Starting iv chemo and celebrating a special 21st birthday

A lot has happened since my previous post on 7 August.

The bottom line health-wise is that I have moved onto a new line of treatment, intravenous chemotherapy involving a drug called paclitaxel. I had my first treatment session on 23 August and my second session yesterday.

Life-wise, our younger son has turned 21 and it has been a real joy to be able to celebrate this milestone.

We thought I might be catching a bit of a break on the cancer front. However, blood test results from a few weeks ago showed that, overall, things really weren’t going well in terms of my bone marrow function. In addition, the important CA 15-3 tumour marker had gone up again, meaning the cancer was more active than it had been recently.

The situation was complicated but the consultant concluded that it was time to come off the treatment I’d been on for almost four months – a combination of two drugs called everolimus (Afinitor) and exemestane (Aromasin), taken once daily in tablet form – and move on to the next line of treatment, iv paclitaxel.

I knew it was coming and I understand the rationale for changing. We really need to get a grip on the bone marrow issue and we can’t ignore potential tumour progression. However, I’d hoped it might not happen for another few months. We’d discussed the matter at length and the consultant knew how keen I was to hold off iv chemo for as long as possible.

There were various reasons for this.

One reason is that I’m now tied much more to the hospital. I’m on a 28-day treatment cycle, with treatment sessions on Day 1, Day 8 and Day 15. Each session takes about two hours. You also need to have blood tests done before each of the three sessions of each cycle, etc, etc, etc.

Another reason is that I know this drug. I had it as part of my treatment for primary breast cancer way back in Autumn 2015. It had a very good effect on my cancer then and we obviously hope it will this time too. However, it is also responsible for the “chemotherapy induced peripheral neuropathy” – essentially nerve damage – that I have in my feet that even now can stop me from sleeping. During the day it’s not so bad, but it is there. We’ll keep a very close look-out while I’m on paclitaxel now for signs of additional damage. It would be too bad if the treatment worked well but again brought with it this distressing and, it has to said, potentially debilitating side effect.

Then there are all the other common side effects, including likely hair loss. I didn’t like losing my hair last time. If I lose it this time, I don’t think I’ll like it any better.

All in all, I think I can be forgiven for feeling rather nervous about starting this particular treatment again.

Despite my concerns, though, now that I have started treatment, I’m desperate for it to work and for me to stay the course. It’s not as if the previous regime I was on was a breeze. In fact, at times it was hideous, but you put up with a lot when you know there are limited options ahead of you, each potentially more toxic than the previous one.

Discussing it all with the consultant on 11 August, any hopes I had that my husband, two young adult sons and I might fly off to Spain in late August/early September went flying out the window. Following right behind were plans for a trip to my home city of Glasgow that I’d hoped to take before going to Spain. Other trips were and are – as of today, at least – still planned, potentially for later in September and certainly for October.

I’ve had dozens and dozens of appointments with doctors since my diagnosis of primary breast cancer in the summer of 2015. I’ve cried at only a few. This was one of those. It felt like we were definitely moving into new territory and I was feeling very sorry for myself.

The transition to chemo and the weeks preceding the move have been really quite traumatic. This may not be a complete list but they have involved tiredness and extreme fatigue, a lack of appetite, dry mouth, insatiable thirst, being tested for diabetes, sore feet, badly disturbed nights, joint pain that I’ve been told is not related to the bone mets, dental discomfort, a 2am trip to A&E with a high temperature and suspected serious infection (nothing was found), a couple of blood transfusions – and me feeling very, very low and dejected.

This is the fourth line of treatment that I’ve been on since I was diagnosed in April 2019 with secondary – incurable but treatable – breast cancer. When I was diagnosed, it had spread to my bones, with “bone marrow involvement”, meaning it was impairing the ability of my body to make healthy blood.

More than well over two years on, the various drugs I’ve been on have managed to keep the cancer from spreading outside of my bones and into, say, my liver, or my lungs, or my brain. I would say I have been largely healthy, despite experiencing some quite nasty side effects and, of course, despite having the illness in the first place. However, the real and serious problem at present is bone marrow suppression. We know the cancer itself is causing at least some of this but it doesn’t help that the treatments themselves can also cause your haemoglobin and neutrophils to fall. For those of you who are interested in the detail, my platelets are also not in a great way – that’s a new development and a new concern.

The plan initially is to have four 28-day cycles of iv paclitaxel, assuming it works and I cope with the toxicity. The number of cycles could be increased to six if things go exceedingly well. I’m not second-guessing anything. I’ve already had to have a one-unit blood transfusion and several neutrophil boosting injections between the first and second sessions.

Let’s hope things settle down, that I’m not afflicted with additional peripheral neuropathy, and that I can make the most of the two-week breaks between cycles.

I’m to have blood tests tomorrow before seeing the consultant for a mid-cycle debrief. They’ll take an additional vial of blood for a “cross-match”. This is when they test a patient’s blood against a donor’s blood to check that the two are fully compatible. This happens regularly now when I have my regular blood tests done, “just in case” I need a transfusion. I’m getting used to it.

I think I’ll need yet another set of bloods done the day before my third treatment session of this first cycle, which is scheduled for 7 September.

To say it’s been a tough few weeks – physically and emotionally – would be a huge understatement. Through it all, ordinary life goes on. Today, for example, I’ve felt great. I wrote this blog and this evening I went out on a three-mile walk. Earlier on, I had a nice chat on the phone with one of my brothers. Yesterday, between having bloods done in the morning and my chemo session late afternoon, I did a few hours’ work. I’ve been taking a bit of a break from work recently.

I’d been feeling so wretched that I hadn’t been meeting up so much with friends. You feel less like making plans to socialise in case you have to cancel at the last minute. A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I feared we’d have to pull out of at really short notice a lunch date in central London with friends we hadn’t seen since last summer. We’d really been looking forward to it. I’m so glad we made it – not just for the company, which as always was excellent, but to experience the zaniness of the place we had lunch. The photo is of Cath and me, somewhat over-excited in the sci-fi toilets; each pod is an individual loo!

Some days, I really haven’t felt like getting out of bed – especially when I’ve slept particularly badly that night. I do, though, one always feels better for it. On those days, even picking up the phone when someone calls to chat can be a real challenge. Friends and family know the situation well enough not to be offended.

It can’t be easy for my husband but, throughout this whole thing, he has continued to be an absolute rock.

Among all the turmoil, our younger son turned 21 – a real highlight and milestone for any family. Family-wise we did a couple of low-key things – not on the day itself as he was off in Cornwall with friends. After the year many young people have had, we loved thinking of him mucking about in the sea and on the beach and enjoying big wide open spaces on the very day of his 21st. We have no doubt whatsoever that he was feeling the parental love and affection from a distance.

I think I deserve a medal for the most quickly and imaginatively cobbled together birthday cake – a slice of malt loaf with a candle on top! A few of our son’s friends popped round one evening soon after his birthday for drinks before heading out to a party. I decided they should sing happy birthday to him. They duly obliged. You can’t say I don’t make an effort!

Making my peace with Parkrun


I wanted do one final Parkrun after lockdown ended.

In the end I did two and, with a grand total of 103 runs under my belt, I’m now bowing out.

These popular, volunteer-led 5k running events used to take place every Saturday morning in hundreds of parks across the UK. By the time they stopped with the first lockdown, in March 2020, I’d done 101 runs – a considerable achievement, it has to be said, considering I did most of them after I finished treatment for primary breast cancer in February 2016 and a dozen or so after I was diagnosed with secondary, incurable breast cancer in April 2019.

I didn’t run for a good few months after my secondary diagnosis. Indeed at one stage, I genuinely thought my running days were over. Thankfully they weren’t.

The cancer is in my bones and the fact that it has also “infiltrated” my bone marrow means I’ve been anaemic essentially since my secondary diagnosis. The ongoing inability of my bone marrow to make enough haemoglobin to transport sufficient amounts of oxygen around my body is a major challenge.

I’d really just started doing Parkruns regularly again when the pandemic hit. My stamina and strength massively reduced over the 16 months of lockdown. I kept running on and off, despite the anaemia and despite the fact that I had problems with my feet – caused by the medication I was on and made considerably worse by running.

