The last three Chemo Cycles - A Brutal Time

Greetings Poison Free Peoples,

Its been a while since I last shared I am afraid. Rest assured I haven't died. But I have to admit, I have experienced great relunctance to sit down in front of this computer and share with you this part of the experience. For many reasons actually....

Firstly, a blow by blow description of every bloody awful sympton that Docetaxel has gifted me these last six weeks would either desensitize you or bore you senseless depending on your perspective on illness, or make you so terrified of a cancer diagnosis for you or a loved one that involved docetaxel. Apparently though it does affect people differently and whilst I didnt suffer so badly with FEC (my first chemo regime for three goes), some people do and go on to have no problems with Docetaxel. Its a crap shoot apparently. But perhaps the greatest reason for finding this so hard to journal was that each time I tried to write about what was happening I would just start crying and become ridiculously and dramatically verbose - again running the risk of boring you all senseless!!!

So today is one of my few good days and my mind is clear and my body only marginally compromised so here I go providing you with an update overview. Apols if its a bit lengthy but I have to write whilst I am feeling ok.

Yesterday, September 12 was my last chemo session. I want to refresh your mind with reminder of how I looked at my first session to how I look now at my last session and the effects over this period

Now I look like a bad Gary Ablett Jr!!!

Yesterday was an  auspicious day for two reasons. 1. Because it was the last of my six chemo poisonings and 2. It was our dear friend Pauline Crameri's birthday. I am going to go one better than Facebook Paul, and send you blogged birthday wishes!!!!! Trump that Facebook Friends!!! Miss Viviette came and shared with me, what is hopefully my last ever chemo chair experience on this mortal coil. I will now start my downhill slide into pain and discomfort and this will last around 10 days, after which I will hopefully start to improve and start the long slow road to improved physical and mental strength in time to bat up for a double mastectomy - hopefully using the abdominal flap method. But I will save all those gory details and pics for latter blogs peoples as it is, quite simply fascinating!!

Lets go back now. I had the first of my three cycles of Docatexel six weeks ago on a Thursday

 I enjoyed (thoroughly) a three day speed high wherein I filed, cleaned, tidied and folded towels, manchester and anything standing still, like a fenzied fifties housewife on valium! Tres productive. 

By the Saturday night though the underside of my feet felt like pulverised raw meat. By Sunday, all my joints started to swell and ache terribly. Not only did I have cankles people, I had thankles. (Thanks Rob) There was little discernable difference from the top of my thighs down to my ankles. My face swelled to Bert Newton-like proportion, with fluid particularly gathering in my cheeks, jaw and neck. I looked like a rugby league player able to take out a brick wall with only a ten step run-up. 

My legs started to lose strength and the capacity to maintain my own torso weight. I began to experience first hand, the horrors of limited mobility without conscious significant effort. In the beginning I had to rock from side to side to shift and obtain a forward momentum. By the second day of this affliction I could no longer manage that and Siobhan had to help me on and off the bed, the toilet and the couch. I think that the sheer awfulness of losing independent mobilty will stay with me forever. 

During this bad window, I experienced many fucking awful symptons. I was on the toilet so often, the bloody toilet seat has effectively molded to the shape of my backside. Anytime I ate anything, it barely made an impression on my seriously impaired, metallic and woolly tastebuds and spongy gums, before gleefully scooting past my osephagus, letting me know of its passage south with a violent and noisy episode of reflux, to then making its way to my gut and providing my intestines with what seemed like hours of cramping and subsequent sweats and pain and finally, exhausted blessed relief as the waste left my body for the umpteenth time that day. I could be more descriptive good folk, but I will refrain in the interests of decorum and simply say.....suffice it to say, my bottom was oh so very very sore. Even during the night there was no relief as violent toilet trips were 

frequent so little sleep was had. 

Sleep deprivation was also caused by what was the worse symptom. I felt like a torture victim. In addition to having legs sore and swollen and reminiscent in size and shape of John Nichols (anyone not a footy supporter - google it!), it was like someone had attached connected transmittor patches all up and down  my legs and random electrical currents of varying strength and intensity were transmitted at will over a relentless 48 hour period. I didn't know what was worse the pain from the electrical currents that made my legs involuntarily seize then jolt around, or the pain incurred from the tensing of my muscles in anticipation of the next series of currents. Fucking, fucking awful - at one stage I ended up on my hands and knees on the bed crying in pain screaming that I couldnt take it anymore. 

In addition to losing body fluids and waste at one end of my body, I was also inflicted with a constant running nose that contained small amounts of blood from constant clearing and my eyes teared endlessly for days making vision and basic walking or seeing very difficult. My nails have lifted from their respective toe and finger beds as they have become discoloured and fragile. I have gained more than seven kilos. And my eyes twitch constantly. And perhaps the saddest physical evidence for me of all things is no eyebrows, no eyelashes making me look and feel like a flesh coloured bowling ball and my feet are always so very very sore, that I cannot ever imagine wearing high heels again in this lifetime. Those who know me well will undertsand that this alone has shaken me to my core!!

This was the pattern for the first two cycles and I now face the third cycle knowing that more of the same is on the way this coming week. I am tired, the fatigue just doesn't go away. I look like shit. I no longer "bounce back" like I did with the first three cycles and I have lost the ability to return to my natural state of a positive equilibrium that has probably been my single best attribute that I have been so lucky to have all my life. 

During these two last cycles, I have also "gotten" an infection that has resulted in a temperature over the desired maximum of 37 degrees. When one has a very low white cell count - usually around Day 8 - Day 10 one is in danger of being neutrapaenic (?? spelling). being neutropaenic menas that even a small increase in temperature can have very serious, even fatal consequences so one must act sensibly and quickly. On both occassions during such days I have had an infection. An infection during the first Docetaxel cycle was one complete with its own sense of utter irony. One has no hair........anywhere peoples. But guess who was the lucky little petal that got an infection from an ingrown hair - "down there" that left me with....let's just say....a fat lip!!! You will understand perfectly why I have not shared any pics of this particular episode!

