In my last blog, I was just about to start my chemotherapy to get rid of any last signs of cancer lurking about in my body.

I’m now just over a month into that process and while it hasn’t been fun, it’s also not really much to write home about. Or write here about.

To recap, each cycle starts with a couple of hours on the Le Quesne oncology ward with the amazing team while rigged up to an IV drip.

After that it’s two weeks of drugs at home (not the fun ones) and then a recovery week before starting it all over again.

Money’s worth

On a recent course at work, I was described as a “collector of experiences” which has now become something of a personal catchphrase, much to the annoyance of anyone that hears it.

What does it mean? For me it’s about trying new things wherever possible. Not visiting the same place twice if you can and deliberately swapping the usual for something different. It doesn’t even have to be grand gestures and moments, it can be switching the route to work or having coffee from somewhere different.

I once found £20 on the floor when I changed my walk back from lunch but it was the City of London so I should probably have been disappointed that it wasn’t a £50 note…

Anyway, this is a long way of saying that even during cancer treatment, I seem to be finding new ways to try out alternatives and possibly meet every single member of staff at Jersey General Hospital at least once, if not more.

Having been introduced to the radiology team for my PICC line in the arm, I got to say hi again as I got a portacath implanted in my chest. With my right pec/moob suitably numbed, the team cut through the skin and threaded a tube through my veins towards my heart. There was a lot of tugging and pulling to get it into the correct position which felt pretty grim, if only in my imagination as my mind created the images my eyes couldn’t through the canopy erected over my head.

I even managed to give the radiology team a scare as the antibiotic made me feel instantly sick – not something you want while lying down in a sterile room and a man’s hands inside your chest.

Luckily somebody wafted some alcohol under my nose, surgical sadly, and I soon overcame the nausea but not before everyone had hurriedly taken a few steps back.

All done and I now had a lump the size of a small marble under the skin on the right side of my chest, along with some more scars. I’m going to look like a pirate by the end of this whole thing…

Cold as ice

I said at the top of this that there wasn’t much to write home about during this cycle and that’s true.

But everything has been just a little bit worse. And I can safely blame the British weather.

Even getting out of the hospital on the first day of the cycle I could feel the neuropathy in my hands and face.

Cycle one had coincided with lovely sunshine and walks along the beach. Gloves needed as a precaution but also in addition to sunglasses.

This time, the painful tingle began almost as soon as stepped out on to the parade. Not awful, just worse. And with it, my mood began to deteriorate.

Maybe I’d been too positive during the first cycle with the minimal side-effects, swell of good wishes and dad visiting.

This time, the cold has seeped into every aspect of my daily life and hindered my efforts to have a normal life.

Like I can’t get things out of the fridge or freezer. I can’t get wet clothes out of the washing machine or put them out. Opening doors is a tentative approach, quickly touching the handles like you’re supposed to if you suspect a fire, but this time it’s the nerves in my fingers wincing in reaction to the cold.

I have to do the same for water when washing my hands or trying to do washing up. Even typing this is hard work before my speedy fingers warm up the keyboard!

The worst is getting out of the shower in a cold house – I have a couple of minutes to try and dry a bit before the pain encroaches and I have to run to a heater and hold up my hands like I’m round a camp fire to dull the pain.

It’s a ridiculously small price to pay for a clean bill of health further down the line but it turns out I use my hands a lot.

On top of that, the cold seemed to be contributing to worse headaches and additional tiredness. And with evenings starting earlier and no structure to my life, it’s a weird twilight zone in the late afternoon when my body says sleep but that just ruins my nighttime routine.

Like I said though, it could be a thousand times worse and I am grateful for the relatively minor side-effects. Just could do without them. They really do get in the way of my chemolife-lockdown plans.

The declining Ox and an unwelcome visitor

My three week cycle begins with an intravenous dose of Oxaliplatin which is the source of most of the side effects above but luckily the further away we get from Day 1 of the cycle, the more those issues subside.

Of course there are other side effects from the Capecitabine, but they don’t really need chronicling. Let’s just say the combination of chemo drugs and half a colon appears to have sped up processing times. Nothing if not efficient.

And after two weeks I’m not taking anything so I have 7 days to pack in as much “normality” as I can.

This starts with poncha and Sagres, moves on to wine and gnocchi, and continues with beaujolais nouveau and terrible homemade pasta (this isn’t one night…it’s a couple).

Somewhere during this, I began to notice that my right elbow was sore and a little bit swollen. Given the strength of the poncha, there was a good chance I’d knocked it somewhere on the wobbly walk home.

It was enough of a niggling pain for me to ask a second opinion and consult my little cancer book. Turns out that it’s an amber flag and I should probably give the emergency oncology number a call if it sticks around for another 24 hours.

I have plans Sunday morning though and for once, I’m up early enough to go ahead with them. There’s something extra special about cheering on fellow runners when the weather is whipping up a gale and you can stand in the shelter with a coffee!

I knew I still needed to call oncology buuuuuuuuuut, that’s pretty annoying for anyone who is on call. If I wasn’t hanging out watching people struggle to finish the Running For Frubbs 10 miler, I’d have been chilling on my sofa in a dressing gown. And I imagine they’re doing something similar.

So I went for another coffee. And then a bit more of a walk to try and help the stragglers get back. Then finally, around midday, I made the call.

“Hello, it’s Sam Wilkes. I’m really sorry to call but my right arm is swollen a bit and the cancer book says that I should call you.”

“Can you send me photos? I’ll call you back afterwards”

…

“Yeah I’m coming in, I’ll be at the hospital in 20 minutes.”

What do you do when the chips are down

The doors of the oncology ward were shut. No lights on through the glass panels. Nobody sat in the waiting room for loved ones to finish their treatment or people moving through to be sat down in their own bay for the duration of their IV session.

Instead I was stood outside trying to scoff down some piping hot curly fries, bought in a panic from Big J’s on my way in.

Just as I chucked the biggest spiral into my gob, the lift door opened and out stepped a nurse I knew from the ward. At that exact moment the heat in my mouth reached solar proportions, the temperature too hot for me to chew and the fry too big for me to swallow.

I blurted apologies through tentative chewing, also becoming painfully aware of the sterile environment into which I was bringing my sad and slightly pungent snack choice.

Settling into Bay 6, I then had the ignominy of removing my top. Nothing says athlete like a slightly chubby man who has barely trained in months bringing fries to the cancer ward.

Turns out though, it wasn’t just to shame me. It was a diagnostic tool to check for prominent veins. My arms were then measured and there was a 4cm difference. Not in a good Rafael Nadal way though.

The “urgent urgent” blood tests came back and my D-Dimer level to measure potential blood clots was at 2139.

The normal range is 200-500…

I now have two days left of my recovery week but now with added blood thinners and an ultrasound scan to identify a blood clot which hopefully doesn’t travel anywhere more important than my right arm.

When I talked about collecting experiences, I must be close to completing the set?

See you soon for cycle 3!