breast cancer · chemotherapy · FEC -D · Mr Cool

Chemo Ends with Endone, Gravy and Sequins. Hooray!

I went to my final round of chemo today. I wanted to mark the occasion by skipping into oncology, laughing with the nurses as we clanked our cosmopolitain cocktails and reflected on the joyous chemo socks and inspiration from Betsy, while eating canapes, and handing out gifts of gratitude to any chemo nurse that had stuck a needle in me. You know, really celebrate this chemo finale in style.

But reality had me hobbling into the chemo chair like a 98 year old with arthritis or whatever it is in my spine and pelvis, carrying an extra 7 kilos on my frame since this chemo lark began back in March, wearing a cardigan that had remnants of last night’s soup spilled down the front (this being a genetic trait), and sitting in miserable pain till my girlfriend Endone came and took a little while to cheer me up. I was then able to joke with the nurses and Mr Cool who came to every chemo infusion appointment and busily worked away on his work phone. Bless his little 4Shaw cycling cotton socks!

The last few days have seen me uncontrollably and embarrassingly cry as I laid on the chiropractic table and today on arrival at Oncology the nurses asked me if it was okay to have a trainee nurse insert the canula in my arm. I am in such a fragile state with the ongoing spinal pain I have been having that I burst into tears in the hallway and couldn’t speak. I’m all for on the job training, but I just couldn’t deal with anything new or extra today, no pleasant introductions with (probably highly competent but not chancing it) new trainee nurses, no fumbling around with needles for the fragile lady. Just give me my usual engaging and no bullshit nurse who can bullseye that vein like a sniper every time and will probably read this blog tonight lol.

Of course the tears and the miserable face prompted a flurry of movement from all concerned and staff hurriedly raced off to arrange pain meds and a scan and get the chemo started. We again went though the reasons why I really should have an MRI but can’t because of the magnetic port on the tissue expander in my chest. Ironically, the magnet helps plastic surgeons find the spot to inject fills into the expander. Since I was never filled, I didn’t even need one with a port but there you go. So, a full bone scan was booked in for the morning.

I am convinced that the Taxotere (Docetaxel) drug has made arthritic issues in my spine worse. Either that or it’s bone mets. I didn’t do anything to my spine to exacerbate any spinal troubles. There has been no heavy lifting of camping packs, no gardening, no running, no hours of vacuuming, no cartwheels or pole dancing (I promise!) But for 14 days the pain has been chronic and worsening.

Perhaps it’s just very bad timing and it is totally unrelated to chemo or cancer. Perhaps my body is just so low it cannot deal with the increasing toxicity and the immunity depreciating nature of chemo. I would be very, very unlucky to have stage four disease in the form of bone mets while on chemo. But at least the scan can reassure me as I really am a “cancerchondriac” on panicked high alert for symptoms. I’m not dealing well with pain that stays around for as long as it has and gets more intense. I gave birth to two children with no pain meds and I normally am an under reporter of pain. But this is really wearing me down physically and emotionally. So the grand and joyous “Chemo Finale Festival” had to take a bit of a backseat.

The final millilitre of Docetaxel goes in. Round of applause please!

Today’s soup at Restaurant PHOR (That stands for Public Hospital Oncology Restaurant) wasn’t roasted butternut pumpkin with garam masala, or lentil with coriander and vermicelli, or a fine miso. No it wasn’t. Today’s flavour was gravy. Gravy soup. I think the chef got his saucepans a little mixed up. Aww who am I kidding? It’s not as if I have any taste buds left that haven’t been napalmed by chemo anyway! Luckily, the hospital sucks as a restaurant, but gets a chef’s hat for chemo care.

photo-16 copy
Mmmm today’s soup on the menu… Gravy

The highlight of today in finishing this FEC – D chemo regimen that started way back in March was using my gorgeous teal knit blanket and my gold sequined slippers that some incredible women at kinder gave me on the last day of term. I had saved them to mark this momentous occasion. The last chemo infusion.

I left Toto at home.

So to the “Kinder Cast” I say a huge thank you! To Bilby, to Suzie Q, to Ned Kelly, to Dasher, to Austin Powers, to The Commander, to The Prince, to The Fair Ring, to Courageous C, and all the rest, I’m really saddened that my son is moving on from kinder at the end of the year. It has been an incredible privilege and fortune to have met some really wonderful ladies and families this year at the same time that this bizarre situation began. I would have been lost without their support. The well wishes, the play dates, the kinder pick ups when I was too unwell to kinder mingle as I love, the soup, the kale, the happy eggs, the local apples, the Good Loaf sourdough, the family fights over who gets the last of Suzie Q’s honey soy chicken and scalloped potatoes, the fresh play dough for the kids on a rainy day from the Bilby’s, the frequent arrival of delicious home cooked meals and all the hugs… and all of this is just from the “Kinder Cast”. But there have been several more production casts at work that I need to express gratitude too. Some day, in some way. Gosh our community is awesome!

Of course, I need to ride the next three weeks as this last dose works its magic. So I’ll be expecting to lay low for the next weeks till this stuff starts getting out of my system and I begin to recover in time for the big surgery in mid August. There is likely to be some 6pm bed times this week for me, not my kids. Bring on the next phase.