Well this little bald duck wasn't going to go into an ED and have some first year Emergency Registrar pocking around, slicing and dicing her pink bits anytime soon, despite the potential seriousness So I took some left over antibiotics and hoped that between the weekend and my Monday appointment with my GP, my temp would have dropped. Am still here so all good and GP and Medical Oncologist conferred and established that it was in fact better not to cut one open when one is so compromised  - so good call to lay practitioner Minogue!!! Second cycle infection resulted in me having to go to St Vincent's last Wednesday week ago as temperature soared to 40 degrees and I felt like utter rubbish. Peter Mac didn't have a bed available so Pauline whisked me down there, Siobhan left work and met us at ED, I used my magic card for fast track entry ahead of a busy ED crowd and spent the next six hours hooked up to saline and stuff as they brought my temperature back under control. Here I am looking suitably tragic on a trolley in ED but St V's people were just wonderful. On both occassions a blood test determined that I wasnt neutrapaenic at the time so all was good. 

They couldn't establish the site of this infection and I ended up having a chest x-ray to see if that might help but no luck. I do expect though that I will go three for three and have another infection in around 10 days time. Am so over it but you have probably worked that out by now....... Again for a compare and contrast. Here is me first time bald on the left and below that on the right, how I look now......Less Sinead O'Connor and more beige non-descript person!!

But its not all bad good readers, I have celebrated a lovely birthday in early September with the incomparable Siobhan, enjoyed a lovely lunch, dinner, beautiful flowers, gifts and thoughful cards from the dearest and most treasured friends and most thoughtful colleagues. I have been well enough to attend a good friend's father's wake and I have been able to see my perennial garden warm to the sunshine and begin its Spring into life. I have had the joy of being cared for by the best nursing agency who I think may become a not insignificant council problem if I ever have the audacity to return to full time employment and leave them home alone!!

Three of the four West Highland Nursing Agency team watching vigilliantly over their patient.
The fourth is at the Drug Cupboard sourcing me some pain killers!!

One final fun night that I spent during a brief good window was the second last home and away when we beat Richmond. Let's not dwell on that or the subsequent victory during the finals, shall we, as I genuinely felt for Siobhan and also believe that Carlton on merit alone, dont deserve to be there. But this particular post footy celebration at the Baden Powell resulted in me meeting my favourite player from the  Carlton Footy Club ever - Frazer Brown.

I am a footy supporter who prizes substance over style any day. And Frazer - or Dog as he was known had it in spades. He was a fearless, ferocious and dogged opponent, a true hard man at the ball. I loved his work ethic and his ability to take as good as he gave. His performance in the final in 1995 from memory against Essendon that won us that final will live in my memory forever.....and he had the best hair.......ever!! Still does in fact. The fact that he is the nicest, utterly unpretencious bloke you would ever care to meet is icing on the cake. And he swears beautifully!! One for the picture album without a doubt. He also brought me a drink to boot!! 

So there you go folks, we are up to date with the ghastly stuff. I will now have around 10 days of crap and then hopefully start to improve. I will begin the work and research for the surgery options having done some prelimary consultations with the terrific Plastics Consultant at Peter Mac this week and had 10 topless shots taken of my boobs by the "medical photographer" all for medicinal reasons natch - but the hands on hips and hands on head poses felt a tad porno-ish for my liking......The mastectomy part of the process though scary, arduous and quite the undertaking will be quite a learning curve so please stay tuned for future updates.

I will leave you with a photo of the best and most useless redundant presents I have ever received from the wonderful Michelle - a pair of Captain Carlton hair clips to keep my hair out of my eyes and off my face.... 

Stay well and look after your selves.

Kelly xxx

My Role........Quentin Bryce or Josiah Bartlett??

Good Morning Football Lovers Everywhere,


It would be incredibly remiss of me if I didn't make at least a passing mention of the trials and tribulations facing our great game. To distill it to its purest form- particularly for those readers of this blog who aren't such footy fans, I will put it like this...............

I honestly believe that I would rather be facing my cancer challenge than be in the tanarexic skin of one James Hird at the moment!!!!

Moreover, I think that the until now, seemingly impenetrable bulky frame of one Andreaus Demetrio will absorb some potentially fatal body blows in the coming weeks.

I would go as far as to suggest that this is a good thing because quite frankly, between these two blokes, and all the meat head ex-footballer media commentators,  tripping over themselves to say something constructive using words of more than two syllables proves that footballers should just retreat quietly into the background post playing career. 

Give me Caroline Wilson & Greg Baume of The Age and Patrick Cook of The Oz anyday.

And if that isnt enough, I have also to endure the unpleasant frequent assault of having the extremely unappealing heads of the Mister Rabbit and Mr Sheen dominating our media air waves, during this totally unedifying federal election campaign.

"What Evs"

I am heartily sick of all these blokes and their inflated bloody egos!!

My country's vision for the future and my personal code of religion is totally dominated by spin and counter spin.

The existence of sex appeal is really an individual thing I guess

I demand a refund!! 

Is it possible that a dead heat loss could be orchestrated for both scenarios?? Someone, anyone?? Antony Green, Mike Fitzpatrick, help me out here.

Before I enthrall you with my tales of woe of the effects of Docetaxel, during the past three weeks, I need to expunge a mental battle that I have been having with myself over the past six weeks. Its been keeping me up at night

When this chemo is over, I will need further surgery as some cancer cells remain in the margins of my left breast. As a result I have a decision to make as to the type of surgery I opt for, a) go into the same site and try and clear the margins, b) have a bi-lateral mastectomy (single left breast) or b) a double mastectomy. If I choose options b) or c) then there are further decision around the type of mastectomy and reconstruction but I will leave those fun details for later complete with some photos to illustrate the enormity of those decisions. My conundrum revolves around my role in the decision making process of the choices that I get to make.

