I feel like I ought to update my blog as I’ve been a little quiet of late but to be honest there’s really not a lot to say. I’m still in limbo. I’ve had two doses of Pembro (third one due next week) and thankfully the second dose didn’t lead to the horrid joint pain I got after the first one so I’m hoping that was just a freaky one-off. I seem to be quite tired for a few days after treatment and I’ve developed another large splodge of vitiligo on my arm but other than that no other side effects so I’m relieved to be getting off quite lightly but also a little nervous that limited side effects might mean the treatment isn’t working….. but it’s probably best not to go there. For now, I’m trying very hard not to worry until I’m told there’s something to worry about but to be honest the fears do keep bubbling up. I’m very frightened that Pembro won’t work for me and that when I have my scan next month it’ll show that all the existing tumours are growing and that there are more. Physically, I feel fine but there are the odd niggles which are just as likely to be paranoia as anything else but it’s hard not to worry that a slight ache in my back is down to tumours in the lymph nodes growing because that’s what happened back in 2013. I also know that these pains could just as easily be the fact that my back is always a bit shit and that some of the exercise I do can lead to various aches and pains and actually that’s almost certainly what’s going on but then I spent the summer of 2013 saying something very similar. However the big difference is that at that time my bloods weren’t ok, I wasn’t eating and I felt dreadful and that’s definitely not how things are right now. The problem is that these thoughts go whizzing around in my head all the time. It’s an endless cycle of – should I worry about the back ache?…. Is it down to the exercise?…. Probably…… Isn’t that what I thought in 2013?…… Ah, but there was loads of other stuff wrong then too…….So, probably ok then……… It’s quite exhausting.
However, despite the simmering paranoia, I am determined that this period between starting treatment and my first scan can’t be wasted. I am doing lots of nice things – catching up with friends, lunches, galleries, lots of reading and generally enjoying my life as a lady of leisure. It was Andy’s birthday last week and like all birthdays and milestones it felt precious and I love that I was spending it with him. I shall never be complacent about how lucky I am that my months have stretched into years and so every occasion deserves to be enjoyed.
As I’m sure you all know the skin is our biggest organ but my skin and I really don’t get on very well. In the battle between us it seems that my skin is winning. Six years ago a simple little mole decided to get all cancerous and that has led to surgery, lymph node removal, and the battle scars to show for it. As well as that, the treatments that I’ve had to combat the cancer have led to further moles being removed, a recurrence of my childhood eczema, generally very dry itchy skin, occasional delightful facial flushing and increasing areas of vitiligo – in which the pigment disappears leaving white splodges.
To be fair – with the exception of the actual cancer (which is a bastard) the rest of it is all pretty manageable but today I decided it was my turn to take a bit of control and so I now have 3 very beautiful cedar trees and 4 very tiny little birds tattooed onto my upper arm. To me, they are unbelievably pretty but they are more than that – they are a symbol of life and hope and just for once – me being in control of my skin.
(Sorry it’s the not prettiest picture. It was only done a couple of hours ago so needs a little time to settle down).
Feel as though I ought to have a little more to say for myself at the moment having been so blog-gy over the last month or so. However, it feels as though life is slightly on hold – which is pretty ironic under the circumstances.
As I mentioned in my last post I had my first dose of Pembro and the hospital experience couldn’t have gone more smoothly. Unfortunately I then felt pretty rough for 24 hours afterwards as was very tired and also managed to produce pain in pretty much every joint in my body, even my face hurt. Thankfully it wasn’t too bad and also didn’t last terribly long but it did take me a little by surprise. My ‘team’ at the hospital don’t seem to think it can have been a reaction to the Pembro itself as it came on so quickly and they’ve suggested it was either a response to the infusion or a random viral thing. I’m not convinced but either way, happy to be feeling much better again and will be better prepared next time!
