Picc a number...

Three ! That was my number.

The Picc Line will be with me for 24 weeks and will feed drugs to the sausage currently dwelling in my left boob! Saves needling me several times every week. Inserting the Picc is not a lengthy job if completed first time, but it has to be completed under sterile conditions with numerous monitors to make sure the line follows the correct route from a vein in the arm towards the heart.

We agreed with using the left arm. It appears that the access route to my heart is a little more complex than normal. Not blocked as such...more like Spaghetti Junction. The Picc Line could not find it's way. I suspect it was just temporary roadworks, but nevertheless, we were not going to progress. Not just once but twice ! Two different veins were tried on the left.

I asked what would happen if it didn't work, imagining a massive needle straight to the heart. A surgical implant in the chest. I wasn't that far out then..!

I quietly chatted to my right arm as we re-routed and started again. I am pleased to say it was more accommodating. I had local anaesthetic - 3 shots in all - which meant my arms hung like weights off my shoulders until the drugs wore off. Whilst I was there they took tubes and tubes of blood.

And so it begins.

That was Wednesday. Thursday 7 Sept 2023 was my first day of treatment. My Chauffer, Annie, turned up and was appropriately complementary about my pre-treatment haircut. I made the decision to get it cut short because when it falls out I don't want to be scooping up handfuls of hair. Holly from SISU on Whiteladies Rd gets a big shout out. Not only did she make time for me after finishing work for the day, but she did a great job.

Another reason to get it cut was after a discussion with my little ones who came to visit before I went on holiday. Their parents had told them of my cancer.

I wanted to reassure them, answer any further questions, and pre-warn them I might be bald when we next meet, and may not have any eyebrows..etc.

Does that mean the grey and brown and blond stripes will go, my 10 year old niece said. Aaah...my highlights?

Will it grow back with the stripes, or just grey, asked the 9 year old? Will you lose ALL your hair - even down there from the 12 year old. The soon to be 14 year old is just too cool to talk.

Lots of giggling ensued, and then they talked amongst themselves about people at school who were growing pubes. No other questions.

They have endured a lot recently. More than they should do in their young lives which is why I did not throw them out the flat when they told me I was grey !!

So treatment day began. I was exceptionally nervous. But anyone involved with our beloved NHS knows that they are well trained and provide a calming reassurance. I was in for 4.5 hours in all and probably slept for 2 of those hours. Had a book, couldn't read. Listened to podcasts, drank lots of water.

The water is necessary but it did mean a wee visit. You don't get unplugged. You have to take the treatment with you, wheeling it alongside through the Chemo reception area. I went to the loo, sat down and a massive alarm went off. I thought it was me. Sprang up, pants around the ankles and was just about to open the door to let the nurses in when the tannoy explained it was a fire alarm test.

That would have been an interesting view for those waiting in reception.

I had to explain why my feet were white (see photo). Golf - for those that don't know.

They had to explain about the drug regime I am going to be on for the next year, or more!

It wasn't so bad.

One down. 23 to go...