Originally, post my second surgery, some members of my "team" were more supportive, for want of a better word, of the benefits of a double mastectomy for me given all the facts. For me it was a no brainer. I am 51 and despite popular culture indicating otherwise, this is relatively young. Notwithstanding this cancer, I am in good health. My beautiful beautiful mother died an awful horrible death from breast cancer at the age of 61, the memory of which stays with me each and every day despite it being 17 years ago. I have always maintained that I want to leave Peter Mac with just two things- and no, I don't mean two breasts!!!

The first deliverable for me is that I want to leave this experience having secured for myself the best and lowest odds possible for a chance of reoccurrence, not only in this left breast of mine but in both.

The second is that I leave this place with a peace of mind that provides me with some semblance of being able to reasonably place this episode into the memory of my life's experience towards the back stalls of my mind alongside the messier experiences of my epilepsy, my briefly traumatic  adolescence and the many bad hair decisions of my past. Not to be relegated to the point of denial but not so present that it continues to unduly influence who I am and how I react to stuff. I  thoroughly expect that I will undergo a consuming period of reflection for a time later this year or early next as I come to terms with the last twelve months but once that is done then I want to move on. 

What I know about myself and my treating team do not, is that an essential ingredient for me being able to do that, is to have the peace of mind with the body image that I can accept, to do this. It is really that straight forward.

In recent meetings though I have sensed a strong reluctance from my medical oncologist and my breast nurse for a double mastectomy option because  as it has been put to me this is arguably not essential or germane to effectively "dealing "with this cancer. I can understand that perpective but I cannot agree.  Whilst they are there to deal with this particular bout of cancer, I am here to ensure that to the greatest extent possible, I dont return to deal with another return bout or new bout of cancer.

This got me to thinking about my role vis a vis the role of the clinicians in such an equation.

Once when I visited Mum at home, well into her illness, she was in a bad way. I went to visit her with a friend from work Lisa,who offered to change her pressure sore bandages. Mum was lying face down diagonally across the bed and as Fitzy changed her bandages Mum reached out her arm to me and as tears rolled down her face she said "I just don't know if I can do this anymore" I gave such an inadequate reply to her that day that it still makes me cry all  these years later. I said to her that she would be alright. And neither she nor myself really knew any different. We knew so little. We asked so few questions. We put forward no challenges to the prevailing behaviour that the doctors knew and did what was in her "best interests". 

In the management  of my grief after her death, I promised my Mum and myself that I would never be as ignorant about my health as she and I were about hers. So with all the diplomatic tact of a Bolshevic, I have approached this tour of duty wanting to know and demanding to understand my options and not accepting at face value those that others would have for me. 

Let me be very clear. My experience at Peter Mac has exceeded all maxims of excellence. They embody a patient centred experience that hitherto I thought only as empty quality-speak jargon.  However, whilst the patient is at the centre of their deliberations, their clinical speciality remains the driver for their preferences - not the patient. 

In my view, a radiology oncologist will want to use their knowledge and skill in conjunction with the medical oncologist and the surgeon to minimise if not eradicate the cancer that is present in the here and now. Likewise the medical oncologist having provided the comprehensive insurance policy of the course of chemo wants to see that complimented. Each has their preference or professional bias. And as previously indicated in my earlier entry, the team will order their argument to steer you In a certain direction. 

I cannot believe that they are genuinely interested in my mental health in the coming months or years ahead. This isn't a criticism just a statement of fact. We share a brief leg of a journey looking out the same window. But then they disembark and I continue down the track facing new and challenging outlooks but still related to the same core issue - the existence of cancer and its potential to become a hostile squatter in my body again in the future, whilst coming to terms with what my breasts end up looking like.

As my last chemo cycle draws near, for the team with the exception of the surgeon, and plastic surgeon I suppose, I am nearing the  tail end of the process. If I opt for the more radical surgery, then, as I understand it, the Rad Oncologist  possibly doesnt have a role until after my surgery, if at all. Equally, if I elect for the more radical surgery, presuming a psychologist  deems me suitable, then preserving my own nipples places me at risk of future cancer cells developing (DCIS, I presume). And for them who see this as a bigger and arguably unnecessary operation with greater risk associated, why bother about the possibility of fear when they can deliver a perfectly reasonable  11% chance only of re-occurrence. To them these are good odds. And I agree,  if I was 75 or 80 years of age and didnt have decades ahead of me.

I understand their perspective and they may be thinking my position is one of pursuing unrealistically low odds and/or vanity but I disagree.  According to my medical oncologist a  double mastectomy reduces my odds from 11% (accompanied by oral meds for 5 years) to  between 1 and 2%. So to me from the odds perspective, a riskier operation and a temporary longer recovery time is a no brainer as it affords me greater peace of mind for years. An opportunity cost that to mine is well worth it.

With the type of surgery options, I have yet to fully canvas all options so wont go into them as yet, suffice it to say, what little I have seen, I know that I could not have a single breast different from the other. What I  have done to one I want done to the other. I dont want one breast without a nipple and one with, I dont want different coloured nipples (one fake & one real) or one perky breast with scars and one droopier breast without. This is not about vanity. While over time I have come to accept my short stumpy legs, fat knees and menopausally minted torso. I have long ago accepted that I am not a thing of beauty, I am drawn from the gene pool of my anscestors.  To that end, though I have a great personality and I am a good and kind person ( and very humble clearly!!) but I have always had great boobs. They have been perfectly symetrical - unusual but true.

In the months ahead as I deal retrospectively with this without the distraction or diversion of appointments, tests and treatments, I dont want to look down in the shower or in the mirror and be negatively reminded each day of the ugly trauma my body has been through. I want them to be badges of honour and winning and not badges of depression and loss. If both my breasts approximate the same size, colour and shape with matching accessory nipples and scars then I can cope with that.

So, I need to understand and articulate my role and responsibility in making that happen. I need to convey this to my treating team in the weeks ahead.  If I dont want to make waves, I can accept the Australian political model as a guide and simply follow the advice of my Ministers as our GG is required to do and comply with their advice based on their skill, knowledge and experience.