Anyway, Parkrun finally started up in England again a couple of Saturdays ago. By pure chance, one of my brothers and his son were visiting us in London at the time. We all egged each other on – in a nice way – and decided we’d all go for it. This, I said, would be my last. It would be good to have some support.

It was a two-lap course. I started at the very back of the pack, assuming I’d be running very, very slowly compared to many if not all of the other runners. Also, I’d decided that being at the back would be safer from a coronavirus point of view. Given I’m on active treatment for advanced breast cancer and immunocompromised, I’m categorised as clinically extremely vulnerable. Very soon after lockdown began, I decided to stop shielding – ie staying at home and not going out other than when absolutely necessary – in favour of being careful when I was out. No point in being reckless now, I thought. I sought advice from a doctor friend and she agreed the risk was low.

Off we went. I jogged around ten steps then realised I couldn’t jog a step more. My legs felt so heavy. They just wouldn’t move. No matter what my head was telling my body, that clearly was not going to change. It was all a bit strange, as several weeks earlier I’d done a run of the same distance – slowly, but problem free.

I started walking and after a few minutes tried jogging again. No change; a few metres at a time was all I could manage. My head was all over the place. This was my final Parkrun and it was turning out to be a huge disappointment. I genuinely thought of giving up there and then. Then I thought how daft that would be, given that all I’d be doing instead was cheering on my brother and nephew and all the other runners. I then gave some consideration as to what Parkrun’s about – it’s about participation, community, effort and overcoming adversity. Parkrun has changed the lives of thousands of people for the better and taking part has been such a privilege. For many, just walking the course is a huge achievement. Dropping out would be such a negative way to finish my Parkrun “journey”, I thought. I checked with the “tailwalker” – the person who brings up the rear and makes sure no-one comes last – to see if he would be ok with me walking most of the route. He said that was more than ok. It turns out his wife was Scottish and we spent a fair part of the course talking about Parkruns in Scotland.

I duly finished the course. In a pack of more than 450, other than for the tailwalker, I came last. I jogged the final few metres – because how could I not? My husband, brother, nephew and a few enthusiastic Parkrun officials/volunteers cheered me over the finish line. It wasn’t a disappointment at all. In fact, it all felt great.

102 Parkruns and out – or so I thought.

Then something happened a few days later that made me want to try again. I had blood tests done, and it turns out my haemoglobin level was almost as low as it had ever been since I was diagnosed in Spring 2019. It was pretty darn low. That went a long way towards explaining why I could hardly put one foot in front of the other the previous Saturday. The day after I got the test results, I had yet another red blood cell transfusion – my third since late June. Two days later I ran what I’m pretty sure will be my final Parkrun as a participant. I’m ok with that; I now feel I’ve made my peace with this wonderful initiative.

A blood transfusion doesn’t fix everything. It gives you a very welcome temporary energy boost but it does not make you superwoman, or indeed get you remotely close to the level you were at before your diagnosis. Even after this latest transfusion, my haemoglobin level is still only at two thirds of what it was pre-diagnosis. I was wiped out after the run, my hips and my knees hurt and I basically spent the best part of the rest of the weekend on the sofa. I even went for a nap on Saturday afternoon. To be honest, I would probably have stayed in bed had I not been going to see Chrissie Hynde – yes, that Chrissie Hynde! – in concert that night at the Royal Opera House in central London. The following day I still felt shattered and I cancelled a lunch date in town, which is most unlike me.

However slowly I ran, it was worth doing this final run for reasons of personal satisfaction. It was also fitting that it was at my home course of Tooting Common, where I’ve done the vast majority of my runs (the previous week’s run was at a nearby Clapham Common). I’m not sure I want to spend whole weekends in recovery mode, though, so it’s 103 and out. In future I’ll be helping out as a volunteer, which I’ll be more than happy to do.

I have my next set of blood tests next week. We’ll find out how my haemoglobin is bearing up two weeks post-transfusion and we’ll be looking closely to see what action there has been on the tumour marker front. At the end of my third monthly treatment cycle almost a month ago now, the marker had, to our pleasant surprise, unexpectedly fallen slightly when the trend over the first two months of treatment had been upwards.

The other procedure I’m having that could help on the haemoglobin front hasn’t yet had an impact. It can take a while to work, so we still have a few weeks to go with that.

The seemingly never-healing cold sore wound on my lip has almost gone. Hurrah! I have had this wound on my lip for two whole months now. Two whole months. Also on the positive side, the medication-induced ulcer that started developing on my tongue a week or so ago went away as quickly as it came. I nearly cried when I first felt it. Just as I get rid of the cold sore wound, I thought despairingly, a tongue ulcer comes to replace it. If you’ve never had one of these, count yourself very, very lucky.

Here’s nice story to finish. I told our sons a while back that I’ll lose my hair as and when I move on to my next treatment – intravenous chemo. I didn’t want it to come as a surprise to them when it happened. My hair at that point was the longest it had been in years. I mentioned to the younger son a week or so ago that I was thinking of getting it cut. He himself is a redhead and has a beautiful thick mane that reaches half way down his back. Without hesitation, he says, “Nah, mum, use it ‘til you lose it”. I compromised with a trim! 

A welcome surprise and another lesson in unpredictability

Well, well, well. Not only did the PET CT scan I had a couple of weeks ago show no disease progression, my tumour marker level has fallen twice in a row over the past several weeks. The ongoing inability of my bone marrow to make enough haemoglobin to transport sufficient amounts of oxygen around my body continues to be a major challenge but there’s no doubting this is welcome news.

It was not expected. For me, it’s yet another lesson in how unpredictable this whole thing is.

I was more or less resigned to the breast cancer that has spread to my bones and “infiltrated” my bone marrow having spread further. This would have meant my moving on to intravenous chemotherapy. Instead, I am staying on my current medication – a combination of two (non-chemo) drugs, everolimus (Afinitor) and exemestane (Aromasin). This will be my fourth monthly cycle on these two drugs, which are taken in tablet form, once daily.

I know that iv chemo is an inevitability and I have to accept that. However, I’d be lying if I said the thought of it doesn’t scare me, with all of the associated additional and potentially lengthy treatment sessions and toxic side effects, including hair loss. Thus my relief at having dodged this particular bullet – for however long it may be.

Let’s stay with the good news. Not only was there no progression, there was, in the words of my consultant oncologist, “a hint towards better” in that the disease in my spine and pelvis showed up as less bright on the PET scan than it has done on previous occasions. The brighter an area is on a PET scan, the more active the cancer is in that area.

As for the tumour marker, this had shot up considerably towards the end of the second treatment cycle, suggesting there had been an increase in cancer activity. Now, going by the latest test results, it is back at almost exactly the level it was at when I started this current treatment three months ago.

On now to the issue of my bone marrow and the fact that the cancer is impairing its ability to make healthy blood – most critically at this stage healthy red blood cells, which contain the haemoglobin that transports oxygen around the body.

On the haemoglobin front, I’ve essentially been anaemic to one degree or another since my diagnosis in the spring of 2019, well over two years ago now. Up until now we’ve intervened with transfusions of red blood cells when it has fallen to a level that’s considered too low. I now generally know myself when it’s falling as I get breathless doing the simplest of things such as climbing stairs. That’s pretty much the current state of affairs.

Yesterday, for example, I went to Tooting Bec lido* for the first time since last summer. It’s baking hot in London at the moment so this is a great place to be. I swam four widths (the pool is 33 yards wide), breast stroke, after which I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest it was beating so hard! That said, it was fabulous to be there and I was fine after a rest.

The problem with blood transfusions is that you can only have so many before you get iron overload, a serious condition that can damage major organs such as the heart, liver and pancreas. We’re not close to that stage yet but it wouldn’t take long to get there if I were to continue to have transfusions as regularly as I’ve had them recently. Earlier this summer, I had two within less than six weeks of each other. We’re now therefore looking at ways of tackling the problem that don’t involve transfusions. I hope they work.

My tumour marker and haemoglobin levels will be monitored even more closely than usual over these coming weeks. The results of the other scan I had – an MRI of my spine – have still to come through. I should get those next week. 

I can also report that a good few of the drug side effects and/or other physical ailments that were making me so miserable on a physical – and emotional – level have subsided.

