bit uncomfortable with a feeling similar to pre-menstrual tension. Those were the days. The discharge letter says the symptoms can get worse for up to a couple of weeks and then start to get better. That should set me up to be nicely physically drained prior to my liver ablation, which the surgeon says will make me feel like I have been kicked in the stomach. Looks like my husband might have to take sole charge of Christmas.
Meanwhile the chemo after effects are easing. My hair is regrowing well, albeit pure white. I have stopped using head coverings (except for warmth) and resemble a fluffy duck. The peripheral neuropathy was kept at a fairly low level, and whilst it carried on getting worse for a few weeks after chemo, it has turned the corner now. My nails hung on and the soreness on the worst toe nails is dissipating and the itching has gone. I still don’t have the oomph to restart running, and the radiotherapy after effects mean I won’t even think about it until the new year.
Early January will be the 1st anniversary of the routine mammogram that set me off on this journey. I look back on my mammogram recall appointment where the doctor who took my biopsy jauntily advised I would likely be able to get my life back in a few weeks. Then came the news it was triple negative. Then the strong recommendation to have chemo. Then the news about my liver. I think it’s probably been easier to receive each of these pieces of bad news incrementally, as each time I have been able to hold hope of a better outcome and a less invasive treatment journey for a while. Right now I am hanging onto the hope that the chemo has put me into the 11% with secondary TNBC who survive for at least 5 years. Right now I am hoping each future scan is clear and that I don’t need to start Pembrolizumab plus more chemo. Right now, I am hoping that when that time comes, I can tolerate the treatment and that it will extend my life without destroying quality. In less than a year I have moved from someone sceptical about chemo to someone who would willingly try more treatment lines. Funny that
Next up - finding the answer on my adrenal ”incidentaloma” and the experience of being microwaved.
