Category Archives: Combi-Ad

Jul7

Plastic Surgeon

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Monday 7th July

Almost eight months following my left groin dissection I have an appointment with my plastic surgeon to check progress. He is terrific, never rushed, and always willing to answer questions.

He is very pleased with the way the scar has healed, leaving just a neat silvery line in the crease  at the top of my leg.

He feels along the scar line for any new swelling ~ there is none!

He mentions that the skin graft on my foot could be made to look a little more pleasing ~ this was carried out by his colleague, using a split-thickness skin graft, and has been left looking a bit lumpy and scarred. I think it best to decline his offer at this moment in time. I don’t want to be out of action, limping and hobbling for a number of weeks ~ I think I can put up with a gnarly looking foot!

We make another appointment for a year’s time!

I had previously sought out my trials nurse to enquire as to the results of last week’s CT scan. I didn’t know whether the results had come through yet. They had…..

All is clear. Nothing has changed. Worry not.

We leave the hospital feeling massively relieved and wonderfully happy. Thank goodness.

Jul1

Half way through the trial

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Tuesday 1st July

The alarm wakes us at 5am, time for a quick shower before heading out on the road to Exeter for my six month review.

First stop as usual is with the dermatologist at 9am. Having stripped off, he checks my body with his dermascope, looking for any moles that might have changed colour or grown since my last appointment. No, all is ok, no dodgy looking blobs here!

Moving on to the second hospital, about a mile down the road, I search out my trials nurse who takes my blood pressure, temperature and weight. She also extracts four vials of blood from my right arm, unfortunately rupturing my vein in the process! I didn’t realise until I looked down and saw the blood soaked swab in the crook of my elbow! Whoops.

I then have a CT scan booked, so make my way through the hospital corridors to that department. I have to wait, in the very unflattering hospital gown, for three quarters of an hour. Hmmmm, didn’t like anxious waiting. Feeling very vulnerable and scared. Anyway, when it was my turn, I was put completely at ease by two marvellous technicians. The whole process is not very comfortable, but I’m soon finished and ready to move on.

An Echo is next. I get undressed, ready to begin, only to be told I need to be seen by the technician who carried out the last test. She is in a different room. Across the corridor. I can’t be bothered to get dressed, only to get undressed again, so I wrap a sheet around me, and dash across the hallway into the designated room! It’s a fairly lengthy procedure, looking at the 3D functioning of my heart. Many images are taken and measurements recorded. I wait for the printed report, then move on.

An ECG is next on my list. This is really quick, simple and painless! Strip off, have little sticky pads attached all over, about ten seconds later the data is printed off, and I’m out of there!

A visit to the Eye Department follows, and I do not have to wait too long. A quick sight test, reading those letters from a poster! Then the stinging eye drops are put into each eye whilst the ophthalmologist checks my retinas. I leave the room crying toxic yellow tears, dabbing my cheeks with a tissue!

We then have time for a quick bite to eat for lunch before heading off to the Oncology Department to meet with consultant. After a short wait it’s time to strip off again for a quick feel!!! Foot, leg, groin, pelvis, abdomen, neck, back. All is good. No lumps or bumps here. Thank goodness.

The final trip of the day  us to the pharmacy to collect my issue of a month’s worth of drugs ~ Dabrafenib and Trametinib ~ the Combi Ad trial tablets ~ or maybe they are a placebo.

Who knows?

Whatever; I’m under such close scrutiny with an awesome team, whichever arm of the trial I’ve been placed, I know I have been getting the most amazing care.

We arrive home over twelve hours later, tired, but glad the day is over.

 

Jun3

Month Five ~ Drug Trial

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Tuesday 3rd June

And off we go again to the hospital for my month five checks. Dermatology first, where everything is deemed to be fine and dandy; I leave with a couple of free sample tubes of moisturising cream. It has become a bit of a ‘knowing smile’ moment between myself and my husband: for the last few visits to the dermatologist, he has always commented that my back seems a bit dry ~ I don’t think it is!

We then drive to the second hospital where I meet with my trials nurse. She extracts four vials of blood from my right arm, takes my temperature, blood pressure, and weighs me.

We then have a break for lunch, and finally have the last appointment with my oncologist. All is as it should be, and I am issued with the next month’s supply of drugs.

All is as it should be! Ha! I wish it was.

I have malignant melanoma. This is not how it should be. Every time I visit the hospital for tests I’m reminded how things have changed. This is now the new normal. Stable is the best I can hope for. So, I build my bridge, and get over it. I must now be as positive as I can, have no regrets and enjoy every single day.

May6

One year on

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Tuesday 6th May

One year on…….

It was during this week, a year ago, that I had a dodgy mole, the Alien Blob, removed from the fourth toe of my left foot. A day patient, I remember everything so well. There were no problems, everything went smoothly, and I went home quite relaxed, thinking everything would be all right.

How wrong would I be?

Six months on…….