I’ve continued to stay to clear of the painful and spirit-sapping mouth and tongue sores that I had on and off during the first and second cycles. That sentence really does not do justice to how awful these sores are. 

The massive cold sore wound on my bottom lip that wasn’t healing and that’s been plaguing me for around six weeks seems to have a mind of its own. One day it seems almost to have gone but then it’s a bloody mess again the next. I’m not swearing here, it really is sometimes a bloody mess. However, it does seems to be going in the right direction, albeit very, very slowly. Also, the wounds from the two pigmented skin lesions that I had removed from the sole of my right foot and my right calf nearly three months ago have now completely healed. These two things combined allowed me to go to the lido yesterday, although I did keep my face out of the water to be on the safe side.

The night sweats have been much less frequent but are still pretty nasty when they do happen. 

The discomfort that I’d been feeling in some teeth has gone – at least for the moment. I have a session with the dental hygienist at the hospital next week, by which time I really hope the cold sore wound has fully cleared up.

The sore feet at night can be a bit of a nightmare, especially if I’ve been out on a long walk during the day. My plan to take sleeping tablets more regularly so as to basically knock myself out hasn’t worked as planned. You can’t take alcohol with sleeping tablets and at 7pm when I fancy a cold beer or glass of cold white wine (or both!), bedtime seems a long way off. The alcohol usually wins!

I’ve had some new joint pain, but I can’t tell whether this is cancer- or age-related. The pain either eases on its own or I take painkillers. 

My 58th birthday has come and gone.

There was so much going on and so much uncertainty on various levels in the weeks running up to the day that I had been veering from thinking I wanted to see as many people as possible to feeling that I just wanted to hide under the duvet all day.

In the end, I had a lovely time, with celebrations and events with friends and family spread over the best part of a week, or indeed longer.

On the day itself, we kept things low key, with a little but perfectly formed extended family group. The rain stayed off and the cake tasted as delicious as it looks in the photo.

Over the course of a few days, there were multiple deliveries of, among other things, cakes, pastries, chocolates and flowers – lots of flowers!

There was a trip to the Wimbledon tennis championships, with Dave, my friend and partner in seizing the day. I have incurable breast cancer; Dave is five years younger than me and has Parkinson’s disease.

My husband and I went to the Hampton Court Palace Garden Festival one evening. Friends treated us to supper at the smartest restaurant in our local area. Some very good friends visited and stayed over one evening. We had a very relaxing night away with our 22- and 20-year-old sons.

I also went to a gig at London’s Jazz Cafe on July 11th, the day after my birthday. This was the night of the European football championships final in which England – the “auld enemy” of my country of birth – were playing. I’d booked this evening out a while ago as a birthday treat for my husband, our sons and me. However, when it became clear that England was going to be in the finals, I started looking round for replacement company – friends who, like me, didn’t mind whether they watched the match or not. An Australian friend and a Dutch friend answered the call and we had a lovely evening – unlike the people watching the match, given the sad ending for England! I’m only sorry that one of the two friends had to self-isolating afterwards as she was “pinged” to say she’d been in close contact that evening with someone who later tested positive for COVID-19.

Suffice to say I have felt very loved over these past couple of weeks. The cutest and perhaps best birthday present of all was a promise (see photo) from our sons to become blood donors. I understand they were all set to donate before my birthday but they both contracted Covid and had to postpone it. I’m quite hardline on this in that I see giving blood as one’s civic duty but I have to concede there was a certain amount of persuasion and emotional blackmail involved here!

Back to my medical situation.

The bone marrow impairment is of course a big concern but one has to be grateful for the other, more positive news. I am delighted to have received this unexpected surprise. Nonetheless, it seems appropriate to end this post with a phrase that I’ve used many times before: let’s just see how things go.  

*At 100 yards long and 33 yards wide, Tooting Bec Lido in southwest London is the largest freshwater swimming pool by surface area in the United Kingdom. It holds a million gallons of water and is just a 15-minute walk from where we live.

Saying it like it is

From a living your life point of view, the past six weeks have been fabulous. On the cancer and related general health front, they’ve been much less so. It’s getting increasingly difficult to separate one from the other.

We went on no fewer than three trips, one by train and two by car.

We visited some beautiful parts of England. We did lots of sightseeing. With friends or on our own, we went to museums, art galleries and exhibitions. We visited various sets of friends and relatives, some of whom we hadn’t seen since just before the start of the coronavirus pandemic in March 2019 and some of whom we hadn’t seen for many years. We helped our younger son move into his third year accommodation at university in the city of Leeds in the north east of England. 

Back in London, I continued to meet up with people – current and former work colleagues, my brother and nephew who were down visiting from Scotland, and a group of women from BellaVelo, one of the two cycling clubs of which I’m still a member, despite not having cycled with either of them for a very, very long time.

As you may be able to tell, I did not do much work in June.

That’s a synopsis of what’s been happening over the past month-and-a-half in that part of my life over which I have control. Now here’s what been happening in the part over which I have little control*.

I had two blood transfusions in the space of just over five weeks, each prompted by falling haemoglobin levels.

My most recent blood tests showed a substantial rise in my tumour marker level, meaning there’s been an increase in cancer activity.

The implication of the above is that the metastatic breast cancer that’s in my bones and has infiltrated my bone marrow has not responded to the treatment I started just over two months ago. My next set of scans – a half-body combined PET CT scan and an MRI of my spine – is therefore being brought forward as we want to try to determine whether the cancer has spread.

If the scans show signs of progression – or even perhaps if they don’t but the tumour marker level is still markedly rising and my bone marrow is still struggling to produce healthy blood – I will move on to the next line of treatment. This would be my fourth treatment since I was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer just over two years ago. It would be iv chemo, with all of the associated additional and potentially lengthy treatment sessions and toxic side effects, including hair loss. I am really, really, really not ready for any of that. Also, with each new treatment you start, you can’t help but be aware that you’re one step closer to running out of options.

But let’s not pre-empt things. Who knows what the scans will show?

Back to the tribulations of the past six weeks.

I had another round of treatment-induced mouth sores. However, I’ve been totally clear of these for the past few weeks, which is a huge relief. You can read in previous posts how painful these were.

Another side effect of one of the drugs I’m on is night sweats. I’ve been having these on a regular basis, although not so much in the past week or so. When they happen, it means: 1) having to change your nightwear in the middle of the night; 2) changing the bed sheets the following morning; and 3) depending on how wet the sheets are and what time of the night it is, moving to the bed of the son who at the time was still away at uni and trying to get back to sleep. My oncologist and I agreed that for someone such as me who pretty much sailed through the menopause, this is a particular affront. I’ve had more night sweats in the past two months than I had during the whole of my menopause.

I had a slight temperature over the course of a couple of days and at one stage I feared it might jeopardise a much anticipated trip to Wales and Manchester. It was fine in the end but there was a fair amount of anxiety involved.

There’s more.

I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a nose bleed, but one morning there was blood rather than mucous on the tissue when I blew my nose.

That kind of freaked me out as you’re advised to “seek medical advice urgently” if you develop “gum/nose bleeds or unusual bruising” (see photo). I duly called the emergency number I’d been given and spoke to one of the oncology nurses.

The nurse asked me lots of questions, after which her reassuring advice was: “Monitor it and call us again if it gets worse.” Thankfully it didn’t and all was ok. So off I went to an arranged lunch date with two friends – women I’d met at antenatal classes 23 years ago but hadn’t seen for several years.

I’ve also been having dental problems – not quite pain but certainly discomfort in a couple of teeth. Tooth or gum problems ring pretty loud alarm bells in people such as me so I reported the discomfort to the cancer nurse specialists who work alongside my oncologist. An appointment was immediately made for me at the specialist dentistry department at the hospital where I’m having my cancer treatment.

I was given an extremely thorough dental examination that involved among other things tooth sensitivity testing and x-rays. Nothing of concern was found. The discomfort remains. I’m to be seen again in three months’ time, or sooner if it gets worse. In the meantime, I’ve been referred to the hygienist for a deep clean (my own words there).

Zometa (zoledronic acid), the bone strengthening drug I currently have via infusion over 15 minutes every four weeks, helps prevent skeletal related effects of the cancer such as bone fracture, pain and subsequent radiotherapy, and spinal cord compression. It’s one of a group of drugs called bisphosphonates that, unfortunately, come with a small risk of a nasty condition called osteonecrosis of the jaw, or ONJ – a rare but potentially debilitating condition in which bone tissue in the jaw is no longer covered by the gums and starts to die.

