Everybody hurts!

Chemo, the third time round, was simple. Turn up on time, sit in the waiting room playing the ‘Is that a wig?’ game. Then go pick a chair. This was the hardest bit! The nurse said to me “you are first in, you can pick a chair.” Waving her hand around the empty ward. I headed for the window seat. I then began the arduous task of emptying my roll-along, as my chemo buddies arrived filling up the remaining seats. When I eventually sat down I realised I’d picked the ‘dodgy’ chair. The seat back was in the furthest relaxed position before horizontal. The feet were raised up so I looked like an astronaut mid launch! I took the remote and tried to bring the back of the chair forward, aware that the grinding noise wasn’t coming from my teeth. I was now stuck, leaving Earths atmosphere for the next 2.5 hours 🤦🏻‍♀️ The nurses found my position very amusing and in fact spent most of the next 2.5 hours making crackling sounds and saying ‘Houston we have a problem”. During their comedy side show they also introduced a young woman to me who was a trainee pharmacist and was familiarising herself with the different chemo drugs. We got chatting, which was in itself a strange, new experience, as up until now no one seemed to speak in these wards! She told me she suffered with a prematurely -reseeding hairline. I thought her very brave to talk about this, but then she was talking to a woman with a flammable carpet on her swede. We then got talking about Microblading. A while ago this strange term and I crossed paths. I mentioned to Steve that Kerry knew someone that did microblading and I was considering it. Steve looked appalled and said “I don’t think you should be skating at the moment Gill, you are sick”! In fact microblading is not the latest inline-skate but a tattooed eyebrow. Lots of tiny needles delicately draw hair strokes whilst depositing pigment under the skin. The pharmacist told me she uses a special eyebrow pen to define her brows. So, after chemo I felt well enough to pop to Stratford and purchase said pen. I decided I had better do it sooner rather than later as I was fully expecting my eyebrow hair and eyelashes to fall out this go around. I headed straight for Boots, bought the pen and went for a good old mooch. Unfortunately at this point a massively intense headache descended and as I attempted to get back to the tube I felt as though I were walking through treacle. I was shocked at the suddenness of the onset of symptoms this time round. Usually I felt well until Thursday of chemo week. This did not bode well. When I got home I lay on the sofa trying to gather myself. My phone rang. No Caller ID displayed. No longer did I instantly think “Bloody PPI” I knew this was a hospital call. “Hello this is Barts here. You have an appointment tomorrow with us. Please come to the West Wing Ground Floor at 3:30. Please don’t eat for 4 hours prior to the appointment.” I dropped my head into my hands. On Friday I had received this same call but it had gone like this…. “Hello this is Barts here. You have an appointment with us on Tuesday. Please come to the George V building second floor at 2:30. Only eat a light meal before you arrive.” I explained my dilemma. Her response was simple “well you can’t be in two places at once. Come here.”

Tuesday arrived. Not any old Tuesday but the MRI guided biopsy Tuesday. I had lessons during the day and although the chemo had struck me early I felt well enough to work. It also took my mind off what awaited me later. I had decided to get to Barts at 2:30 just in case. Minus lunch. As the last lesson ended my stomach dropped, the next part of my day had arrived. I took the tube in, just 8 stops. Too easy. I presented my self at the Ground Floor and a confused lady told me I was not on their list. I hot footed it to the George V. (Here I had to almost tuck and roll to get by the Wig Woman’s shop, trying to not be seen wearing a black Bob from Amazon. The last thing I needed today was for her to pop her head out enquiring after Sarsha’s health.) Sure enough I was on their list. But I had to go back to the other department after their tests for my MRI. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I was completely confused now.