It is now six months since I underwent major surgery to remove the lymph nodes in my left groin. Having ascertained that the Alien Blob was a malignant melanoma, I was soon to learn that the cancerous cells had spread through my lymphatic system. Following a positive sentinel node biopsy, I spent six days in hospital undergoing an inguinal dissection.

Four months on……

Although being told by my surgeon that he had removed all the cancer filled nodes, I could have sat back and done nothing. Just let things take their course. Check-ups, maybe, every three or six months. I wouldn’t have felt happy doing that, not knowing, not helping myself. So I was really lucky to get on a clinical drugs trial using a combination of two drugs, looking at the halting of progression and also the side effects. I have just ‘passed’ my four-month review at the hospital in Exeter, and been issued with my two pots of pills. Appointments having been made for four week’s time.

And here I am, a completely different person from the one I was a year ago. I began writing this blog, to put my thoughts and feelings down in words, to remember events, and chronicle all that has happened to me. One year on, I have had over a thousand hits!

Yes, there are days when I privately worry, wonder if I will progress to Stage 4, what will happen to my family, how ill I might become. However I don’t want these negative thoughts to bring me down. I have been off work for the whole year, recuperating, slowly building up my strength. I try to eat healthier, to take some gentle exercise every day, to get a good night’s sleep, but most of all, to enjoy every single day, to be positive and try to see the good in all things or situations. It’s hard work, very challenging; but I want to stay alive.

I’ll keep on keeping on.

Apr8

Results ~ three month review

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Tuesday 8th April

After the two days of tests at Exeter hospital, we decided to take a break and drive on to London for a few days to visit relatives and partake in a bit of sightseeing and retail therapy. There’s nothing like  a bit of distraction to take one’s mind off all the hospital tests, especially the CT scan. This is the one that really scares me, for it is this that may show progression of the disease.

Following a lovely four day break, we are on our way home, when my trials nurse phones me. She has the paperwork from the scan. My oncologist has yet to see it, but one of the senior registrars has given her the go ahead to tell me that all is fine. It shows “nothing of any medical significance”. My heart skips a beat, I feel so relieved and tension leaves my shoulders. Everything is good for another three months!

 

Apr3

One year ago

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Thursday 3rd April

On the third of April 2013 I had an appointment with my GP to check out a dodgy mole on my left foot. The Alien Blob. I think he knew what it was straightaway. And so began my melanoma journey.

Here I am today, in Exeter, undergoing two days of tests for my three-month review as part of the Combi-Ad clinical drugs trial.

I began yesterday with the dermatologist, still keeping an eye on a small mole on my left ankle. I then moved on to bloods and obs with the trials nurse. My next stop was down to Medical Outpatients for an ECG, then a bit of a wait for the final stop of the day: a CT scan. Oh joy!

Thursday began with an ECHO, followed by an eye exam, then the consultation with the oncologist and the handing over of my next month’s worth of tablets.

So here I am, a year after I visited my doctor, and already three months down the road with GlaxoSmithKline. Am I doing the right thing? Do I have any other choice?

 

 

Mar20

The day I told everyone

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Thursday 20th March

For the past few days social media has begun to be inundated with ‘no-make-up’ selfies, supposedly raising awareness for cancer research.

When this trend began I saw many of these selfies that were purely self-congratulatory where the person only seemed to be fishing for complements with their staged photo. There was no mention of cancer, raising awareness, nor of donating money.

It did make me cross. However, the power of the internet and social media being what it is, the campaign snowballed, raising over a million pounds in twenty four hours, and that is amazing. Being cross and critical initially, to get one’s point across will make some people unhappy, and I’m sorry, but I just felt I wanted to say something.

To date, only a very small number of people knew of my condition: family, close friends and some work colleagues.

I decided to unburden myself, to stop hiding away, to release the secret I had been keeping.

I posted a picture of myself on Facebook.  My own no-make-up selfie.

I was hooked up to a morphine pump, saline drip, intravenous antibiotics, and oxygen ‘spectacles’.

I described the plastic drain tube sticking out of the top of my leg, and the 20cm scar where all the lymph nodes in the top of my leg had been removed.

I stated that I am now a Stage 3 malignant melanoma patient.

It began with a dodgy mole on my foot.

The cancer spread to my lymphatic system.

I said I am raising awareness by asking you all to check your bodies.

I am trying to do something for scientific research by signing on to a clinical drugs trial to find out whether a particular combination of drugs can prolong cancer patients’ lives.

I am trying to do something to raise awareness by appearing on a poster recommending sunscreen use, having a SunSmart attitude, and staying away from sunbeds.

Following my declaration, I was inundated with messages of good wishes.

Oh my goodness.

It really was quite overwhelming.

Having finally decided to go public with my diagnosis, on my wall, posting a no-make-up selfie showing me in a hospital bed, hooked up to various tubes and the like, I do now feel quite relieved that everyone now knows what’s been going on.

I admitted that the actual photo was taken in November, in Exeter, where I had the lymphadenectomy.

