Number 6 of taxol/herceptin done and dusted. Halfway there. Physically I feel good, emotionally I'm exhausted. The stress of scans and what they may or may not mean coupled with the everyday family/work/life/money stressors has stretched me.  At times I feel at the edge of breaking point. 

I worry about my treatment and if it's going to work.  I worry about our finances and if we have enough money. I worry about my husband and his health. I worry about my mum and her health. I worry about my children and how they are coping not only with my diagnosis but life in general. Puberty, high school, new jobs, bullies, going back and forth from one house to another (we have shared care at 50% each) it all takes its toll.  

My middle child tells me she is having nightmares about me dieing and when we approach her father about her being able to spend more time at my house he stonewalls and then is non receptive so the poor thing is then confused and torn between us both.  You'd think that in this situation people would be more caring and accommodating to a child who is afraid her mother is going to die.  I guess not.  The whole situation tears me up inside.

My eldest child is being bullied at work by colleagues who for some reason have taken a dislike to her and who leave her alone after the centre has closed with a child who hasn't been picked up and doesn't speak a word of English! Research your child care centers people! There are some dodgy operators out there!

My youngest appears on the surface to be coping the best out of the 3! She is the most emotional of the 3 but appears to be taking everything in her stride. I don't know maybe it's all there underneath.  Hard to tell.  Even harder to know how to deal with this stuff.

What is the right way? How do I get them through this? 

From frying pan to fire

So it's week. 5 of taxol/herceptin.  I've gone back to work, had an MRI of my head and now have to have a bone scan.  Am currently feeling very scared and sorry for myself.
I've been back at work for about 4 weeks now.  The first 2 weeks were horrendous and I was ready to resign.  I felt very overwhelmed and was constantly being confronted with my own cancer and mortality.  I was trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do for a crust and was considering all sorts of things including working on the casual pool.
The headache which started after the last cycle of AC continued and had days where it was constant and freaking me out.  I wasn't sleeping properly and was constantly worrying about my brain and whether there was cancer in it.  I told my oncologist and she said she didn't think I had brain mets but would send me for an MRI anyway.  Unfortunately the scan was booked for the following week so I had 7 excruciating days to endure.  The headache did ease off which made me feel slightly comforted.  Slightly! The day of the MRI I was wound up tight like a spring.  I had my chemo then off we went.  On the way I popped a lorazepam to help me relax.  At the scan I had to strip down to my undies and wear a paper gown.  Then I lay on the narrow little bed and they popped a set of headphones on me and  a funny cage thing over my head. I don't really know how long the scan took I just remember my mantra of "clear brain, clear brain, clear brain" and the clunking of magnets and whirring of the machine.  My doctor said she would call me with the results when she got them.  When I got home I slept for about 3 hours and woke with no missed calls on my phone.

The next day at work I was a bit of a mess.  But only internally. Externally unless you knew me you wouldn't know anything was wrong.  All day I waited for the phone call. And all day it didn't come. At 5 pm I couldn't wait any longer so I texted my doc and asked if she had my results yet.  She called me back and told me that I had a brain and it had no cancer in it.  This was great news!  Hooray!
Still I had moments of uneasiness as if something wasn't quite right.  I kept having thoughts of what if she read the wrong one, or what if they made a mistake, or what if there was something but she didn't want to tell me over the phone, she just wanted to wait until clinic to tell me personally.  I pushed these thoughts out of my mind and just enjoyed the fact that my brain was free of cancer.  I was sleeping better, actually enjoying work again, I had been given BMT to look after which was really good as it was one more step away from straight oncology which made it a little easier to deal with.