Can’t wait for my 8am full bone scan in the morn to see what is going on with them bones, them bones, them bones…

Luckily this ‘scanxiety’ wont last long. Normally the time waiting between scans and results is the worst. But this time the awesome nurse practitioner says results will be available pretty quick. Which is surprising as I heard on the grape vine he has a moderate addiction to Candy Crush. So I’m surprised he even has the time to see me. I’m so lucky!

Thanks to everyone who got me through this phase. Love you all and mean it. Really!


This is me celebrating the end of chemo with a ‘happy and high on Endone’ fist pump with my ‘try not to do anything to get lymphodema arm’. Winning!

17 thoughts on “Chemo Ends with Endone, Gravy and Sequins. Hooray!

  1. Ah, the last chemo… I was all excited too, and then ended up a total mess because the last one seemed to give me a much longer dose of side effects… thought I’d be over it in 3 weeks and in fact it took about twice that long. Bloody toxic stuff. It builds up, I guess. So that’s why I say take it gently. You know where we are when the impatience sets in.

    As for the horrible spinal pain- my money’s on the chemo causing it. Everything crossed for the scan. xx


  2. Well done Lisa. I have been religiously reading your blogs sending the warmest, healthiest vibes I can muster to contribute in some way to your fight and recovery…rest now and let your body do what it can to bring you back to your loved ones…speediest recoveries x x x


  3. Congratulations on getting through the last dose of chemo! I know you are feeling low physically, and I share the view of some of the others that the chemo very likely could be causing the back pain, rather than a spread of cancer. I had knee and joint pain for some time and no one ever told me that the chemo caused it, but it has gotten better over time, and I am less physically resilient than you seem to be. I wish someone had said to me (until I actually listened), “It gets better.” Because it does get better. You will feel better than you do today.

    I spent so much time focused on asking when will it get better that I was at times quite worried. I know that it’s hard to think positively about or during pain that lingers. It changes my personality when it lingers. I can become short-tempered and negative. But keep doing what you are doing even when you get the results of your scan. You may be disappointed even with good results because we want to think “this is going to get better tomorrow” and it could be a side-effect that lingers awhile. I heard all kinds of stuff about how it takes 3 or 5 or 6 weeks for the chemo to flush out. I had expectations that I would feel all better real fast. And I did see big improvements, but chemo and everything else you have been through are strong medicine. It’s a good thing if you can hang onto patience.

    Recall that you are a powerful woman with the fortitude to wait for your body to repair itself. Your spirit is bright and filled with appreciation for life, family, and friends. This odyssey doesn’t have to change everything negatively. If there’s one thing I have learned from my experience (and I’m not that far ahead of you), it’s that you have to rest and take care of yourself and continue to let others, such as Mr. Cool, the nice people at the hospital, and the Kinder people take care of things. Put up those feet with their golden sequins. Wrap up in a sweater or the lovely turquoise afghan. Take naps. Drink water. Eat well. Feed your soul with positive music, books, and other stimuli. You have gotten through chemo. Give yourself time to heal! It’s going to get better.


  4. love you lisey hope it is an easy last chemo for you what an amazing inspiring woman you are glad to have met you when we were children i send you strength hope hug love and all positive thoughts you will get there xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx<3 ❤ ❤ Liza Hopkins


  5. Yay, congrats! You are done! Good luck with your scan. I know that anxiety. But I also know that Docetaxol caused me tons of pain in my joints and bones and everywhere, even for months after. I had an x-ray to my hip done because it was bothering so much, and it didn’t show anything. It’s an area I’ve always had problems, but it was majorly exacerbated with that chemo, and I’m sure that’s what’s happening with your spine. Docetaxol pain is seriously the worst, and people who haven’t had it don’t understand how debilitating it is. I cried all the time too! You’ll be feeling good again soon. I’m thinking of you!


  6. Awesome possum! Way to get through that last round, and very good choice in shoes. I hope the scan comes back clean, and as the chemo begins to leave your body the pain lessens till one day it’s just totally gone. ~Catherine


  7. Oh … you poor girl!!! Feeling for you and what you are going through!!! Notwithstanding it all, you still write amazing blogs!! I hope you have a best seller when all this horrible treatment has finished. Chin up … stay positive … I am sure the back pain will not be anything serious and will be only transient … but know what waiting for results is like!! Good luck!!!! Lots of love!!!


  8. I LOVE the slippers. You are doing awesome. I’m sending so much positive energy your way while you ride out the last cycle of chemo. Much love. xoxo


  9. Well done, and that is not said lightly, six rounds of chemo taxes every part of your being……. As you were being chemoed I was being nuked in radotherapy 8 down 17 to go, the good news, nothing but nothing is like chemo! Hope all was good with the scans and after three weeks you start to feel better and your world gathers some colour and movement again xx


  10. Well done on reaching the end of chemo. Fabulous news. Have been thinking of you and hope the acute side effects of the last dose have not been more brutal than the previous and that they’re now easing. Hope the news is all good with your scan and that the drugs are to blame. Chemo is done! Yay!
    PS. Love the gold slippers


  11. So pleased to hear this phase of your journey is over. All the best for your preparation for surgery. Pleased to hear your plans for rest in preparation. xxx


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