‘The next week is going to be difficult’

05 May, 2022 | By Ingrid Fuchs

In a few weeks I will have my second ultrasound to check how this new chemotherapy regimen is working. I try not to think about it too much. I have introduced an afternoon nap into my day so that I am not that exhausted every evening and sleep all the time. It does help.

I’ve finally got into the book that I’m reading, which also distracts me from thinking too much. Although I still wake up very early in the mornings, around 6.15 am, it is nice because I get some time to myself.

Before they gave me my first dose of paclitaxel, they gave me steroids, anti-sickness medication and antihistamine because sometimes you can develop an allergic reaction with this drug. My ex-colleague told me to behave myself and gave me a buzzer to use if I felt unwell. I had this strange feeling of vulnerability but, except for a slight sickness feeling, I physically felt OK.

On New Year’s Eve I went for a little run in the morning with legs feeling like jelly. During the run, I listened to a TED talk from a 34-year-old doctor with breast cancer. She had treated lots of seriously ill patients but never pictured herself as one. That’s the same with me. Every Christmas so far I have wondered what would happen in the coming year, if all my dear family members would still be alive. Last year a good friend died very unexpectedly but I never really thought that I would get seriously ill – in my mind that was going to happen when I was elderly. Let’s see where I am with my illness next year.

I had my second paclitaxel a week later, and so far so good. I’m obsessed with my breast at the moment, touching it often to find out if the lump is still there. Early one morning I couldn't feel the lump anymore. Not with my arm up nor down. I put some body lotion around the area and it was still difficult to find it. I got out of bed feeling slightly more optimistic and happy, but when I stood up I could feel it again. This left me wondering whether there really was a change or not.

I realise now how important an oncologist and a surgeon are for patients because they can really make things happen. So far I have not needed any support or information from a clinical nurse specialist (CNS). I’m getting lots of support from friends and family and probably know more about this rare breast cancer than most CNSs.

The next week is going to be difficult, I’m feeling a bit more anxious because of the scan I’m going to have. The days are fine because I distract myself but the nights are a bit more tricky. I often wake up before 5am and feel sorry for myself, picking a few tears away because of the potential of a lost future. I’m worried about the tumour being resistant to the chemotherapy. Because if that’s the case my prognosis will be even worse than I expected.

Last night I was thinking about the time I worked in oncology and there were at least four patients I was close to who died. All haematology patients and much younger than me. The youngest one was 19. In the last two years my brother-in-law died of motor neurone disease, my mum died and a friend died of pancreatic cancer. If that is going to be my path too, I should be able to learn to accept it and cope with it. But for now I really really want to live, I’m not ready.

This blog was originally published in the Nursing Times. Many thanks to them for sharing Ingrid's story.