So other than that, I really don’t have a lot to say for myself. I think until I have a few more infusions and my scan in mid July it’s hard to say how I feel and it’s very hard to make any plans. I’d very much like to book a summer holiday for the four of us but that’ll have to wait until I know whether the treatment is working so instead I’m spoiling myself with treats like lunches with friends, massages and lots of reading in my lovely new garden. Also the little rush of treats and the fact that Andy and my delightful friends have kept my house full of flowers has given me plenty to smile about. I have no choice but to live in the now and there are very many advantages to it but it doesn’t stop me really wanting to book a summer holiday and make some plans…..
I’d very much like to add some more intrepid guinea pig pictures but think the title of this blog is pretty telling… not feeling especially pioneering, not allowed to be adventurous, instead just treading water but hoping that no one empties the pool in any great hurry. (So happy with my idiom/metaphor – although didn’t know that’s what it was – feel much chirpier now).
I have to admit to fact that I’ve been feeling pretty sorry for myself. I feel sad that I was diagnosed with cancer at 34, sadder still that I was told it was terminal at 36 and pretty gloomy that the treatment that I’d hoped might be a miracle just isn’t – at least not for me.
I’ve been trying very hard to count my blessings and having my boys, my family and my lovely friends makes that pretty easy but I remain phenomenally disappointed that I’ve got to start treatment again.
Unlike the initial drug trial, and the subsequent drug rechallenge, I’m not totally confident that Pembro is the right choice. There are such constraints as to what I can do next so it’s not like I have menu of treatments and I get to choose but there were other routes. I’m very aware that there’s currently a lot of research into the best sequencing of melanoma drugs as well as developing better systems to test which drugs will work for which patients but it’s not ready yet and so the decisions I’m making are basically guesswork which bearing in mind their importance is pretty daunting.
Despite my gloominess, having just has my first Pembro infusion, I thankfully do feel better. Physically you wouldn’t know there was anything wrong with me as the cancer is currently symptom-less so no change there but mentally I feel better now that I’m actually doing something.
The nurses couldn’t have been kinder at the hospital today. The cannula went in first time – always a bonus and the infusion itself was ridiculously speedy. It’s only 30 minutes and the saline flush at the end only adds a further 7 minutes. The longest bit of the day was the period from the 9am blood tests to the 1pm arrival of Pembro on the ward.
As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, Claire and I developed a set of very strict rules which stated that until I was safely cannulated and plumbed into the treatment we couldn’t reward ourselves with cups of tea and chocolate. It dates back to 2011/12 when I did the Avastin trial and it’s hard not to get a little obsessive and superstitious about always doing things the same way. This all worked pretty well with the previous drugs as I tended to be hooked up for anywhere between 1 and 3 hours – today however – the 37 minutes left us in disarray. In that time we had to wolf down our sandwiches and tea and chocolate and were both left feeling pretty sick. So my biggest problem today is trying to figure out a whether we can break the ‘rules’ and rejig all the timings!
On our way out of the hospital we bumped into my old trial nurse and she has managed to reassure me that firstly my choice of treatment is right and secondly that whilst there’s no miracle cure for me perhaps my immune system just needs to be kicked into action every so often! So feeling cheerier than I was this morning when I wrote the first half of this post on my way to the hospital, a little sick from the excess of food and pretty knackered but basically all good.
So the last few days since my crappy scan I’ve been pretty up and down. Despite expecting the news it still takes a bit of getting used to. It’s a stark reminder of the realities of living with Stage IV melanoma. I’ve been truly grateful that my months have turned into years but I’m greedy enough to want more years and better still some kind of miracle that keeps the bastard at bay for good and so the news that the cancer is once again progressing was very unsettling. I’d very much like my melanoma to stop lurking around my organs and get the message that I’m really not a fan but so far, despite bombarding it with the very best of treatments, my immune system can’t seem to quite grasp a way of keeping it permanently at bay.