The morning of chemo while I was getting ready, I had a moment of anxiety about my MRI.  It passed fairly quickly and I didnt give it a 2nd thought.  Then when I was there, my onc says to me, I want to see you and the bottom fell out of my gut and I could feel the hot prickles on my face.  What about I ask? Your treatment she tells me.  Huh? I am confused.  I follow her into the office and she tells me there is something on my MRI. I feel sick, what is it? She says the brain is clear and looks good but at the base of my skull, a small bone called the clivus has lit up on the scan.  They have reported that it is most likely red marrow but could be bone metastases.  I now have to have a bone scan.  Now I feel sick. And numb. And fucking angry. Up and down rollercoaster of emotions. I feel like I am on the edge of freaking out.  How much more? I go through thinking i am going to die, to having a reprieve, to thinking I am going to die again! God help me! The girls in the clinic and my breast care nurse want to talk. But I really don't want to.  What is there to say? They're all going to say its probably nothing.  The likelihood of it being anything is small. Yes but the likelihood of me having cancer in the first place was small too.

Thankfully my bone scan was booked for the Wednesday, 2 days after my chemo.  I don't think I could have gone another week waiting like I did for the MRI. I tell my husband and for the first time I can tell he's worried as he is very quiet and doesn't try and reassure me that it's probably nothing like he usually does. Then I tell my mum and I know she is really upset. I tell my eldest daughter, and the younger girls overhear me talking about it so I tell them too.  My youngest seems angry and asks why didn't they do all of this in the beginning? I explain to her that it's not normally done  unless you have positive lymph nodes because the likelihood of it having spread is very minimal and they don't like to expose you to the radiation unless it's really needed.

Tuesday at work is a complete washout.  I tell the everyone and they are all suitably sympaetic.  I don't really end up doing much that day, I appear to be reading the same thing over and over again without actually processing anything.  That night after everyone has gone to bed I am still up.  I am thinking about death, mine in particular.  I am wondering what it will be like. Where will I die? I don't really want to die in hospital with people I know looking after me.  Will I go to a hospice? I think I'd like to die here at home.  These thoughts are awful I know but I can't stop them.

Wednesday morning D-Day.  Scan is booked for 3, have to have the radioactive tracer injected at 1.  I get up, do some exercises then take the dogs for a walk. I have some lunch and off we go.  We get to the imaging rooms and the doctor tells us that their machine is broken and we have the option of rebooking or going to st George private.  Ummmmm, private please! I ain't waiting any longer!
So he gives me my injection and off we go.

I am nervous but also strangely calm and resolute. No matter the outcome I will fight this fucker with everything in my being.  The 5 year overall survival for bone mets isn't very high and i think the 10 year OS is almost non existant but I will be in that percentage. I will do everything I can to live as long as I can.

I'm called in and am lying on the table. My eyes are closed and my mantra is going through my head over and over. Cancer free bones, cancer free bones.  I'm getting good at these mantras! They are a part of my daily ritual now. The scan takes about 10 minutes and then the nuclear med technician says to me "all good, I'll just show the films to the doctor." all good? WTF does that mean? Are they clear? I feel a surge of hope and try to push it down. Not yet, we are not in the clear just yet.  As I'm walking out the doctor has my films and asks me a few questions about the history etc. I know this man, he is the specialist that would review the PET scans for the lymphoma MDT. A million years ago in another life I was part of that team discussing scans and biopsies and the treatments for patients...... I wonder if he recognizes me? I highly doubt it. He tells me the scan looks pretty good other than some arthritis in my back, there doesn't appear to be anything abnormal. Oh dear god I want to hug him!  But again I will wait for the official report.  I go and wait in the waiting room again, I have to have another scan of my head to check out the clivus.  I tell my husband what he said.  He is relieved. I am slightly but a, still waiting for the official report.  I have the second scan and we wait for the report.  Andrew says to me you can't open it, it's for the doctor! Ha! I tell him! Watch me! And as soon as I get it, I tear that sucker open. Blah blah, kyphosis, scoliosis, yes I know that, conclusion: no evidence of skeletal metastases! Thank you thankyou thankyou god! I text everyone to tell them. I feel like I've been reprieved from death row!
That night, I pop the the bottle of Moët I was given for my birthday and my husband and I have a drink to celebrate.
Unfortunately, the anxiety doesn't go that easily and the uneasy feeling lingers a little longer. I won't be truly settled until my oncologist sees it and is happy. I have to keep reading the report to settle myself. It's not that I don't trust the radiologists skill and opinion I think it's just a residue of anxiety that is hanging around.