Week Four - Treatment Begins

The phoney war is over, the real thing has begun. 

Before each round of treatment I need to have a blood test to make sure I am ready and able to take on the barrage of chemicals. So on Monday morning I drove across to the hospital before 8am as instructed, easily parked(!) and tracked down the blood room. I had been told beforehand that I wouldn't need an appointment, so was a little shocked to see a line of about ten people and massive signs saying 'NO WALK INS - APPOINTMENT ONLY'.

Ah. 

Well, there are a few positives to take from this situation and despite feeling like one of those terrible people with the queue jumper tickets at Alton Towers, I strode in through the door and told the blood man that I was so sorry, but I have chemo starting on Wednesday but no appointme... don't worry sir, sit down we'll see you next. 

Jackpot!

So I was in and out within 30 mins, avoiding even having to pay parking. 

Suckers. 

(The other positives we have discovered is free prescriptions for five years, and free parking full stop at the hospital whilst I'm being treated).

Tuesday was when things got interesting. When I say interesting, I mean not good.

The dreaded PICC line, which I have been honestly dreading more than anything so far, was scheduled to be put in from 9.45am. We briefly met another of the haematology consultants beforehand for a quick check in, and then made our way to the Combined Day Unit. After a little wait, we were taken in to a private room and talked through the procedure. Essentially, my arm pretended it was a pregnant lady for a few minutes as the nurses performed an ultrasound on it to check out my veins, locating which one was the most suitable as well as measuring the distance from point of entry (20cm up from my elbow) to somewhere in my chest. 

The line was 39cm.

I had an injection of local anaesthetic on the area around the entry mark, and the process begun. Whilst it wasn't painful (there are no nerve endings within your veins apparently), it felt a bit weird. She got it in to place fairly easily but began having problems joining the line to the relevant other tubes outside of my arm. Some pretty forceful movement later, it seemed like there was a bit of an issue - especially when she said there was a 'large haematoma' around the entrance.

WHAT IS A HAEMATOMA? AND WHY IS IT LARGE?!

(It's just a bruise, but Jesus Christ).

As you can imagine, my body has gone in to meltdown at this point. I'm clammy, I'm hot and I really, really don't want to be doing this anymore.

There was only one thing for it - remove it and start again on my other arm. 

Oh, you know how I said there aren't any nerve endings in your veins? Well there are some OUTSIDE your veins. So removing the line set off the biggest alarm in my head I may ever have experienced. Everything went black for a split second as my body radiated with pain. 

Meanwhile, poor Evie is sat at the end of the room seeing me writhe around in pain (legs EVERYWHERE) and lots of blood visibly spouting out of my arm. 

Before we move on to the right arm, this is the state of my left arm some 48 hours later...

LOL.

I watched the Fury Wilder fight on Sunday morning and I'd be AMAZED if either have a bruise that can beat that. Hell, I've been hit by a firework and the bruise wasn't that bad!

Once my body had semi-cooled down, we started again and miraculously this went perfectly without any dramas. The only issue being it was now on my dominant arm which isn't ideal, but better than having to go in through my leg or something equally dreadful. It should be said, I nearly fainted three times in trying to get back up on to my feet after this, aided only by plenty of orange squash and two individually wrapped packets of bourbons. It's always good when the people around you tell you that you turned a funny shade of grey...

After an X-Ray and review with the doctor to make sure it was in the right place, we were allowed home, relieved... if not feeling like a train had hit me.

A very uncomfortable sleep followed (I like to sleep on my sides...), and then the real thing was here. Funnily enough, after the nonsense with the line going in, I wasn't anywhere near as apprehensive. We were taken in to a room with 5 or 6 big chairs in and tried to get comfortable. 

After an initial flap, my nurse found my notes and wheeled over a little cabin stuffed to the rafters with my drugs in. She cleaned my line and redressed the entry point and we were ready! As mentioned last week, there are 4 components to ABVD and each are given to me separately.

The first came in a massive syringe of bright red liquid. 'This will make your pee go red' she told me. Oh yeh?! Glad someone told me before I had the biggest fright of my life a few hours later. She injected that in to my line cannula thing over a few minutes, before the next one, a smaller injection. The next two were inputted via drips, one taking 10 minutes and the next taking about 40 mins. Then I was done, smashing 6 bourbons and a litre of orange squash in the process!

Sent home with a cocktail of drugs that wouldn't look out of place on The Wire, I generally felt ok and managed some toast for lunch. As the day went on, I gradually felt worse and worse. The only way I can describe it is like the darkest depths of a hangover, just without the alcohol dread. I had a few very trippy naps and felt utterly drained whilst awake. Despite great excitement for plowing through some box sets and books, I couldn't do either.

I knew this was coming, but it was tough to face up to. I saw an interview on the One Show (swear I watch this more than anything on TV), with the poor guy from The Wanted who has a terminal brain tumour. He had to have radiotherapy every day for six months. I'd had one day of a far less invasive treatment and I was struggling. I couldn't see how I could do this alternate weeks for 11 more goes, let alone each day. But day one was always going to be tough, both physically and mentally, and it didn't disappoint. 

I think I was asleep by 10, and had a drifty sleep till 5ish before going down stairs to try and break the cycle. I couldn't, so eventually cracked open my many pills to get the ball rolling.

(Great thanks to Evie for my cheat sheet, Dad for printing and Mum for delivering... TEAM!)

I then fell asleep again for a bit, after having a tasteless bowl of frosties because you sure as hell don't want to consume all of them without eating something.

This morning I woke up feeling a little better than yesterday, whilst still groggy and on the hangover scale. I have slept on and off for most of the day today, and up until about an hour ago when I popped a couple of afternoon steroids I thought that the blog was going to be beyond me today, I've hulked up like the all the wrestlers in the '90's and have had a sudden burst of energy!

The next task is to try and have a shower as I am beginning to become aware of myself, if you know what I mean. As I have to keep the line dry, the initial advice was to cling film it, which sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, so we have bought a very amusing gadget to help with this instead.

I am 1/8th the Michelin Man! 

And it has appeared to have worked too, incredibly.

So that's good from a smell and general hygiene front for the next 23 weeks and five days.

One last thing before I have a snooze. Yesterday, Bournemouth and Welsh International footballer revealed that he had been diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma Stage 2 just like me, aged 24. His Twitter has exploded with support from the football community and helping to get the disease front and centre of people's awareness. I tweeted a message of support to David and my Twitter exploded yesterday with likes, people wishing me well, and most incredibly - a huge number of people who have had this and beaten it to enjoy normal lives following. That is some motivation.

The last few days have done what I expected them to do - really hit this home. I am ill and do need the treatment to get better. It is shit and I am going to feel awful at times, but it is a war and war's are there to be won. And I will win.

HUGE thanks to everyone sending me messages of support and love this week, and especially Evie, my Mum and Dad for waiting on me hand and foot these last few days. I appreciate it more than you know.

So, what's next? Try and ride out this storm and hopefully begin to feel better during the weekend. I would like to get my hand back in at work to some degree next week (working from home) if I can to provide some normality, but we'll see. The next chemo session is on the 27th so I am lucky in a way that I can recover (hopefully!) in between before going again.

See you next time.