ONJ symptoms can range from very mild to severe. It can cause tooth or jaw pain and swelling in your jaw. Severe symptoms include infection in your jaw bone. You can get ONJ after dental procedures, such as extractions. The healing process after such procedures may take a long time or may not happen at all. That’s why everything possible is done to avoid the need for tooth removal in patients taking Zometa or denosumab (Xgeva), another drug used in this setting. That’s why my report of dental problems was taken so seriously.

Your risk of ONJ increases the longer you’re treated with bisphosphonates or denosumab. I’ve been on either Zometa or denosumab since my secondary diagnosis. In addition, I was on Zometa periodically for some time after my primary diagnosis as there’s some evidence that, in post-menopausal women, it can reduce the risk of breast cancer coming back.

Given all of the above, I’m taking a break from Zometa this month to see whether it makes any difference with regard to the discomfort. And I guess, in case any dental treatment were needed.

I was impressed that an appointment was found for me so quickly. However, it was on the morning of the day we were setting out on our Wales/Manchester adventure and I spent a fair amount of time worrying about whether we’d make the train. We did make it, and it was the loveliest of trips, despite my teenage goddaughter in Wales beating me at chess in an agonisingly slow game that lasted the best part of two hours. We’re evens now, but I will endeavour to rise again!

I mentioned in my last post that I had started once again to have sore feet at night, yet another side effect of one of the drugs I’m on. I suffered badly from this under my previous drug regime and while it’s not as bad as it was then, it’s no fun. Now as then, it’s exacerbated by exercise that puts pressure on the feet, such as running or long walks. Cold, wet towels to wrap round my feet in the middle of the night when the discomfort is stopping me from sleeping are once again a feature.

I’m not so bothered about running, having proved a point by completing a 5k just recently. Stopping walking or only walking for short distances, however, is not an option.

Had I not been prepared to walk on the various trips we’ve just been on, it would have meant not traipsing round and enjoying the northwestern city of Manchester for hours and hours and hours over the course of a couple of days with friends from London.

It would have meant missing out on wandering round the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, south of Leeds. This has been on my to-do list for ages and it didn’t disappoint (couple of photos here as evidence).

It would have meant not exploring the pretty village of Hathersage in the Peak District.

And it would have meant not walking round Sherwood Forest near Nottingham or visiting the small but super interesting Civil Wars Museum in Newark.

For the moment, I’ll take the sore feet. It’s a price worth paying. They’re not likely to get any better under the next treatment. Hopefully by adding painkillers and/or sleeping tablets to my arsenal, I’ll get by.

On top of all that, the wound on my lip from the horribly painful and ugly cold sores that I had earlier this month is taking forever to heal.

The cold sores appeared over a month ago, triggered by a bike ride in the sun (see photo) on the first of the three trips.

One day recently, my lip looked so awful that I almost called off a brunch date with a very, very good friend and her husband. I’m so glad we went in the end. On another occasion, the wound started bleeding when we were minutes away from the house of some old friends we were going to visit. I burst into tears from sheer frustration. We stopped the car and waited til the bleeding had stopped and I’d stopped crying before continuing.

While we’re on the subject of wounds, the one on my right calf that was healing so well opened up again, stopping me from exercising at a time when my feet were still fine. Is that ironic or just Sod’s law? The wound has almost cleared now.

Finally, my finger nails are getting ever softer and weaker and in some cases are lifting off the nail bed. As for my hair, when I find a knot and try to tease it out, sometimes a whole clump of hair comes out.

I started this latest treatment – a combination of two (non-chemo) drugs, everolimus (Afinitor) and exemestane (Aromasin), taken in tablet form, once daily – a little over two months ago. At my latest appointment with the oncologist, we agreed that I’d stay with it for a third, 30-day cycle to give it a proper chance to work. I agreed to stay on the highest dose of everolimus, despite the problems I’ve been having with mouth sores. The rationale is that we need to give the drugs the best chance of generating a response. I find it rather ironic that I’ve not had any mouth sores during this third and possibly final cycle.

So there we are, just saying it like it is.

I initially thought of having a photo of me having a blood transfusion at the hospital as the final image in this post. How much nicer, though, to use a photo of some of the beautiful roses that we are so lucky to have in our garden. Or rather had in our garden until the rain of the past few weeks came and ruined them!

Let’s see what the next few weeks bring on the health front.

What is certain is that there will be multiple trips to the hospital. Thank goodness I only live a couple of miles away. As it stands, I have six appointments for one thing or another over the next two weeks alone. The first of these was this morning, for blood tests to see how things were looking after the transfusion I had ten days ago. I had blood taken then waited for the results with the cannula in “just in case” I needed another transfusion. I didn’t.

Another certainty is my birthday, next weekend. I’ll be 58. I’m still standing.

*I also have increasingly little control over the lives of our 20 and 22 year old sons, both of whom in the past four or five weeks have had and, thankfully, have also recovered from Covid.

When a 5k run means so much more than a 5k run

The very slow 5k run I did this morning ranks among the sporting endeavours of which I am most proud. It is also almost certainly the slowest 5k I have ever run.

The idea that I might get out there and try running five kilometres began forming a week or so ago. I hadn’t done any running at all in more than two months. As a result of that and various other factors, I’d really lost my confidence. But the omens were good. 

The main thing was that the wounds I’d had on my right calf and right sole were finally healing. I had two pigmented and irregularly shaped lesions removed towards the end of April and the resulting wounds were taking longer to heal than I’d anticipated. Apart from the odd bike ride a month ago to see how the wounds would bear up – they didn’t – the only exercise I’d done since having the procedure done was walking.

Secondly, my feet were feeling better than they’d felt in many months. The side effects of capecitabine, the previous medication I was on, had worn off. The specific side effect from which I suffered is called palmar-plantar or hand-foot syndrome, where you develop sore and red palms of hands and soles of feet. The skin may also begin to peel. With me, only my feet were affected. They would hurt even when I was walking and the pain would keep me awake at night. With running, I’d get huge blood blisters even in the most comfortable and supportive running shoes.

So as I say, the omens were good.

Then, to top it all, just three days ago on Friday last week, I had a blood transfusion. The reasons for needing a transfusion are never good but I know from experience that they give you an energy boost. In my case, the metastatic breast cancer that has spread to my bones and bone marrow is preventing my body from making healthy red blood cells. My haemoglobin keeps falling, making me anaemic. This was my fourth transfusion since being diagnosed with advanced breast cancer over two years ago. The third one was only a few weeks ago. The effects of a transfusion can last for up to two weeks.

So those were the reasons making me think I should do a run. On the flip side, it’s been a really difficult few weeks on the cancer front (more on that in another post) and I’ve been struggling to deal with it all. Also, I have a cold sore that’s taking forever to heal and that is making me feel really self-conscious, not to mention lethargic and down. 

One part of me was thinking “go for it”. Another part was saying it would be no big deal if I never ran again. 

Anyway, I can’t tell you how many pep talks I had with myself before I finally put on my running shoes, left the house, and walked to where I wanted to start the run. 

I reminded myself that I will probably have to change treatment again soon. It’s a dead cert that my ability to exercise will be curtailed further once that happens.

Also, hand-foot syndrome is a potential side effect of the treatment I’m currently on and have been on for just over two months. While my feet have indeed been fine for a while, very recently the tingling and throbbing has come back at night and my sleep has been badly disturbed a few times in just this past week.

If I didn’t attempt a 5k now, when would I? The answer to that was possibly never. 

I also tried to think of what the various cycling coaches I know would say to motivate me.

I’m pretty certain that when I was in my 20s, I ran a 10k in almost the time it took me this morning to do 5k. But it really doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. What matters is that I ran at all today.

What makes it even better is that I did the local Parkrun route. Parkrun is a free, timed, mass-participation, volunteer-led 5k run that pre-pandemic took place on Saturday mornings in parks around the UK and indeed in many countries. I was a huge fan and ran my 100th Parkrun in January 2020. I managed one more before the very first lockdown began two months later. 