So, since last Wednesday, Andy and I have been weighing up the various options and calling in help from my very knowledgeable friends about what I should do next. In a perfect (albeit cancer-y) world I’d be given a menu of treatments and would be able to pick my way through them as and when I need them. Sadly this is so far from the truth – there are trials and treatments and research into sequencing and what might work best for who but it’s simply not ready yet. My choices are actually pretty limited and so this morning’s decision came down to whether to push for the tiny possibility that my health insurance company will pay for another round of ipi/nivo despite the total lack of precedent, or data, or fact that they’ve already paid for it once – or to opt for an anti-pd1 monotheraphy – either Nivolumab or Pembroliziumab.
In the end, with some input from my doctor, I’ve opted to go for Pembro. The advantage of it over Nivo for me is that it still leaves a tiny chance of getting ipi/nivo at some point in the future. Also it’s 3 weekly infusions rather than fortnightly so it’ll require a little less hospital time.
I’m relieved to have a plan. If BUPA approve it in time I’m due to start next Monday and it’ll then be ongoing if it works and if I don’t get severe side effects. In theory, in that I did suffer from grade 3 side effects when on nivolumab in 2015, there is a risk of recurrence but then all of the drugs come with risks so am not unduly concerned about that.
According to my doctor there’s a good chance it’ll work and the drugs I’ve had previously shouldn’t have a negative impact. Hopefully it’ll buy me more time and time, as well as being very wonderful, also allows for more research and more information and hopefully will make the next decision I have to make slightly less fraught with uncertainty.
Last week my boys asked about my scan results and I was able to tell them that the results weren’t perfect but not a disaster and that the last treatment had kept the cancer at bay and so to stop it progressing again I need more treatment. When I collect them later I can tell them that this is the plan. I’ll start treatment next Monday and will keep on going every 3 weeks and that ought to keep everything in check. This is enough information for them. It’s true – but there are implications that I don’t need to elaborate on to them. The treatment may not work, it may make me ill, it’s likely to make me tired and from my last experience it just just takes the edge off how much I want to do but I’m still very lucky to have options and for now I’m just going to hope for the best!
So for now, onwards and upwards. It’s going to be 3 weekly trips to The Marsden and I’ll have to start building up my supplies of chocolate to accompany my infusions. Treats are an absolute necessity.
It goes without saying that I’d much rather be writing a happy cheery good news post about my latest scan but sadly it’s not to be. To my great sadness it seems that my miraculous treatment has once again run out magic and one of the tumours in the lymph nodes has grown.
It’s been over a year since my last treatment so for once I’m not shocked by the bad news but I’m terribly disappointed. It’s hard not to hope that the treatments I’ve already had will be more durable but it clearly isn’t the case for me. I’m just going have to keep throwing more treatments at this bastard of a cancer.
The plans is as yet undecided as it turns out what seems logical to me doesn’t fit neatly into what’s possible. I’d imagined that when I found myself in this situation I’d move onto the much delayed Nivolumab monotherapy and hope that that would keep things at bay for a while. However, it turns out that if I do that – then it’ll preclude the tiniest possibility of getting a further ipi/Nivolumab re-challenge approved in the future.
So, Andy and I have got until Monday to work out what would be best. I’m lucky in that there are still options but there are also huge constraints based on what will and won’t be approved, what my hospital favours, what the best order to do things is and the fact that there’s no precedent for my situation. It’s not a lot of fun being the data when what you want is answers.
Clearly going to need a whole portfolio of guinea pig pictures for this blog!
When I first started writing this blog I explained that I had huge reservations about doing so as wasn’t really sure what the purpose of it was. It seemed to me that there were so many cancer blogs lurking online and I didn’t have anything original or interesting to say. Of the few blogs that I follow the ones that I really engage with are generally beautifully written, or have a particularly brilliant and insightful way of viewing a situation or I know the blogger. In the third instance – knowing the blogger – they happen to be beautifully written and insightful too! So, with that in mind, I don’t really feel like I add anything to the genre. However, I find writing about my situation incredibly cathartic and so the reason I’ve continued to write is an entirely selfish one. I find it useful to give myself time to just sit and write about what I’m feeling and as an added bonus it’s a way for me to look back at my ‘melanoma adventure’. For the record – the name of the blog was a joke but it’s kind of stuck as I haven’t worked out how to change it or what to change it to!