Or I can follow the American model of politics and upon hearing the advice based upon the experience skill amd knowledge of my Department Secretaries, I can make my own decision based upon what is best for me.

As I am the only member of my wonderfully skilled team, who knows me well enough to know what I can deal with that will secure the optimum outcome for me over the coming years, I will take opt for the Josiah Bartlett model and determine the outcome accordingly once I have all the facts and options before me.

I think Mum would be happy with that.

lotsa

Kellyxx

Chemo Barbie Visits Thornbury for a Hair Razing Adventure !

Welcome Back Cancer-Curious-Colleagues,

Its been a while since my last post - more than five weeks I think. But I have good reason. Its been a shit time. I have been so sick, that for a time there, I simply wanted to  curl up and die. That is such an enormous statement that I cannot believe that it can come out of my head. But its true. I will regale you of the plight of this new chemo in subsequent close- together blogs, as I have some catching up to do, to provide an accurate picture, so keep a close eye out over the next few days for new updates. 

So starting with the week before my last chemo which was on August 1, we enjoyed a wonderful weekend wit some great people. After that its down hill quite a ways...................

The Saturday before my fourth chemo cycle, (late July) we headed for our now routine rural retreat with the hairy nurses in tow for their country ramble. This time we headed mid west towards Macedon to visit a specific winery called Curly Flat and to have lunch at Kyneton at Annie Smithers Bistrot (which she has recently sold). The new owners have kept the name. Let me also say from the outset, that they kept the quality of the food as well!! Always up for a languid lunch and wine tasting, was one Denise Patterson who we collected over the Westgate Bridge, popped onto the Western Ringroad and headed up the Calder. As we had a later than expected start and all three human passengers were starving, we headed first for lunch. Scallops all round for entree - amazingly indescribably perfect!! Though for some (not moi) the mushroom and cheese souffle was a hard entree to pass up. DP settled on the boeuf bourguignon pie which was a beautifully presented golden puff pastry total casing with a creamy mash - a perfect choice given that it was colder in Kyneton than any reception that Kevin Rudd would receive at any Australian Feminists' conference these days. Siobhan and I opted for this local aged angus beef cooked to perfection with an exquisite jus and roasted veg ensemble....heaven. Sadly we couldnt fit in dessert but with coffee we enjoyed the most extraordinary selection of petit fours that were complimentary. A wild raspberry jelly square covered in a fine dusting of icing sugar, a piece of homemade honeycomb, that tasted of pure honey and a chocolate salted caramel fudge ....................I would go back there just for them alone. Highly recommend this lovely place with great food, wine selection, service and decor. 

Following that we headed to Curly Flat winery to try their range. We let the dogs out for a wander and headed inside the restored farm house. As you can tell from our expressions, it's a tad cool up that way too.                                       

The cellar door is a wonderfully restored old double brick house that has been opened up centrally and is begging to be hired out for an intimate party of 50 or 60 guests as its just charming. Equally the bbq's and seating outside suggest its purpose was intended to cater for an eating and tasting crowd. The co-owner tells us though the insurance for such is prohibitively expensive making it a non-option. 

But we suspect another story. And boys and girls.........we didnt have to wait very long for the big reveal.As we began tasting the pinot gris and the chardonnays, our host kept referring to her "business partner" and it turns out the business partner is the ex-husband. Of itself no biggie, but as we proceeded to continue through the wines, our host joined us in front of the open fire, poured herself a glass of pinot noir (as it was 4pm after all!!!) and then thought it appropriate to show us photos of the ex that the new girlfriend had posted on her facebook page. 

The photos left me speechless and Siobhan became really really focused on the characteristics of the 2009 chardonnay!!!!!! DP wandered off purportedly to look at the art around the room and our host then banged on about the new girlfriend's phone being registered for use in the company car. The ex lives in one house with the new squeeze (presumably what is the former marital home just up the back of the property) and our host it seems lives in part of the Cellar Door Farmhouse, leading us to assume that perhaps this is why the plans for a wine and eating establishment at Curly Flat have gone awry for the moment. 

As sheer utter good luck and fortune would have it, two unsuspecting visitors stopped by for a tasting so we were rescued from any further bitter tales of woe. We were never so happy nor relieved to be rescued from such awkward and inappropriate conversation. She left us with the selection of reds telling us to help ourselves and went to see to her other customers. DP magically reappeared from her art appreciation viewing and Siobhan poured pinots all round. We went through lighter and then the heavier. DP wasn't a fan of any of the whites but then her palate was probably flattened by the Heathcote shiraz she has enjoyed at lunch. Siobhan and I love their chardonnays and as we enjoy a lighter red these days, their older pinot is just perfect. But we collectively decided that perhaps we will source out Curly Flat at Dan's and wait until the tension mellows at the winery by benefitting from some long time cellaring !!!!!!

So the next day, we had a long awaited catch up lunch with two wonderful colleagues of Siobhan, Ron and Peter and their respective partners Andrew and Matt. Siobhan and I had just a marvellous afternoon of wonderful conversation, easy easy enjoyment in their company and more than a few laughs. Matt and Pete arrived first and it was great to finally get together as they had moved north of the river some time ago, we had been slack in not having them over as they are virtually neighbours in nearby North Brunswick in the Greater Republic of Moreland!!! Not long after, Ron and Andrew arrived. I hate to confess folks but in the rush of lunch prep and serving I forgot to get their lovely faces in front of the camera. So you will all just have to imagine how good looking and handsome they all are!! 

Our voluptuous Christmas Mermaid!!

For those that have enjoyed Grand Final Day at Chez Gooch, you will appreciate Ron's considerably talents with the odd bit of cake decorating thematically coordinating  the participating team colours. Well good people, the man surpassed himself this time.

He arrived with a Dolly Varden cake (a cake using a doll as the centrepiece) with her long voluminous skirt made entirely out of cake and decorated completely with icing. But is does not end there. In keeping with the recent present Ron and Andrew brought us back from a recent soujourn to Hawaii, a chubby cheribic mermaid all glittery and glamourous holding a cocktail glass in one hand, the doll had a mermaid tail and she was resting on a ocean of waves and seashells, starfish and other ocean themed flotsum and jetsum. 

