ok OK then, I'll write something!!

I'm getting the hang of this now. I've had Chemo 3, and it seems that I am pretty much fine, with some background nausea and just lower energy levels for a week, then back up to speed for two weeks. So, good to have that worked out in time for the last big session, then.

Next I switch to a different drug, for twelve weekly sessions. Generally better tolerated, so fingers crossed. My hair might start to grow back then. Pray for straight and blonde, people. That's when I'll be really glad to be living a ten minute walk from the Mater, I think. At that time I also start on either herceptin or a clinical trial of another drug (the name of which escapes me), if I want. Both herceptin and this other drug are used successfully in treating secondary cancers but only herceptin currently used in her2 positive people like me. Me and Kylie, that is.

The trial will either put me in a group that takes herceptin only, the other drug with herceptin, or the other drug only. Pros and cons with each option, of course, which have all been explained to me, but this other drug has the advantage of working on the brain, which herceptin apparently doesn't. I'm quite fond of my brain so that's the main reason that is making me lean towards participating in the trial.

Before the third chemo I had a device called a portacath installed under my collar bone. Friends who know about this were quite disturbed that I'd had this done without a general anaesthetic. Not half as disturbed as I turned out to be, let me tell you. If I'd had any idea that I was going to be filleted alive in order for the surgeon to repeatedly and vigorously reverse park his range rover in my flesh (that's what it felt like), I'm not sure I would have approached the procedure quite as I did (driving in, organising to take son to swimming lessons immediately afterwards...). Lesson 1 - surgery while awake is very, very wrong. Lesson 2 - post surgery, a device that provides direct access to a vein can provide a passing impersonation of the Trevi Fountain. At family mealtimes. Nice. Still, I'm glad it's there now, no more excavations looking for veins or trying to type with a canula in the back of my hand for me. Woohoo.

OK, that's it, I'm tired. Off to bed. Don't get cranky if I don't write so often. Managing treatments, family and work are sometimes enough to make you not want to switch on a computer at ten or eleven o'clock at night. Right now I'm planning to switch it off.