Experiences

Claire

A year ago, I noticed I was wheezing, with no apparent cause, but I was on holiday and thought it was the climate or maybe the new mattress I was sleeping on. When I came home, I noticed I had become very short of breath. The GP thought I had pneumonia, prescribed antibiotics and sent me to the hospital as a precaution, for a chest x-ray. They thought I had a pulmonary embolism and admitted me. For three days I was in the ward from hell, surrounded by old men, not knowing what was wrong with me. And then I was told there were cancer cells in the fluid they had extracted earlier and they suspected the origin was ovarian. The spread to the chest meant it was Stage 4 cancer. You can imagine the shock, I know.

I was transferred to the Middlesex Hospital and have nothing but praise for the entire medical team, if not for the catering! After surgery, I had five cycles of carboplatin, to which the cancer, luckily, responded dramatically. I had further surgery. The second ovary was also diseased. Then I had high-dose chemotherapy plus stem cell transplant treatment. It was all terribly gruelling, involving priming with cyclophosphamide, ten days of growth factor injections, stem cell harvesting (hooked up to a cell separator for four or five hours, with my blood whizzing in and out of me accompanied by the noise of a washing machine). Then my hair fell out.

Two weeks later I was admitted, had a Hickman line put in and had a week of intensive chemotherapy. I began to feel sick and couldn't keep any food down for the next three weeks. Five days after the chemo had ended, my stem cells were reinfused and eleven days after that, the new cells kicked in and began to make new bone marrow. All the antibiotic and other drips were taken down, I stopped feeling sick, the other symptoms also settled and I was released. Whoops!, discharged.

Coming home was very disorientating - from high intervention to nothing in one fell swoop, although I had a book full of bleep numbers to call in case of problems. I was very emotional and cried all the time. I looked like a stick insect with a red puffy face. My skin flaked off, my nails were white and rigid, my eyelashes and body hair had all gone. I felt 100 years old instead of 42. I couldn't eat very well, I couldn't sleep and felt that awful chemo-induced combination of listless and restless. I couldn't read. When I finally ventured out of the house, I attracted all passing germs like a magnet and was constantly ill.

So much for 1996. 1997 has got off to a better start. My hair has begun to grow again and I felt terribly trendy for a while! My skin settled, my nails grew, my body hair came back, my taste returned and I started reading again. In February my partner and I went to Paris for the weekend. It was exhausting but wonderful. Then my three-month check-up saw me in remission and we went on holiday again and I swam and relaxed. I have just come back from a holiday in Mallorca and will be going back to work next week.

Dealing with the post-treatment period is very hard. Like many women, I am anxious to help myself and am trying to find a path through all the therapies recommended by well-meaning friends and acquaintances. I am modifying my diet and taking some vitamin and mineral supplements; I see a healer; and I have been having counselling through BACUP. Nobody knows whether any of this affects the prognosis, but I am sure it is all helping me to deal with the situation.

I find the uncertainty of the future very difficult to deal with. With every twinge, I think "here we go again". I have cancer nightmares. But some positive things have also come out of the whole ghastly experience - I have been surrounded, cushioned, by love; I have discovered huge reserves of strength; I feel quite stress-free (apart from cancer!) and don't worry about trivial things anymore; I am reassessing how I work; I am clearer in my mind about many things.

I am not someone who has to have specific goals to keep going. I am happy just to get up in the morning. I want to live, not for anyone else's sake, but for my own. I love life and I love my life and I want more of it, lots more. I am never going to give up.

Claire Duchen
London