But again it does not end there. In a gesture of both beautiful thoughtfulness and utter utter hilarity, Ron had sheared of the doll's hair!!!!!! - Chemo Barbie had arrived in Thornbury via the Indian Ocean. 

And she was simply beautiful.

She took pride of place at the dinner table post lunch then was stripped of her skirting finery so that we all enjoyed a totally delicious and moist carrot and walnut cake under the cream cheese icing. Andrew had said that they thought about slicing a bit of her pert plastic left breast off and popping on a band aid....but though it might be taking it a tad too far. We loved the idea!!!

I forgot to get a pic of all around the dining room table...but that will just ensure that Siobhan and I will invite them all back to again enjoy a wonderful time with such wonderful men. To them we say, good luck with the house hunting, the ghastly City of Yarra Planning department and the trams........

May the "spirits" be with you all.

Kelly xxxx

A Prisoner at the halfway mark !!!!

"Salutations Non-incarcerated Humans,

It's nearly two weeks ago  that I had my third of six cycles of chemo. I am officially half way through the chemotherapy. Ordinarily I would be cockahoop about this significant milestone but I have to confess to being rather underwhelmed at this point in time. Even though each of the three week administrative processes seemed to roll around rather quickly, I am still looking at a further nine weeks of treatment at the least and I am tired this time.......very tired.

This third cycle started well enough. Albeit a tad tired, I had had two glorious weeks of negligible inconvenience. I had enjoyed a particularly lovely lunch and exhibition with Clare, and lunch with Colin, had done some great gardening and caught up with good good friends during that time.  Siobhan and I had also undertaken our pre chemo infusion rural escapade down to Gippy but more of that later.

So nearly two Thursdays ago  I got to Peter Mac in time for my 9am appointment and was ushered through to a small room with only one chemo recliner and a bed. That was odd I thought but may be I would have a sleep whilst the line was in situ.  So I was settled into the chair and the nurse did her thing. It was the same nurse from last time and she had had a bit of difficulty in getting a good vein last time. During that second time, she couldn't get a line in at my wrist like the first time so had struggled and found a vein half way up my arm which didn't go that well as I ended up with substantial bruising and restricted movement of my arm as a result.  So this time in preparation, she placed heat packs on my flattened arm in an attempt to get the veins to pop up. Despite prolonged warming none were volunteering to offer up their services to Nurse Vampira. She perservered and banged one in my wrist and shit, it hurt. I was extremely conscious of the needle the entire time it was pumping stuff into my vein......and the bruising afterwards was not nice. Nurse Ratched said I can expect it to be harder next time. Nice!! I think I might ask for the nursing interchange player to manage the line next time!!.

So there I am sitting in my little room with the chemo pumping diligently into me and I am in a mood to neither read nor write. I can feel the cold substance going into my vein and travelling my body- at least I think I can feel it. Naturally, we don't feel our heart beating, nor the blood moving throughout our body, nor electrical charges or neurones travelling to and from the brain.  I imagine we would be a tad distracted if we could. But you know that feeling you get when you get a rumble in your gut on occasion ? You can sense or feel, as well as hear,  the air pockets and the movement of a substance of some kind? Well it's like that - sort of.  I can feel the chemo in the vein as it moves through my body. There is a cold sensation that I can progressively feel throughout my body. But I have grappled with the best adjective or best way to describe it. Because it is travelling through a part of my body, my whole body isn't cold. It's not like you can throw a cardi on and the chill will leave. It's an isolated yet travelling sensation. And cold isn't quite the right word. It's like it is a refrigerated substance of some thickness or density that is cocooned in a casing of some sort. Hence the cold permeates from the inside out not the outside in. It's quite a disconcerting feeling.

In between the three types of chemo being injected I use the toilet that is an ensuite to the room that I am in. I settle back into the chair and get connected up and then three people walk in. I didn't look too closley only catching the face and eye contact of the one woman in the group. Two in dark clothing one in street clothes. I smile and one of the guys takes up residency on the bed. Next thing, this temporarary screen appears and is posted between me and the bed but leaving me the passageway to still access the toilet at the far end of the room.

Guess what? My roomie (cell mate??) was a prisoner with two police escorts having his last cycle of treatment which, ordinarily is done at St V's but for some reason is happening here. The cop uniforms, guns and use of the word Officer by the chemo patient sort of gave the game away. I am amazingly observant aren't I???? Could have been a Detective!! So my next thought was hmmmmm, could I naturally wander past and pretend to take a selfie and perhaps catch him in the background of the shot???  Lets face it folks three and a half hours of chemicals being pushed into my poor collapsing veins isn't that much of a gripping read but a exposé of Victoria's most dangerous criminal sharing my room, toilet and infusing equipment whilst being observed closely by Victoria's boys and girls in blue is a hell of a lot more interesting. Still common sense prevailed as well as respect for a total stranger's privacy so I let it be,  but it made for fertile imaginings during the remainder of my treatment.

Now ordinarily, the chemo doesn't affect me for a few days - Good lord, I can't believe I used the word "ordinarily" - as if having toxic crap pumped into my system is a natural, normal  and recurring event.....it really is amazing how something so extraordinary does become routine so quickly in your life.......... Anyway, for the last two times the effects haven't been felt for two to three days. After treatment ended I drove home and  crashed for three hours - totally zonked out with no explanation. It was the exact same stuff, my chemo regime doesn't change until next time when I go onto taxatere, so I had no reason other than this time was different - and so it proved to be.

The next ten days proved to be pretty hard with the usual suspects of chills so powerful they could loosen your teeth fillings, hot surges and industrial strength nausea all playing their part. But I also had the extremely unpleasant experience of diarrhoea  - violent diarrhoea. I had been spared this the last two times but not this time. Somethings are best left unsaid or not described and this is one such time.

