The bump in the road

I had my final FEC chemo at the end of November. I remember feeling unwell much quicker than usual with this one. My neutrophil levels had been much lower than usual at my pre chemo bloods so I expected this one to be tougher.
I had a few visitors in the next few days which cheered me up but I was feeling more tired than ever and small tasks were becoming extremely difficult.
The wound from my mastectomy had never healed very well but at each check up my surgeon didn’t seem particularly worried so I wasn’t.
Well, I wasn’t until I woke up one morning and I realised my top was soaked. I got to the bathroom to assess the situation and I saw that a large section of the wound had opened and A LOT of hot fluid was coming out. I woke Steph up shouting “I’m leaking!!” at him. Poor guy, he’s heard a lot of things from me that he probably didn’t ever think he would (including the all too often asked question “have you seen my boob lying around?”)
So, we made our way to the hospital where several nurses looked at me and my awful wound in horror. I think I saw everyone who was working there that night and it was agreed that I really needed to see my surgeon. They cleaned me up and sent me off to wait on him getting in touch. I was given a course of antibiotics but around 4 days into the course I began to feel really sick and faint. I changed my dressing and realised it looked much worse. It was definitely infected and looked pretty worrying. I phoned the chemo emergency number and was told to make my way to ward 34 at the Vic in Kirkcaldy. By the time I arrived, I was finding it difficult to stand and even speaking was becoming exhausting.
I had bloods and swabs taken and, as my temperature was above 39 degrees, I was admitted and told I needed iv antibiotics straight away. Stephen left for the night and my cannula nightmare began.
First of all, they sent a 12 year old (I guessed) doctor in to insert the cannula. I told her my veins were becoming difficult but she assured me it’d be fine. As she was putting it in, I heard her say “oops”. Probably the last thing you want to hear during any procedure. She then decided it was OK, set up the iv and left the room. Within moments, I knew what her “oops” was about. I could see my arm starting to swell as the fluid from the iv began to filter into my tissue rather than the vein it was intended for. I pressed the call button and a nurse had to quickly get the cannula out and manually push the fluid back out. It took another 3 or 4 attempts to cannulate me and by this point, I was so upset they decided to give me a sedative so I’d get some sleep.


One of many!


My crazy fluid hand after a failed cannula attempt

The ward I was on was specifically for cancer patients and it was frightening. Sometimes I could hear screaming and crying. Mostly, I heard nothing. I was in isolation because of my infection (known as neutropenic sepsis) so I rarely saw anyone. The nurses would come in to change my iv every few hours and now and then I would see a doctor. Any time I saw them walking in with the YELLOW TRAY OF DOOM I knew that meant they’d be trying, unsuccessfully, to find another vein and I’d immediately burst into tears and beg them not to. Begging doesn’t get you far in there!

I was unable to eat, had no inclination to drink, people talked in whispers around me and for the first time since I was diagnosed, I thought I might die.
My mum and my sister had flu that week and were not allowed to visit me. I talked to them on the phone but found it really upsetting that I couldn’t just get a cuddle from them. Steph came in as often as he could and was even allowed to take me to the Queen Margaret hospital to see my surgeon rather than sending me in an ambulance. Those few hours of being out of that room were wonderful. I was so thankful for them.
On my second visit to see my surgeon, he looked worried. He told me my reconstruction had been rejected and the tissue was dying around it. He explained that I needed surgery to remove it soon or I wouldn’t get better.
So, a few days (and many more antibiotics) later, I was being prepped for my 2nd operation.


Getting ready for my 2nd op

This photo sums it all up pretty well. It’s hard to look back on this now because I can easily remember feeling like I might not make it. I kept a positive facade but I made sure I said ‘I Love You’ to everyone before I went under. Just in case.

When I woke up, I felt so relieved. I was told everything had gone well, the infection had been cleared out and I had a shiny new implant to take home just in time for Christmas!

With thoughts of surgery, chemo and infection behind me, Stephen came to take me home. It was wonderful.


Being home for Christmas: the best present ever!


Christmas with my family

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