The route comprises three laps of Tooting Common, the green open space that starts at the bottom of our street in south west London.

I did stop once, to take a photo of a cluster of mushrooms (see above).

That probably added at least 20 seconds to my time. Anyone who’s pushing or over 58 will know how much effort and time it takes to get down into and back up from a squat!

It was hoped that Parkrun might start up again in England some time this month but it’s been postponed to the end of July. Initially I was really excited at the thought of it starting up again but now I’m not sure about running among large crowds. I wrote recently that I’d like to do at least one more Parkrun. After this morning, morally, I feel I’ve done it.

Well that didn’t last long

After four or five glorious days of respite during which once again I could eat whatever the heck I wanted, another blasted mouth sore developed. It was mild to start with but for the past few days it’s been as vicious, if not even more so, than the two I’d just got rid of

Managing these painful, spirit-sapping sores takes effort. For a start, when do you eat when frankly it’s the last thing you feel like doing? Also, what do you eat? 

Because of where this latest sore is, I can only open my mouth so far before it starts hurting. It also hurts to fully close my mouth. The other day in a cafe with friends, I had to cut the crusts off a toasted sandwich and cut the rest of the sandwich into tiny pieces before I was able to eat it. And rather than have a hot coffee, I had a healthy beetroot and carrot juice concoction that I drank through a paper straw. It was rather nice, if also rather expensive. 

And how do you brush your teeth without touching the sore and nearly fainting from the pain? I was always a hard-bristle kind of gal, but I have just bought some soft-bristle brushes.

And how often do you rinse with the various mouthwashes you have? They all sting.

When I had my appointment with the consultant oncologist who’s treating my secondary breast cancer and me on Thursday this past week, this new sore wasn’t causing too much trouble. I had thought that was as bad as it was going to get. I therefore bravely and, with hindsight, in far too cavalier a manner, told the consultant I’d stay on the highest dose of the tablet that’s the cause of the problem for another month. 

However, rather than improve, things got worse. I’m now seriously thinking that I will indeed have to reduce the dose. I’d really rather not do that but I may well have to as this really is no fun. If another sore appears after this one, my mind will be made up. I think. It’s a bit like a “good” childbirth. Once it’s over, you forget how painful it was. Until the next time.

That’s the bad news from this week. It’s been a busy one on the health front, with plenty of decent or even good news. I need to focus on that, really.

The chest x-ray I had on Wednesday was clear. That means that the new treatment regime of two drugs – mouth-sore inducing everolimus and exemestane, both taken as tablets, daily – hasn’t done any damage on that front. 

Also, the results of the biopsies on the pigmented lesions that I had excised on my right leg and foot, also four weeks ago, came back clear. We had suspected they would, but it’s good to have that confirmed. The wound on the sole of my foot that wasn’t healing well is looking much better. 

There’s more. The blood tests I had on Wednesday – immediately before I had the chest x-ray – showed that the all-important tumour marker is stable compared with two weeks ago. That’s the first time it hasn’t risen in many, many months. It’s early days but it shows that perhaps the new treatment will have a dampening effect on the tumour activity. That makes the mouth sore issue even more frustrating.

My kidney and liver are functioning ok too. However, my bone marrow is still struggling (the secondary breast cancer that I have is in my bones and bone marrow). 

I can walk for miles on the flat without any trouble but increasingly just walking up stairs had been making me breathless. The first thing I said to the oncologist when she asked how I’d been was that I reckoned my haemoglobin level had taken a bit of a dive. That was indeed the case.

The bottom line is that after seeing the consultant on Thursday morning, I spent four and a half hours in the Ambulatory Oncology Care Unit at the hospital having a blood transfusion. It takes around two hours to transfuse a single unit of blood and I had two, the same as on the two previous occasions where I’ve needed help on the red blood cell front.

I do feel much better now, energy wise. Never one to waste a good blood transfusion, I have planned two bike rides for this week, one short and one a bit longer. This will be the first exercise I’ll have done other than walking for over a month, specifically since I had the procedure done on my foot. Fingers crossed my foot wound and energy levels behave and that I manage if not both, then at least one.

Distractions are good. They take my mind off what’s going on in my mouth. There have been a few this week. 

Work continues, for example.*

Monday saw us have a meal out – inside at a pub restaurant – for the first time in many, many months. Gathering at the bar is not yet allowed so it’s all table service but it pretty much felt like nothing much had changed.

We went to the pub again (a different one) on Thursday evening to celebrate a friend’s 50th birthday. This time we were outside, as more people are allowed to gather together outside than in.

The wind did its best to blow us away; it did in fact blow a glass of wine into my lap! However, we held firm and had a lovely evening. I’d only been planning to stay for an hour as I’d been feeling miserable earlier that evening. However, such was the power of the blood transfusion I’d had that afternoon that I not only went out but stayed as long as everyone else, ie until closing time. I also remembered that white wine stings less than beer on the mouth sore front so, after one beer, white wine was my tipple of the evening.

Both those nights out were organised well in advance. On Saturday, though, we did something on impulse. Yes, read it again, on impulse! We went to the cinema and, as if that weren’t enough, we went for a meal afterwards – without booking!!!! There was social distancing in the cinema itself but it’s been a long 14 or 15 months since we’ve done anything that remotely “normal”. 

The restaurant was Turkish, where we knew we’d be able to order lots of mouth-sore friendly dishes such as all sorts of tasty but not spicy dips with lovely warm, soft bread.

The film we saw was Nomadland, which was great to see on the big screen with all those amazing American landscapes.

I watched a lot of the film through tears. If you’ve seen it and you’re aware of my situation, you’ll understand why. This phrase from one of the characters, who has terminal cancer, spoke volumes to me: “I don’t want my sail boat to be in my drive when I die.” 

You can take that literally or figuratively. In my case, much as I’d love to do it, heading off on a yacht is not practical. I hope we can head off on foreign trips soon but, in the meantime, there are plenty of things close to home that bring joy.

I’m feeling quite sentimental so I’m going to mention a few.

There’s new life all around. Our revamped garden is bursting into life and everywhere I go it seems I see baby birds. With the ones in the photo here, at Kew Gardens this week, there was no drama – unlike the previous week at Richmond Park.

A friend giving me as an early birthday present a beautiful throw that she’d crocheted herself.

Another couple of friends handing in a surprise bunch of flowers.

Our sons, who are away at uni, WhatsApping us photos of things they’ve cooked for supper. Or one of them pretending he’d had his nose pierced and using it to encourage me to have mine done; I’ve been saying for ages that I want to do it but I’m too nervous.

One of my brothers who lives in Glasgow going out of his way to take one of my sons out for dinner when he was on a work trip in the north of England, near where his nephew’s at uni.

The many messages I get from friends asking how I am and sympathising with me on my “issues”.

And, most recently, my husband presenting me with a box of Tunnocks tea cakes “because they’re soft and they won’t hurt your mouth”.

Allow me a schmaltzy ending: “Take joy in the small things because one day you’ll realise that they were the big things.”

*My story about working with an advanced cancer diagnosis is featured in a campaign that has been launched by an organisation called Working with Cancer. I’m upfront about my prognosis right at the start so please only read it if you’re prepared for that – https://workingwithcancer.co.uk/2021/05/11/maureen-kenny/.

Salted peanuts, citrus fruits and vinegar – they’re all back on the menu!

I am both relieved and happy to report that the two dreadfully painful mouth and tongue sores that I’d had for the past couple of weeks have gone.

The sores were a side effect of one of the two new drugs that I started taking just over three weeks ago for the secondary breast cancer that’s in my bones and bone marrow.

I made it very clear in my previous post just how awful these sores were. These past few days, though, I’ve been eating salted peanuts again – a favourite snack to accompany a pre-dinner drink. Not just that, I had an orange earlier today for the first time in almost three weeks. Finally, I am happy for my husband to start putting vinegar in the salad dressing again! 

Everything is back on the menu. At least it is for the moment. Mouth sores can come and go while you’re taking this drug – everolimus (Afinitor) – so we’ll enjoy this mouthsore-free period for as long as it lasts. I’ve been mouthwashing assiduously with the two rinses the oncologist prescribed for me. I guess I’ll continue to do so as a preventative measure.