But after nearly 30 minutes on the dunny, with agonising gut pain that seared my innards, with rivulets of sweat originating from my temples and my non existent hairline, and running down my face and stinging my eyes,  together with my nose running in unison in some kind of macabre symphony (in three movements - pun intended) of exiting body fluids, I emerged from the bathroom and felt almost concave with emptiness and helplessness. I collapsed into Siobhan's arms crying and saying I had never felt so sick in all my life.

The diarrhoea struck a few times over the next few days so being at home was the best and safest thing for all concerned!!! And as it should, this and the other horrid side effects of chemo did reside. They started a little earlier this time and hung around a little longer and they were a trifle tougher but they have resided and I am now enjoying my window of relative good health.

On the Sunday prior to this episode of crap occurring, in good health and spirits from Cycle No 2, we had headed to our second rural destination - West Gippsland to visit a local winery or two and eat at a restaurant that Siobhan had read a good review. Down the Eastern, onto the Monash freeways and then off to Warrigal we go. In little over an hour we turn off for our first winery - Cannibal Creek . Popped in for a tasting - they do a great chardonnay and then into town for lunch at the Big Spoon Little Spoon. Must have changed the owners because the menu was dumbed down to basic everyday fare, so we upt and out and headed to Wild Dog Winery instead and boy were we grateful we did!!!

Fabulous!!!!!!!!!!! Totally.

That's a hat on my head not our fourth little white dog!! 

Here is Siobhan enjoying the delights of their wine......a great range with some genuinely lovely gear which we enjoyed with a trememdous meal in a beautiful setting. Peoples, if you are looking for something not far away but seriously special and picturesque - this is the place. Tres lovely.

And I have been meaning to for some time but havent quite got around to showing you the hair that I wear!! I have had to order a gel substance that is contained in a headband to wear underneath because the damn wigs cause tension head aches but since then I have been able to endure it - they are not comfortable no matter what anyone says. But also because I have been accustomed to seeing myself sans hair when I do wear a wig, it feels like I am wearing hair the size of an afro and feel very self conscious.........

This is my "Going Shopping" Hair

This is my "Going Out" Hair

 











And here is Siobhan wearing my Going Shopping Hair and deciding (her not me ) that she looks like a total bogan!!!

Noice!!!!!!

Good Hair Days to you all.


Kelly xx

Look Good Feel Better with Ladies who Lunch

Mwah !! Mwah!!
(Interpretation; air kiss left, air kiss right)

Dear Blogees,

According to the cosmetic industry and Kerrie-Anne Kennerly, who is now my post diagnosis, Poster Gal and Guru for all things breast cancer, it would appear that even when one is subjected to the rigours of chemotherapy and feeling like crap, a true feminine kinda chick still should not leave the house without having plastered a whole lot of goop on her face........ so that instead of resembling a bland beige coloured upright mobile bowling ball, you look like an autumnal or summery (depending on your "colours") shaded upright mobile bowling ball!!!

The oft repeated mantra being.......that if one looks good, then one will feel better.

Now those who know me well know that I am not a joiner per se and rarely buy into "group think". I am highly derisive of this current pop culture rubbish where it seems everyone is on some bloody "journey of one kind or another", that everyone has a backstory of cancer, bankruptcy, or depression, or if they are really earnest, the whole lot - and their raison d'être for undertaking this cooking, singing , redecorating, renovating, weightloss, survival contest is their inspirational long dead and departed grandmother who leaving her war torn homeland in a leaky boat, overcame adversity, immigration challenges and Australian blowflys to bake the best moussaka in culinary history whilst singing opera to homeless folk and single handedly building her own mud brick home in the Australian outback.  For goodness sake !! And what is with the all the crying??? Why is it that we regard the pursuit of prize money somehow more palateable and less grubby if we cloak it in so obviously shallow and manufactured sentiment? Bleuch!!!! I find it sooooo distasteful. 

So anyway, as a cancer patient (cue tears now), I receive an invitation to register for the Look Good Feel Better program. This program offered Australia wide is supported by many of the cosmetic companies . It's patron is Kerri-Anne Kennerly, it is run by a small organisation who effectively tap into hospitals and clinics across the country and in conjunction with the respective hospital's army of volunteers, provide a two hour workshop to female cancer patients  in how to put on make-up, wigs and scarfs and adapt to your new look whilst going through treatment. 

As regulars will be aware, I am no stranger to the transformative abilities of make-up as anyone reading yesterday's blog and seeing how utterly ravishing I can look without it whilst doing a spot of gardening, can attest. Equally, I know my way around good, bad and indifferent wigs thanks to my foray with Craig. (see earlier wig trying blog entry)  And finally, I am so very comfortable with my physical limitations, to know that , no matter what the fabric, colour or braided accessory, one Kelly Minogue, looks like an ageing  Gloria Swanson on a bad day in a bloody turban!!!!! - for those not aware who Gloria is, google her image and you will understand my aversion to turbans!!!

Yet, I was keen to attend and I am not ashamed to admit my ulterior motive for doing so. It was not so that I may bond with my sister sufferers and share experiences of our respective journeys...... nothing so noble nor honourable. No, my oncology nurse mate John had said you are given a terrific show bag of goodies. So there it is. I was going to the workshop for the sole reason of securing some contraband- pure and simple!!!

However, as I have found with this cancer caper, I am often taken in unexpected directions both emotionally and intellectually and this was to be the case with the  Look Good Feel Better workshop. But before I got to hang with this group, together with Siobhan, I had an outdoor luncheon catch up

with my personal shearer, Pauline. As you can see from the pic, whilst I sat on my lemon bitters, the two gals maintained that compulsory maxim for  those ladies who lunch.......a glass (or in their case, a piccolo of fizz to wile away the afternoon - tres wonderful!!!!!!in beautiful Melbourne winter sunshine we tried a new eatery in Clifton Hill together. Lotsa fun as always. 

