Tuesday, November 11:

The fourth chemo session is over. I didn't think I would actually get there this week because to be quite honest – and honesty is what this is supposed to be about – I would rather have poked my eyes out with hot pins!

I have come to dread these sessions so much. Not because they are painful, but because I know that for the next few days I will have fallen down that deep dark well again. Every time the well gets deeper and darker and I find it harder to drag my thoughts into the real world and come to.

I am always sick at some point, followed by that terrible depression that drags me down for two or three days… I am not saying this this would happen to everyone, but it is becoming a thing to fear for me. I seem to go into a kind of mental nightmare where I have no control over my thoughts. I wake up from terrible dreams with images that I cannot dispel and thoughts that I have no idea where they have come from, except that they are heinous and deep.

I can feel myself coming out of it by the end of three days, but I can now hardly bear it at all. I am going to really have to see Dr Ah See and see if we can do something because if this goes on I really think I might lose my mind. I know that sounds dramatic, but that is exactly how I feel.

Normally, and maybe you have been able to tell from my perverse sense of humour I am strong, fairly optimistic and can always find a solution to problems. I am the do-er and solver of things in our lives, the one with the ideas that I put into action and because Alan is busy and not a very practical person I also manage our lives, usually with no glitches and of course there is Laura to look after, who needs so much more support that other 18-year-olds and cannot understand why I am unable to function as I always do.

Cancer has stolen all this from me and today in particular I am very angry about it – can you tell?

Also I am devastated that I was unable to carry out my "animal duties" on Friday, due to the chemo and the fact that it had knocked me out. I was asleep at around 3.30pm, instead of putting away our hen and duck and therefore the fox that Ben, our dog has been chasing after for so long, succeeded in killing both of them, viciously and indiscriminately.

There was a long and lovely history attached to them both and they died as they lived, together, protecting each other, only ever inches apart. The fox was denied his "meal" by the dog, who rushed out there as soon as he heard but of course, too late. We all cried such a lot!

As you can see I am probably at my lowest point ever and today I cannot see my way past all this. Cancer has stolen so much from me just lately, slowly and painstakingly it has chipped away at my health, my time and my sanity. Why did I write this? Because I wanted everyone to know that although I know I will pick up again that even for me and for, I suspect everyone, there are these awful low points. I am lucky to have supportive friends and family, but even then it is hard.

Don't feel alone because I can assure you every person feels like this at some point. Use your support, selfishly if you have too, cry if you want to, it's OK and shout. I have done such a lot of shouting this week – not at anyone, just generally into the ether – it helps!

Hopefully, if this diary shows up anything it will be that one minute you're coping, then you're not. It's all like a roundabout and just as dizzying and disconcerting. Sometimes it all seems so pointless and yet other days you are full of fight and determined never let go of your vision of winning and being well. There are not many times you want to fast forward your life but I would have given large sums of money this week just to skip a few days.

Friday, November 14:

I really don't know what I was thinking but today I had the appointment with Dr Ah See to see (and let's be honest here again) if I could actually stop my chemo. I really wanted her to say, well done Mrs Candy, four chemo sessions; of course you can skip the last two! Come on – where am I living – and I knew this, of course I did.

She would never have recommended six sessions if four would be enough and she certainly isn't going to let you skip some because, well, frankly, what's the point in having any if you don't have the lot? Now that was the sensible bit, which she told me and I already knew deep in my heart. However, somewhere deep down I wanted someone else to say I could go free.

I didn't want it to be my responsibility – just in case the cancer returns and therefore by asking the doctor I could absolve myself of my own responsibilities. I cannot believe I have reached this point and although my intentions were to present myself an admirable case for quitting I ended up bawling my eyes out with the NHS box of tissues on my lap and trying to explain things in a voice that sounded like Minnie Mouse!

Websites I have found useful:
Breast Cancer Care
Cancerhelp.org (the patient information website of Cancer Research UK)
Netdoctor.co.uk
Scarf Studio (scarfs and bandanas)

Now Dr Ah See is the epitome of how you would like your doctor to be, sympathetic, firm, fair and informative, I admire her greatly but, for a few seconds today I wanted to turn her into a warty toad – sorry! That's how I felt. I cried and I wanted to stamp and scream and shout at anything but mostly I cried.

When I had finished being a pathetic time-waster we started to talk about exactly what was the matter, medically speaking, apart from the social/family trials and tribulations and I explained about the "brain" problem, the blurry vision, distinct lack of energy, can't speak etc.

Out of all this and between my stifled sobs Dr Ah See was busy sifting through the "what we can do to make it better" bits. Firstly, she thinks the steroids are to blame for a lot of the problems and she will adjust this part of the medication so that I will not need them.

Good, because psychologically I hate taking tablets and those particular ones make me feel really awful, jittery and buzzy. Then she is going to cut back on the red fluid (epirubicin, the one that burns holes in things) and that will mean my bladder will not be so irritated. Lastly a test for diabetes because of the blurred vision, thirst etc.

My grandfather, father and brother are all diabetic and it looks like this might be headed my way but it can be dealt with after the treatment finishes, if needs be. The reading was not bad enough to warrant action at this moment. One thing at a time. Also the toxicology readings were good. My kidneys and liver have not turned to jelly and my brain (although it feels like it) is there even if it's like a tin of mushy peas, (what is it with me and food!). I had to endure the public weigh-in again. Eleven stone, Mrs Candy! I've given up caring.

So the bad news is no, you silly fool, you cannot give up your chemo, get a grip and face it. The good news is that it's all going very well (it is?) and the in-between, make it feel better stuff, is that my caustic solution is reduced, my steroids are stopped and my anti-sickness is upped.

The next infusion should leave me feeling less awful and...Dr Ah See did say that once I have had the fifth chemo session if I was still feeling like this I really could give up. Carrot and stick come to mind, but hey, if it works for the donkey!

She also offered me counselling but honestly, that's not my thing. She also asked if I would temporarily like some anti-depressants – a big firm NO, even though I do feel very low – definitely NOT! I do not want to finish this treatment and then have to wean myself off those, nor do I want to take anything that makes me "duller" than my senses already are. Look the devil in the eye and don't back off!

Part 40 next week

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