Also this past week, I had the stitches taken out from the two wounds I have from the skin lesion removal procedures I had a few weeks ago. The wound on my right calf has healed beautifully but the one on the sole of my right foot has not. There has been a certain amount of discomfort associated with the “non-healing” and it means I’ll be off the tennis courts and off the bike for yet another couple of weeks. 

In case you’re wondering, yes, it was indeed painful having the stitches removed, especially those in my foot. I had to ask the nurse who was removing them to stop two or three if not four times so I could take a breather. In the end, the nurse had to call in one of the doctors – an expert in stitches removal apparently- to finish the job.

How painful was it? Well, as we all know, pain is very hard to measure objectively. However, I suspect that if it had been a person very close to me who’d been having this done, he might have fainted! He knows who he is – it’s not hard to guess his identity! – and he’s ok with me writing that. I did check!

I was due to get the results of the biopsies they did on the removed tissue on Thursday this past week, but instead I got a phone call to say the report’s not available yet.

Away from the medical stuff, we’ve been continuing to enjoy the easing of the pandemic-related lockdown restrictions. 

We’ve been out and about, enjoying the late Spring. Indeed we had a very eventful experience just a couple of days ago, during a trip to the beautiful space in southwest London that is Richmond Park.

I can’t remember the last time I was in the park without my bike; regular readers of this blog will know that it is a great place for cycling.

This time, however, my husband and I were on foot. We were going specifically to see the annual display of camelias, azaleas and bluebells in an area of the park called the Isabella Plantation. (There were lots of other flowers too, but I’m afraid my flower-identifying knowledge is extremely limited.)

Walking though the park after we’d seen the flowers, we came across a family of Egyptian geese.

When we first encountered this charming group, there were eight goslings and the mother was trapped inside a small enclosure in the park (photo on the left).

The father was outside the enclosure, unable to help. Both adult birds were clearly distressed – there was lots of squawking and heavy breathing. 

As it turns out, I was instrumental in facilitating the release of the mother, upon which the family hotfooted it towards the nearest pond (photo on the right). It’s a long story but the “rescue” was enabled by the actions of two helpful but distinctly underwhelmed members of the Metropolitan Police who had the misfortune to be in the area at the time!

The pond was about a ten-minute waddle from the enclosure. We followed, taking photos. It was all very cute and exciting.

A happy ending, you may be thinking. Sadly, it wasn’t so. On the way to the pond, disaster struck! To my horror, a big crow swooped down and snatched one of the goslings. As a result, only seven of them made it to the pond. In just a few seconds I went from feeling like a hero to feeling responsible for the death of a gosling. Nature can indeed be cruel.

As for the flowers in the Isabella Plantation, what can I say other than that they are an absolute delight.

In other developments, we’ve booked another couple of trips away over the next month or so – one to Manchester with friends and one to Wales to stay with some very good friends. We’ll catch up with some relatives while we’re in Manchester and, in Wales, I’m very much looking forward to seeing my teenaged goddaughter. That is despite the fact that she has said that, as well as looking forward to seeing me too, she “can’t wait to beat you at chess”. Mmm.

May 17th is an important day in England in terms of the restrictions easing. Museums and art galleries can open again, you can once again eat inside at pubs and restaurants, hotels can fully open again and you can stay overnight with relatives or friends. I’ve already bought tickets for a couple of exhibitions, one of which I’ll enjoy with an old friend who’s coming to London for the day the week after next. Also, tomorrow evening, I’ll be eating inside, at a (hopefully well-ventilated) pub restaurant, with friends, for the first time since last summer.

I’m well aware that we’re far from being out of the woods on the pandemic front – variants of concern, localised spikes in cases here in the UK, the tragic situation in India, etc. However, I’m determined, safely, to make the most of our newly returned freedoms while we have them. I’d like to have been able not to write the last four words in that previous sentence, but I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking that restrictions will come and go depending on how the situation evolves. That said, I tweeted recently that I intended to “carpe the sodding diem” out of this summer. That’s still my plan, the pandemic and my health allowing. 

I am, of course, also well aware that we still don’t know how much protection the vaccines give to people such as myself who have compromised immune systems. I won’t be diving in for big hugs with all and sundry and I think I’ll be steering clear of full-capacity cinemas and theatres for some time to come. I did feel uncomfortable on the London Underground the other day; while almost everyone was wearing a mask, it was much busier than it’s been in the past few months.

Back to medical practicalities. I’m less than one week away from finishing my first 30-day cycle of this new line of treatment. On Wednesday I go to the hospital for blood tests and a chest x-ray; the latter is to see whether there’s any damage to my lungs (another potential side effect). I see the consultant on Thursday for the blood test and x-ray results and to discuss how things are going.

This latest treatment consists of a combination of two drugs – everolimus and exemestane (Aromasin). I take one tablet of each every day. It may still be too early to tell whether they are having an effect as it can take some time for this to show. Other than the mouth sores, the only side effect I’ve noticed is the odd night sweat, similar to those many women get when they’re going through the menopause. They are not pleasant – who wants to have to change out wet nightwear at 2 or 3am? Finally, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear my haemoglobin level has dropped further.

We shall see. For now, though, I’m off to suck on a lemon.

Mother of God, the mouth ulcers

Spoiler alert: This blog includes multiple gratuitous references to a recently concluded and very popular UK TV series about police corruption.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey, if it’s not one thing, it’s another.

The pain I’d been having periodically in my joints disappeared overnight when, a fortnight ago now, I started on my first cycle of the new treatment I’m on for advanced breast cancer. Also – and what a relief – the pain I’d been having in my feet for the past few months eased up massively. Now we’re sucking diesel, I thought. Then wham, I get blasted with two horrendously painful mouth sores – or more precisely one mouth sore and one tongue sore – within days of starting the new drugs. God give me strength.

Mouth sores are a very common side effect of everolimus, one of the two drugs I’m now on (Document A in your folder). I’ve written before about how painful cold sores can be (Document B in your folder). Well mouth sores are like that, except they’re on the inside of your mouth and they’re even more painful. Just when you’d started to sleep well again as a result of the throbbing in your feet having eased off, you wake up at 4am from the pain of these mouth sores. The discomfort when eating is such that I’ve had to tell the boss, who does most if not all the cooking in our house, to stop putting vinegar in the salad dressing. Mother of God.

Has it been so painful that I’ve sworn? No comment. Or cried, even, from frustration as much as pain? No comment.

I’d been given mouthwash to prevent mouth sores from developing and/or to alleviate the pain once they do develop. I’d been following the instructions to the letter, to the letter, I tell you; who knows, maybe they’d be even worse if I hadn’t been using the rinse.

As for the sleeping tablets I was prescribed at my last appointment, I’ve used them twice. The first time I didn’t notice any difference; the second time I slept for nine hours (getting up once for the loo and half-waking when my husband got up). Now we’re cooking with gas, I said to myself when I realised how long I’d slept for.

You’re monitored closely during the first month or so after you start on everolimus because of the potential side effects. The monitoring involved a mid-cycle review yesterday with my oncologist where we discussed how things were going and she gave me the results of the MRI scan of my liver that I had recently.

As I’ve said, for various reasons the consultant wasn’t convinced that the metastatic breast cancer I have in my bones and bone marrow hadn’t spread to my liver. Now many of you reading will know that I’m a bit of a grammar pedant. I would therefore like to point out that this is one situation where two negatives don’t make a positive. The consultant didn’t necessarily think the cancer had spread but there was enough concern that it might have done that she thought an MRI scan was merited. It came back clear; no spread to the liver at this time. Pleasing news.

We also went through the results of the blood tests I’d had done the previous day. My tumour marker is continuing to rise and my haemoglobin level has fallen slightly. The rising tumour marker means my cancer is active; it’s early days, but one hopes the drugs I’m on will dampen down that activity. As for my haemoglobin, if the level falls much more, we could be looking at another blood transfusion. I’ve already had two since I was diagnosed with secondary breast cancer two years ago now (Documents C and D in your folder). I’ll have blood tests and see the consultant again in two weeks’ time, at the end of this first cycle of everolimus (brand name Afinitor) and exemestane (Aromasin). We can but hope but it seems unlikely that I’ll get as long as out of this line of treatment as I did from the other two. I was on the first line for a year and almost a year with the second.