So the following week, sans make-up but dangly statement earrings in situ for that post makeup reveal, and wearing a black ensemble with an aqua pashmina scarf slung loosely, Muslim style over the bald head and around the neck, (Going Out Hair Wig was in a plastic bag in my handbag at the ready), I ventured into the workshop.  To walk into a group where no one knows anyone I think is always a little bit hard. Despite being a reasonably confident human, the absurdity of the circumstances in which we had come together, left me a little dumbstruck. It wasn't like we were all here to join the new local tennis club now was it?? As one of the volunteers checked my details and gave me a name badge, I was wondering, what's a suitable conversation starter? 

Questions such as "So what chemo regime are you on?, or  How come you still have your hair? " seemed too personal and overly familiar. And my favourite one ...did you know about the whole post double mastectomy reconstruction from a tummy tuck  thing - cant wait?  " might be misinterpreted by someone not understanding my often bleak sense of humour......I was at a bit of a loss. 

Well the coordinator herded us to our seats and introduced us all. We were a disparate group of roughly 20 women of all ages, some as young as their mid to late twenties, most in the middle and a few older ladies. We were seated around a rectangle table each with its own setting with a selection of cosmetics selected in accordance with the "profile" that we had submitted a few weeks prior that detailed our colouring and what we routinely used ourselves. Let me say from the outset peoples that 

it was AMAZING contraband!!!!! Estée Lauder, Chanel, Revlon, and quite a few other brands and it included moisturiser, cleanser, eye cream, concealer, mascara, lipstick, foundation - the whole box and dice.......marvellous. 

The lady who was to lead the class, Leonie, from Chanel, asked me if I would be her model to demonstrate technique  and of course. I was more than happy to comply. So I simply got to sit back and enjoy being pampered - tough gig what??? 

To say that we all had a great time is to seriously undersell the real benefits of this workshop. It was clear to me having the benefit of sitting back and observing the room rather than applying my make-up that the workshop was working its 'magic' on so many levels. Warm exchanges between the ladies were the order of the day, much laughing, empathy, encouragement and genuine kindness was evident throughout the room. 

Some of the ladies who attended had come in full make-up and with wigs or scarfs or hats in place. When asked to remove the make-up and head covering so that a thorough cleansing and application could commence, you could feel the reluctance and self consciousness emanating from some of these lovely ladies. I just wanted to reach out and  give them a hug. Wanting to hug a total stranger is not a common reaction for me so that was  a complete surprise that my first compelling feelings where  empathy and the need to provide reassurance. The  make-up and  head gear is so clearly their amour when presenting to the outside world and their once beautiful hair ravaged by chemo and pale skin devoid of all colour and sporting the pallor of illness made them feel so vulnerable. But they were brave and they too entered into the spirit of the day.  

We spent a while on the make-up application, then, the lovely June from the Peter Mac Volunteers showed us the beanies, hats and turban ideas that were available for us to learn, lend, buy and also a handy tip to watch YouTube for scarf tying creations!!!!! Then came Di from Creative Wigs, who with her signature frankness and pushy-ness (a good attribute in this instance when assisting ladies to go for the most suitable look, and not a poor synthetic facsimile  of what they are used to ), enables the ladies to try on a range of wigs. This was hoot for all with much laughter and merriment and generous and at times, diplomatic commentary. 

If one could bottle the intensity of the smiles on the faces of these lovely ladies as they found a wig to compliment their new make-up look that worked for them, it would be a world changing elixir for happiness and confidence. We enjoyed a sumptious morning tea  provided by the CWA no less and can I tell you the club sandwiches and pretty as a picture little patty cakes were divine. 

This two hour work shop has fundamentally shifted my outlook. I had started out as a most relunctant recruit to this Cancer Club of Sick Chicks, intent on being there solely for the goodies. I left having been privileged to share this time and experience with them. And while you probably wont see me donning any pink shirts and running the Tan, or invading the G anytime soon or riding alongside very good people for 100's of miles, anytime soon, I want to whole heartedly thank the participants and their friends who also came to share, the volunteers of Peter Mac for their wonderful warm caps and hats, Di from Creative, the CWA, the delightful Leonie from Chanel and all the other volunteers and co-ordinator of Look Good Feel Better. And of course to the participating cosmetic companies for their wonderful generosity.

I may only on occassion rise to the "Look Good"component of the mantra but I sure as hell have genuinely internalised the "Feel Better" from this rich and rewarding experience. Thank you to all. 

So looking very spiffy I arrange to have lunch with my friend Clare down from Sydney a few days later. We headed to the Monet exhibition late morning only to find the queue ridiculously long (since when do parents take little (and I mean little) kids to an exhibition by a French Impressionist )- can they have already run out of things to do by the end of the first week of school holidays ??? Seriously, what is wrong with Maccas and a movie!!!! So opted for lunch first then art. At Bistro Guillame we enjoyed a stunning meal and a gorgeous wine from Curly Flat. I had a glass, as I am treating my body like a temple these days. Clare had the rest.

Ppppffft!! You know I am lying right? Even I couldn't type that last line above with a straight face. The no drinking rule has collapsed but my intake is seriously curtailed and none for the first 10 days post chemo. So here is a pic of what Clare had an an entree..... a twice cooked cheese souffle with a rouquefort sauce....yum.......its a great place and we had a lovely time catching up. And even though we couldnt fit in dessert, here is a picture of the dessert Pauline had there when we went...this Ladies Who Lunch caper is simply fab

Afterwards we headed into the exhibition. I love his work with its focus on gardens and colour. It is simply uplifting. The kids running amok I could have done without and I am not ashamed to say that used my imposing baldness and stern look to unsettle the little darlings somewhat. Being bald has its advantages!!!

Clare came back later for dinner to catch up with another friend with whom we had both worked. But I forgot to get his head on camera, so here is one of Clare with one of hers at her side, the lovely Cashew, and one of ours (who is the personification of an endless pit of need and attention- Bombe Alaska). But thanks for coming Ben, it was just lovely to see you.