I did feel like I was hiding away, only coming out to make short walks around the town or to have a coffee at Tesco!!

I deliberated for ages over posting about this topic, but have been amazed with the response from everyone.

I had so many comments, private messages and shares of my posts, I’ve felt quite tearful.

I haven’t done this to gain likes, nor as a ‘poor me, pity me’ post. I really do hope at least some have taken on board my message, check your skin, be SunSmart and beware of sunbeds. And donate something!

I haven’t been to school since last May, but aim to return in September, albeit on a much reduced timetable. In May, I will have been at HDS for nineteen years. I must love the place ~ in the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger: “I’ll be back!”

I try to keep smiling as much as possible, keep as positive as possible, and keep on keeping on.

Mar11

Two month review

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Tuesday 11th March

Leaving home at 8am to make the drive to Exeter, just over two hours away, I feel twinges of anxiety. I have been taking the pills for the Combi-Ad trial (trametinib and dabrafenib), for two months, and have appointments with the dermatologist and oncologist, as well as the trials nurse for bloods and obs.

A whole body skin check is first, and a small freckle-like mole is noted as something to keep an eye on. It’s on the inside of my left ankle, about 3mm in diameter, with a slight dark, raised pigmentation to it. Hmmmm, have not noticed that before; will have to watch it. Two consultant dermatologists had a close look, but were not unduly worried.

The next stop is to see the senior trials nurse who takes four vials of blood, my temperature, weight and blood pressure. Whoops, 145 over 92 is a bit high, maybe the result of my worry about the day! My nurse is lovely, and looks after me so well, answering questions, putting me at ease, making sure that the day runs smoothly. We talk about any changes that I may have been aware of, and I tell her about my tiredness, constipation, and a few spots around my mouth and nose. We also discuss the lymphoedema in my leg, and the great results that are being achieved with the weekly massage sessions.

The final appointment of the day is with the oncologist, who starts with a look at my left foot, the ‘mole which demands awareness’ on my ankle, the glands behind my knee and in my groin, and finishes with the tapping on my back ~ not sure about the last bit, but lots of doctors do this in films!!

I wait for my new pots of pills to be dispensed by the pharmacy, and we are done for the day. Arriving home at 6pm, it has been a long ten hours, but all seems good as I begin my third month on the trial.

And I’m still no further forward in knowing whether I’m in possession of the real drugs, or the placebo. But, the intensive monitoring is certainly very reassuring. Big smile, deep breath, and relax. See you in a month!

Feb28

The New Normal

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Friday 28th February

Take advantage and do the important stuff, the rest will happen come what may.

The best way to fight this disease is to be alive for as long as I can.

No easy options, it is what it is. There are no answers.

There are always clinical trials. There should always be hope. Maybe one day this will be a chronic rather than a terminal disease once stage 4 is reached.

The Combi-Ad trial makes me believe I am doing something to help my outlook, my prognosis, my survivability chances.

The diagnosis changes your life ~ you have to adjust your priorities.

I may have cancer, but cancer doesn’t have me.

Cancer may leave my body, but it will never leave my life.

These are just some of the thoughts I have as I realise that this is the ‘new normal’ for me. There is no going back. Live with it. ‘Build a bridge, and get over it’.

Adjust.

Adapt.

Accept.

 

Feb20

One hundred days post-op

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Thursday 20th February

One hundred days ago I was in Exeter hospital, very early in the morning, first on the theatre list, ready to undergo a lymphadenectomy, or inguinal clearance, otherwise known as a groin dissection. Put quite simply, I was going to have the top of my leg sliced open, and the remaining lymph nodes and surrounding tissue scooped out, with the hope of removing any further pesky cancerous cells that had made their way from my left foot, up the lymphatic channels to the next port of call: the lymph nodes in my groin.

One hundred days ago, I came round from the anaesthetic and discovered I was hooked up, intravenously to morphine, saline, and antibiotics. I had oxygen tubes attached to my nostrils, and a large drain tube exiting my inner thigh, depositing blood and fluid into a bottle located on the floor. I felt groggy, disoriented, but not in too much pain ~ the morphine was taking care of that, and I had control of the button administering doses!!

One hundred days ago; such a long time. My scar has healed exceptionally well, and despite the drain tube becoming blocked, resulting in an infection, cellulitis and a seroma, all is nearly back to normal. Well, not quite, lymphoedema of the limb necessitates the wearing of a tight, support stocking. However, the swelling and heaviness is easing.

Onwards and upwards. Keep on smiling and being positive. We’ve booked the flights for our summer holiday, (slightly shorter than we would have liked, due to fitting in with the four-weekly hospital trial visits, but that’s being greedy!!), and I’ve had conversations with my headmaster about returning to school, albeit on a reduced timetable, (I have certainly missed teaching). So, things are looking up. Time to become a little more active, get the brain back into gear, (I need to brush up on trig functions and vectors!) and enjoy life.