I’ve been prescribed a stronger, steroid mouthwash. Let’s hope that between that and the one I’m already using – and also the ice lollies and chunks of chilled melon and the home-made mouthrinse of salt and bicarbonate of soda – they help alleviate the discomfort from the two sores I currently have and from any future ones that might appear. If the mouth sore situation doesn’t improve, it’s possible we’ll reduce the dose of the everolimus tablets for the next cycle.

For the purpose of the tape, the consultant and I once again discussed future scenarios, with me voicing concerns I had about various things and asking questions that deep down I knew were impossible to answer in any definitive way.

As for the lesions I had removed a few weeks ago from my right calf and the sole of my right foot, I get the stitches out next Tuesday and I have a teleconsultation a few days later when I’ll find out the results of the biopsies they did on the removed tissue.

I’m looking forward to getting back on the bike and to playing tennis once the stitches are out. Running had become quite difficult for me (Document E in your folder) so I’m not sure I’ll start that again, despite that fact that Parkrun – the free, timed, mass-participation, volunteer-led 5k run that pre-pandemic took place on Saturday mornings in parks around the UK and indeed in many other countries – is meant to be starting back in June. I ran my 100th Parkrun in January 2019 (Document F in your folder) and managed one more before the very first lockdown two months later. Despite my doubts about running, I would definately (😉) like to do at least one more Parkrun post-pandemic.

For those still in the dark over what TV series I refer to at the start of this blog and from which I’ve used multiple lines throughout, it is, of course, Line of Duty. I was helped by the fab bingo card that some joker put together.

None of what’s been going on cancer-wise has prevented me from enjoying the gradual lifting of the pandemic-related restrictions. That said, the novelty of meeting up for a drink and a meal in beer gardens when the temperature is in single digits is starting to wear off somewhat. Bring on May 17th, when we can socialise inside again. Rather excitingly, the boss and I have booked two nights away at the beginning of June. It’s only an hour or so’s drive from the house but we’ll catch up with friends we haven’t seen for many, many years. It’s the first of many UK-based trips we’re hoping to be able to make over the next few months and beyond.

Briefing over, readers. As you were.

PS Thanks to the friends who contacted me after I posted the original version of this to point out a couple of obvious Line of Duty-isms that I’d missed! They have been duly added.

The next phase

I saw my oncologist on Wednesday last week and we were finally in a position to decide what my next treatment would be.

I won’t go into the details regarding why it took a while for us to work out what the options were as it’s quite complicated. Suffice to say that on Friday night I started on my third line of treatment for the secondary breast cancer I was diagnosed with in Spring 2019. The other two lines each worked for around a year before the cancer – which has progressed but is still confined to my bones and my bone marrow – found a way of outwitting them. I’d be more than happy to get anything near a year with this treatment I’ve just started. As with any treatment, though, there’s no guarantee it will work at all.

The drugs I’m now on are everolimus (brand name Afinitor) and exemestane (Aromasin). They come in tablet form and I’ve to take one of each, once a day. One has to be taken with or after a meal, so I’ll take both after our evening meal. I will also still have Zometa, the bone-strengthening dug I have monthly via iv infusion.

One of the drugs can cause painful mouth sores so I’ve been given a mouth wash to use to help prevent the sores occurring or to alleviate the discomfort they’ll cause if they do occur.

I’d been off treatment since finishing my final cycle of capecitabine – the oral chemotherapy drug I’d been on – at the end of the first week of April. It’s a relief to be back on medication, even if the drugs I’m now taking come with a horribly long list of common side effects.

I have to admit that not being on any treatment freaked me out, at least initially. “Should I not start another round of capecitabine while we wait?”, I asked the consultant. No, she said, adding that there was little point in taking a drug that has essentially stopped working. “You’d get all the toxicity but none of the benefits.”

As for my new regimen, everolimus is a targeted therapy that blocks cancer growth . Exemestane is an oestrogen blocker. As I’ve explained before, the breast cancer I have is the most common type in that it thrives on oestrogen. Even when when post-menopausal, they still produce a certain amount of oestrogen.

Some of the potential side effects of these two new drugs are very common. Some are specific to everolimus and some to exemestane but I’ll just lump some of them together here: pneumonitis (inflammation of the lungs); mouth sores; taste changes; the usual increased risk of infection; muscle and/or joint pain; fatigue; feeling low; diarrhoea and/or constipation (go figure); liver and kidney dysfunction; sleep disruption; back pain; headaches; hot flushes; and pain, numbness and tingling in hands and fingers. And that’s just the ones classed as very common, which means they affect more than one in ten people taking them.

Of the above, I really wouldn’t notice the sleep disruption as I’m already sleeping badly as a result of the pain I have in my feet, a side effect of capecitabine and also of the chemo I had back in 2015 when I was being treated for primary breast cancer. I’d also been having some joint pain although this has eased off in recent days. To be honest, I also think I’ve been sleeping slightly better too (more on that below).

“I have a feeling that things are going to be tougher from here on in,” I said to the oncologist after I’d signed the consent form for everolimus and listened to her go through the potential side effects. She didn’t disagree but did say she hoped we could get to a place where I was “healthy and happy” on these two new drugs. Let’s hope we can. I honestly would never have thought I’d be so well (as it were) over the two years since my diagnosis. If we can somehow maintain some of that, great.

The next treatment after this one may well involve weekly iv chemo (it’s not quite weekly as you get every fourth week off). This would mean a massive change in terms of quality of life so there’s good reason to hope this latest regime keeps my cancer in check for a good long while.

I’ve seen a lot this past week of St George’s, the hospital in south west London where I’m being treated.

On Tuesday, I went to have blood taken for tests before seeing the consultant on Wednesday. If any of you have wondered what blood tests are done, take a look at what was ordered for me on one occasion recently.

Also on Wednesday, after seeing the consultant, I had a chest x-ray. Given that everolimus can affect your lungs, doing an x-ray now means they will have baseline images to compare with those from the chest x-ray I’ll have after my first 30-day cycle of everolimus and exemestane.

On Thursday, I popped in to pick up some painkillers from the pharmacy, together with some low-dose sleeping tablets. I’m extremely reluctant to take them but not being able to sleep despite taking strong painkillers is no laughing matter. I have so far only felt the need to take them once but I guess it’s good to know they’re there. There’s no point being a martyr about it.

On Friday, I went to pick up the new drugs I’m on; one of them wasn’t in stock when I’d been there earlier in the week. After that I went straight to the Dermatology Department to have two moles on the sole of my right foot and one of my right calf removed. It was done under local anaesthetic. I’m bandaged up nicely and I’d to “take it easy” and have my feet up for the first couple of days after the procedure. I can go on walks but I’ve not to do anything more strenuous than that for at least two weeks, depending on how the healing goes.

The dermatologist who did the procedure reiterated that they were removing the moles for precautionary measures and that they weren’t expecting to find anything nasty when it came to examining the removed tissue.

It’s been a pretty tough few weeks on the health front. On other fronts, though, things have been great. It’s like I’m living two parallel lives.

Work, for example, continues to be challenging and rewarding. Socially, I’ve played tennis and I’ve met up with lots of different sets of friends now that some of the pandemic-related restrictions have been lifted. We’re still not allowed to socialise indoors so we’ve met in pub beer gardens, in roof-top restaurants, in people’s own back gardens, in parks and in the countryside. Lots more gatherings are planned over the next few weeks. The next big thing will be going to visit and stay with friends and/or family around the country that I haven’t seen in ages once that’s allowed.

The weather’s been good.

We’ve done the planned mini revamp of our garden.

It’s Spring. Everything is in bloom and there are lots of baby birds at the pond on Tooting Common at the bottom of our road.

Friday was a beautiful day and I went on a short bike ride before going to the hospital.

I cycled to and around our four local “commons” – Streatham, Balham, Clapham and Wandsworth – to remind myself of how lucky we are to have these beautiful open green spaces so close at hand despite living in the busy capital.

Our boys were home from uni for a couple of weeks and seemed to be on good form – remarkable given the year they’ve had.

Their returning home was well timed as they – the younger one in particular – did the painting that was involved in the garden upgrade.

I’ve also had a haircut, using a voucher our sons gave me as a Christmas present. They bought it days before the latest lockdown that forced all hairdressers to close. They’ve only just re-opened. My hair hadn’t been that long for decades.