And just for you BK, and all the other filthy Collingwood supporters, (why am I even friends with this calibre of person I ask myself?) I have posted the sports page that I woke up to on Saturday morning. Was not thrilled......Still I am working on my Stephen Milne insults in anticipation of his return for this Saturday - Rest assured they will be "alleged" insults..........

And finally folks, this was Siobhan and I "enjoying" the five hour blackout in Thornbury on Monday evening. Thank god for iphones, Flashlight Apps and Candy Crush Saga on battery charged ipads is all I can say!!!!!!!!!

Lotsa


Kellyxxxx

  

Landscapes - My Garden, the Political and my Mind

Hello Greenthumbs,

Apologies as it has been a while since I last put pen to paper or, more accurately, finger to keyboard.

I had a rough time of it the first week of the second cycle but since then have been travelling rather well, if chronically tired. However, given the incredibly cold starts to these winter days, I probably garner more jealousy than sympathy, as I stay snuggled up in my toasty warm bed, as you my hard working proletariat, head off into the chilly mornings to earn your princely sums.

On the eighth day post chemo I was feeling well enough to head out into the garden and tackle some weeding and light pruning. We have only a small front yard but given my penchant for cottage gardens and flowering perennials, it is a labour intensive garden that needs regular tending. As with gardens of this type, in winter it looks like a bunch of dead sticks strategically planted around the garden - something of which Morticia Addams would be extremely proud. But I like this time as it allows you to see the bones and structure of the garden and plan accordingly for beautiful blooms come spring.

In the blink of an eye, three hours passed and I had only weeded and pruned but had filled the green bin to the max. A generous sprinkle of Sulphate of Potash and a light watering and I was ready to tackle the Mop Tops with Tony the next day. As you may not be able to tell from the photos below, these lovely trees develop into huge lush rounded heads come spring but they need regular pruning to keep them the size and shape in proportion to the house that I want. My towering height makes this a problem so I call on my dear (and much taller friend) Tony, to help me out.

With the ladder and nifty hedge trimmers in hand Tony makes light work of it as I cleared and bagged the prunings, planted foxgloves, delphiniums, hollyhocks, poppies and granny bonnets in every available space across the garden. Robyn T, your mother's fuschia, lillies, cyclamens and japanese anenomes are all flourishing here in down town Thornbury!!! All done in two hours and I drop Tony off as Siobhan and I have a hot lunch date with a gorgeous doctor. We will need to make a trip up to the hills in the next two weeks  to get two more white hydrangeas and two more rose bushes, but then it will be ready for spring. The only task remaining is for the next day ( a job of about three hours) - a thorough weeding of the nature strip (ours and our next door neighbour's that I have offered to look after for him) - Entirely selfish on my part as it allows me to extend my plantings beyond our legal boundary!!!! 

As you can tell from the pic, I dont give a toss what I look like when gardening!!!!

For those of you that don't enjoy gardening or see it as a chore, you probably wont understand how exhilarated I felt to be out there on those three consecutive days. It was a glorious Melbourne winter's day each day with bright sunshine and clear crisp air. I was doing one of the things that I genuinely love, without difficulty, without pain and with great physical capability. I was truly euphoric.

In the words of Mariel Heslop, 

"Now my life is as good as an ABBA song!" 

So with the garden all sorted and well primed with a sense of achievement, Siobhan and I head to a lovely restaurant in North Carlton called Enoteca Sileno. There, we meet a former colleague, the good Dr Colin, fresh from his regular weekly Italian class, to enjoy a meal, a goss and a vino. 

Now, Dr Colin is many things, - an engaging raconteur, an absolute font of knowledge on topics of the most obscure nature and origin, so as an entertaining dinner companion he is hard to beat, provided you can keep him focused long enough to impart the totality of said story.....but most of all he is just a lovely man who single handedly uptipped my very jaundiced opinions of doctors on its head. 

Upon his arrival he sought to impress all within hearing distance, by his command of his very recently exercised Italian linguistic muscle. Food and beverage (from the wonderful region of Friuli) was ordered and a lively exchange of Italian linguistic gymnastics between the good doctor  and waiter ensued. 

Momentarily distracted by my desire to rid myself of my "going out hair", Colin placed my wig on his own head and without missing a beat the same waiter walked past, complimented Colin on the style but thought the colour was not "very him" .....................you be the judge....... It was a delightful lunch and even more delightful company....

In the days that followed, I watched with great sadness as Julia Gillard  was deposed from the Australian Prime Ministership by a parliamentary ALP spill.  Now if you are going to sigh and think to yourself "get over it girl and move on" its happened, or worse....... "is she going to launch into some angry feminist, gender card playing rave"....first ask yourself, why are you having that reaction to what you anticipate is my anger?

I am angry because with the benefit of two weeks now into the post Kevin Rudd elevation wash-up, where is the commentary about the size of his dick, or whether his wife is a closet lesbian, or that the aspiring opposition leader's budgie smuggler's, (as well as his policies)  are lacking in content and substance?  

Nothing. 

The media is now robustly and meaningfuly focused in policy differences between the parties and the blokes leading them (now that the natural order is restored!!) It was only two weeks ago that they were unable to muster that focus yet the same issues were there then. I am despondent that my country is filled with a population that tolerates this sort of misogyny masquerading as news and current affairs, or worse that we are so loathing or terrified of women that we cannot bear them to be in any genuine or real position of power. 

It would seem that when it comes to women in power, we are more inclined to play the man (or in this case, the woman,) rather than the ball. I am so disappointed that we are so immature. I have no doubt that Gillard's legacy will grow in stature in ensuing months and years. I also have no doubt that it will be years before any ALP woman is allowed to put up her hand again. (and yes, I realise the absolute sexism of that statement)  I for one, will not be voting ALP until Rudd and each and everyone of his current supporter base has left the Federal Parliament.  

A friend once said to me.....they may be bastards, but at least they are our bastards..........

Not anymore they ain't.

It's an interesting political day indeed when Senator Stephen Conroy becomes the ALP's moral beacon for loyalty and principle.

Vote early  & Vote often Peoples

Kelly xxx