For the first year of writing the blog I only told one person that I was doing it and where to find it and it’s taken me a really long time to point more people towards it and I’m still a little reticent. I have huge doubts about my writing ability and as I’ve said before I really don’t have anything new to say. However, people have been very generous and kind about my blog – possibly because it’s hard being mean to people with cancer but hopefully it’s because once in a while I actually have something interesting to say. I very much like the fact that no one actually has to read it. Unlike getting stuck in a conversation about my melanoma with me and finding it awkward to escape people can chose whether or not they actually want to read the damn thing! The main bit of feedback that I’ve had is that it’s useful to get an insight into what’s actually going on in my head and so, with that in mind, here’s the muddled, spaghetti-like mess I’m living with at the moment.
In my last post I wrote about my impending scan. It’s still impending…and the results are still a fortnight away so no news there. I attempted to explain why this next scan is feeling particularly daunting – it’ll be the longest I’ve gone without treatment since the stage IV diagnosis – and I hoped that by writing it down I could put the nerves aside and just get through the next couple of weeks. Unfortunately, things haven’t worked out like that – the nerves aren’t subsiding and instead I feel like I’ve hit a bit of a wall. Physically there are no obvious problems, no sinister signs that the cancer has progressed but then it often arrives unannounced so that in itself is not a huge comfort but mentally I feel wrung out. The pattern of my life, of my immediate family’s lives, for last 3 and half years has been dictated by melanoma, by appointments, treatments and scans. Initially I lived my life in 6 week blocks and now, in theory that’s moved to 12 week blocks of time. As I’ve said before, I’ve learned to take advantage of this somewhat disjointed way of living – there are more treats and far more ‘life’s too short not to…’ moments and that’s worked incredibly well and I’m sure it’ll continue to do so but right now it feels exhausting.
It feels hard to explain what it’s like to live what is essentially a very surreal life. There are many wonderful things about it but at the very heart of it is the knowledge that I’m busy harbouring a cancer that without treatment would have killed me three years ago and that whilst all appears to be well at the moment I just don’t know. It doesn’t take a lot for things to change and I’m very frightened about my luck running out. There are still other treatment options for me if and when I need them but the only one that holds a tiny hope of a miracle is the one that I’ve already had. First time round it provided months and months of amazing quality of life but it didn’t last – more treatment was needed and I moved further into the realms of the totally unknown.
For a stage IV melanoma patient I’ve been phenomenally blessed – three and a half years of mostly feeling incredibly fit and well is extraordinary. In comparison to many of the other people on my online support forum I really don’t have anything to complain about but compared to my old pre-cancer life I feel scared and I feel sad. I’d quite like to not feel a little bit embarrassed that I told everyone I had months to live and then kept on going. I’d like people to understand that I don’t have the answers – I have no idea how long my current treatment will keep working, neither do my doctors – no one does. I’d like to not have to have developed ways of staying busy and distracted so my life has more to it than just being a cancer patient. I’d like to not be terrified that every slight headache is the sign of something untoward happening in my brain. I’d like to not have a whole list of people who I light candles for who weren’t as lucky as me. I’d like to not have to be grateful that barring an unforeseen catastrophe I’ll see me eldest into secondary school this September but cannot be certain I’ll do the same for my youngest. I’d like to not have had a big old ‘woe is me’ moment – it’s a bit like outliving your terminal prognosis – it’s embarrassing – but I guess it’s my blog so perhaps it’s ok to do it here as after all no one has to read it.