My husband continues to be amazing. I could not be more grateful.

Medically, I continue to be closely monitored. I have blood tests and a follow-up with the consultant in two weeks’ time, mid-way through the first cycle. Before then, though, I’m to have an MRI scan of my liver. The consultant wants to see whether anything suspect is happening there that might not have been picked up on the recent PET-CT scan I had.

Let’s see how it all goes. We have no other choice. In the meantime, we’ll get on with enjoying those parts of life over which we have some control.

Restrictions lifting and moving on to the next treatment

Pandemic restrictions are loosening and things are looking up on that front. 

We’ve been limited to meeting up with just one other person outside for exercise since December but now the rule of six – whereby you are allowed to gather outside in groups of up to six, including in your back garden – is back. I’m already taking advantage of it. 

In the fading sunshine one evening last week, my husband and I had beers on Tooting Common at the bottom of our street with some friends who live locally. 

We were all so happy to see each other and to be able to actually sit down and relax and enjoy each other’s company. We’ve been meeting up on Zoom and we’ve had some really fun evenings. However, as everyone knows, it’s really, really, really not the same as meeting up in person. This group largely comprises people who were parents of children who attended the primary school at the time our two sons went there. Before the pandemic, we’d meet up once a month in a local pub. Our boys are now 22 and 20 and it’s been a great way of keeping in touch and maintaining friendships. There are way more than six of us; we did more or less manage to arrange ourselves into groups of six. 

Talking of our sons, one is already back home from uni for the Easter holidays. The other is due back later today or tomorrow. We haven’t seen them in three months. That’s not long compared with a lot of people, I know, but this is longest we haven’t seen each other in person. On Easter Sunday, the four of us will have lunch in our garden with my two London-based nieces. Blankets may be involved, depending on the weather. 

Tomorrow morning I’m meeting up, again on the common, with some other good, local friends, all women this time. We’ll be having coffee and pastries rather than beer! Before the pandemic, we would meet up in each other’s houses once a month to catch up, watch a film and discuss it afterwards. We’ve continued throughout the pandemic, remotely. Someone chooses a film, we have a chat on Zoom then we each watch the film in our own homes and we catch up again afterwards on Zoom to discuss the film. It’s been great. There are five of us in this little group, and I think it’s safe to say we all very much appreciate, and take strength and comfort from, each other. Since last August, the group has experienced three bereavements. My mum died from an infection, one member lost her sister to dementia, and another her husband, tragically to COVID. 

Later on next week, I have a game of tennis planned with my four very special tennis buddies, followed by a birthday lunch for one of them hosted in the back garden of another of them. 

Also in our short-term plans is a drive an hour or so out of London to meet and have a walk with some friends we haven’t seen since last August.

Pubs can serve food outside to groups of up to six as of 12th April. Not only have we managed to make two evening reservations for that and the following week, some friends have invited us to celebrate the 60th birthday of one of them one evening that first week at a pub where they managed to get a reservation. Also, an early supper is in the diary one evening over the next two weeks with the tennis crowd. Finally, the BellaVelo cycling club I’m a member of has booked all the outdoor tables at pub on 21st April and I’m due to attend that too. There can be no mixing between tables but it will still be lovely. 

Finally, we’ve booked to eat out – inside!!! – with four friends on the very first day that’s allowed, 17th May. 

If I sound rather desperate to be out and about again and see people, it’s because I am.

We’re also having a mini revamp done of our garden. That is very exciting, especially as we’ll probably be spending a lot of time there this Spring and Summer.

Staying with the good news, I’m due to have my second dose of the Pfizer/BioNTech COVID-19 vaccine this coming Tuesday. It’s not known how much protection the vaccines provide for immunocompromised individuals such as myself, but it has to be higher than zero, so that’s something. 

On the downside, I didn’t get the best results from my most recent set of scans. 

There are some positives. My secondary breast cancer is still confined to my bones and bone marrow; it hasn’t spread to organs such as my liver or lungs. Also, the cancer that’s in my spine isn’t exerting pressure on my spinal cord. 

The bad news is that the cancer has spread within my bones. It is showing up on scans in places that were clear before. “Disease progression with widespread metastatic disease activity now apparent”, reads the report from the combined PET-CT scan of my body from the top of my spine to my mid thighs. The MRI scan I had of my spine shows “widespread diffuse abnormal marrow signal throughout the spine, in keeping with metastatic infiltration”. That said, “overall appearances [of the spine] are relatively stable” compared to the previous MRI scan I had, almost a year ago.

In addition to there having been progression, the relevant tumour marker level in my blood is continuing to rise and my haemoglobin level has been falling. This means it’s time to come off capecitabine, the oral chemo I’ve been on for the past 10 or 11 months and move on to what will be my third line of treatment since my diagnosis of secondary breast cancer two years ago.

There are a couple or perhaps even several treatment options, each of which comes with its own delightful set of potential side effects. We’re still working out what is best and what is possible. I see the oncologist again this coming week, when we will have some more information to inform what the next steps will be. In the meantime, I’m still on capecitabine.

In light of the scan results, we made a change to the other treatment I’d been on.

With bone mets, the cancer weakens your bones. You’re therefore given one or other of two drugs that are aimed at reducing the risk of what are known as “skeletal-related events”, that is fractures, spinal cord compression, bone pain requiring palliative radiotherapy, and orthopaedic surgery. 

In my case, as well as taking capecitabine tablets morning and evening on a one-week on, one-week off basis, I’d been having monthly injections of denosumab (brand name Xgeva), one of the two above-mentioned bone-strengthening drugs.

On seeing the scan results, my oncologist changed from me from denosumab back to Zometa/zoledronic acid, which has the same aim as denosumab but works in a different way. The idea is that trying something different, even though I’ve been on Zometa before, will have a positive effect. I’m fine with that. My position is that almost anything is worth a go, despite the fact that long-term use of Zometa is associated with a higher risk of dental problems than denosumab, such as sore gums and tooth loosening.

I’d only just got used to giving myself the denosumab injections at home. Now it’s back to the treatment day unit at the hospital every four weeks for an iv infusion of Zometa. The procedure only takes half an hour so I guess I shouldn’t complain too much. However, I hadn’t been hooked up to a drip for more than a year (other than to have a blood transfusion last July) and I have to say it felt weird.

Also, because I don’t do things by half, I’m to have two freckles/moles/lesions/whatever removed and biopsied. The dermatologists who examined me said they don’t think they’re suspicious but they advise removal given my current situation and my history of melanoma. 

One lesion is on the sole of my right foot and the other is on my right calf, near the scar from where I had a microinvasive melanoma removed in 2017. The latter has been there forever; the one on the sole of my foot is new. I contacted my GP, who referred me to the dermatology department at the hospital where I’m having my breast cancer treatment. “I’m here so often I should bring a sleeping bag,” I said to my oncologist when I told her about this latest news. I thought it was funny.

I’m waiting to hear when my appointment to remove the moles will be. 

Since I completed my big athletic achievement in early March, I’ve been taking it easy on the exercise front to give my poor feet a rest after subjecting them to such a pounding in January and February. The throbbing - a side effect of capecitabine combined with pre-existing damage from the chemo I had in 2015 – has definitely subsided but it is so much worse at night than during the day. I could count on one hand the number of proper sleeps I’ve had this month. Getting up in the middle of the night to wrap my feet in a cold, wet towel in an effort to sooth the throbbing is not an uncommon event.

I’ve also been feeling knackered – probably due to a mix of a lack of sleep, the cancer having spread, a low haemoglobin level, general pandemic-related general fed-upness, and – perhaps ironically – not doing much exercise other than walking. Seriously, exercise is known to help reducing cancer-related fatigue. And as we all know, if we can exercise, it does make us feel better.

I’ll give the running a rest for another while, but hopefully I’ll start getting some proper bike rides in soon. As for what playing tennis will do for my feet, I have no idea, but I want to play and so I will. I’m not sure my feet can be much worse than they have already been.

Finishing off, we’ll just have to see how it goes with whatever new treatments I end up on. I was on each of the two previous lines of treatment for almost a year. Let’s see how long I last on this next one. Keep your fingers crossed for me.