The first round of tests were conducted by two lovely, young nurses. I had a cannula inserted into my right arm for a contrast dye to be administered. As the nurse put the cannula in, a fountain of blood began pumping out of my arm arcing upwards and across her head. At first I looked round expecting to see a clown with a water gun behind me, but no it was my arm, my blood. The nurse jumped back then both began grappling with the cannula trying to insert a ‘bung’ to stem the flow. This only slowed it and lessened the arc. I watched all this, detached, as if watching it happen on some farce show. I even found it slightly amusing. The nurses were able to get the contrast bag connected and this stopped the horror show in its tracks. “Sorry about that. The bung wasn’t working correctly” no shit… I was then invited to feel the contrast flowing up my vein, a strange sensation, I put my fingers to my upper arm and felt a cool trickle of fluid tracing its way under my skin, like a hose pipe when you feel the force of the water flowing.
I was then escorted to the good old mammogram RoboDoc. I was a little upset to be told I was to have 4 mammograms, 2 of each breast. “But you know I have cancer in the right breast, I’m being checked on the left side today?” They were unbending in their orders so I found myself being pushed, squashed and shunted all over again. Finally when they had ummed and ahhed over whether the pictures were good enough, honestly without tearing my boobs off and popping them on the trays for them I was unable to do better. My stupid skeleton kept getting in the way 🙄 they said right let’s get you to the MRI department now. As they unhooked the contrast bag, my ‘Blood Bellagio’ show began again. The nurses were ready this time though! And they grabbed a sanitary towel and a crepe bandage. I was escorted to the MRI department and there we were told that my appointment had been cancelled as I had not arrived. Luckily I was still in a bit of shock at the memory of the murder scene I had just left behind and the nurses fought this battle. They won and I was taken to a waiting room for the MRI. Still completely unsure what I was about to face. A man in scrubs with a clipboard came bumbling along the corridor and stopped in front of me. “Are you Gill?” Yes! “Why aren’t you changed? What’s wrong with your arm?” I showed him my makeshift tourniquet and he went red as the ceiling in my last room! “We can’t use that!” “Well you ain’t putting another hole in me, so you had better work out how you will use it.” I said staring into his beetroot face. He bumbled off in another direction. I was then joined by a lady who informed me she was the Radiologist about to perform my biopsy. She told me she had been involved in my case from the beginning and in fact it was her ordering all these tests. She said “I’ve got a whiff of cancer in that left breast. I know it’s there.” Like an old time gold miner in the Wild West! This strangely settled me. She was trying to help me. I was taken into the MRI room and a nurse unbound my arm. The sanitary towel and bandage were ruined. I flinched expecting the arc to begin again but this nurse simply popped a new bung in. Job done. I know this isn’t a big deal in the scheme of things but it’s fairly traumatic watching your life juice firing off in all directions only to discover they just used the wrong size bung.

Now I was hooked up to a new contrast dye bag. Then I had to lie face down on the MRI tray with my left breast trapped in a cage like contraption. My arms were positioned forwards in front of me and my black Bob fell across my face shielding me from seeing what was about to be wheeled in. I was trundled backwards into the mouth of the machine and it’s mad popping, banging and whizzing took up. I had ear phones in which were as useful as a wrong sized bung. Finally I was trundled out again. “OK Gill, we have seen the area light up on the pictures so now we are going to perform the biopsy.” I turned my head slightly as a recognisable sound pinged. “Hold on!” I called out in genuine confusion. “Is that a vacc biopsy machine?” Yes came the reply. I was stunned, I thought this was gonna be a simple needle biopsy. I groaned and felt my heart rate quicken. I decided to go back under my hair and sing a song to myself, all I could think of was REM Everybody Hurts!
The Radiologist put 3 anaesthetic injections into the area, which quite frankly, need a blooming anaesthetic injection. “Sharp scratch and a sting!” Crickey. When the area was numb the vacc biopsy began. I yelped as the first cut began, the nurses all ‘Oooo’d’ with me as they were unable to stop the blade mid cut. A fourth anaesthetic was injected. Then the machine began again. I tried to grit my teeth, I clenched some poor nurses hand so tight I worried she would need the MRI after me. Then suddenly I felt the blade cutting, I screamed out in surprise and pain. The Radiologist said “nearly there then I’ll stop it!” My whole body spasmed and bucked. I was not able to control the need my body had to pull away from this torture. “How many cuts did you get?” I asked, hoping it was enough. “9. That’ll do us” Thank Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey.

I was helped from the tray and lead to a chair. As I turned I gasped! The amount of blood dripping off the MRI trolley, the floor was puddled. I heard the technician next door say “Unit 3 is shut we need the cleaners in.” I imagined the SOCO unit turning up in white CSI coveralls and yellow tape! I had to sit on that chair for 10 minutes before I trusted my legs to carry me. I had the cannula removed and was lead out to the changing room. I dressed slowly, my body rebelling against me, I had allowed this to happen AGAIN. I felt dreadful. I called an UBER and went home. I sat with silent tears rolling down my face. I think I was in a bit of shock as well as good old fashion, feeling sorry for myself!

It’s taken me over a week to feel any semblance of normal. With chemo symptoms crashing over me and recuperating from yet another assault on my boobs, I have felt like I have been hit by that truck everyone talks about. This week I have lived on paracetamol and ‘Away’! Which made me think of my chemo chair… I’ll check next time.

Sorry this one has been gruesome. I’ll try not to let this happen again.