A Series of Unfortunate Events.

This week I decided it might be a good idea to accompany Kirby to her chemotherapy treatment in hospital. I was wrong.

First, let me be clear that we are very much trying to stay positive. But the apparent lack of attention to detail and indifference shown by some people in the medical profession is testing the limits of our positivity.

Kirby’s overall health is good. She made it through the AC chemo (the nuclear option) relatively unscathed and she retained most of her strength. The oncologist was pleased with how she dealt with the treatment and recommended that her next round of treatment include two different types of chemo at the same time, administered weekly for the next 12 weeks. Normally this next round of chemo (Paclitaxel) is easier, but with the addition of Carboplatin it might be a bit tougher, we’re waiting to find out. Kirby’s cancer is super rare. It makes up around 0.5% of all breast cancers, so it isn’t a ‘sexy’ one with any academic studies or funding. 

Before I begin writing about our despair, I will quickly get all of the nice things out of the way.

The family is going well. The kids are fine. The puppy is doing puppy things. It’s Kirby’s birthday today. Our family and friends are the best. We’re coming into summer. Cricket is nearly here. Everything is wonderful. 

Moving on…

Kirby’s port-a-cath has been the source of ongoing consternation. Her surgery initially caused some pain and discomfort which ended in our emergency room Halloween adventure. Follow-on scans indicated that the port was in an unsuitable position; which was terrifying because this thing is supposed to be inserted directly into her heart. This was followed by the surgeon reviewing an X-ray and deciding it was ok. 

When Kirby arrived at hospital for chemo on Monday, the nurses initially couldn’t draw blood from the port. Now I’m not a doctor, but that wasn’t great indicator of success. Nevertheless, they decided that pushing chemo through the port would be fine because, and I quote, “it should work”. Kirby did the right thing and again checked with the surgeon before going ahead. Luckily, I suppose, the chemo did work but the port is still awkwardly placed and uncomfortable for Kirby when she moves around. I offered to rectify the issue with a pocket knife, but Kirby politely declined my offer. 

I am furious that the surgeon—whose job description includes ‘doing surgery’—couldn’t insert this thing properly. Furthermore, everyone seems to have a ‘she’ll be right’ attitude rather than a ‘oh dear, there seems to be something wrong, perhaps I’ll figure it out’ attitude. It would be great if the nurses and doctors could... do their job. If it's not too much to ask. I know Kirby has a lot of medical mates, and I realise it’s probably a little unfair of me to be criticising the surgeon… but here I am… criticising the surgeon. He should have studied harder.

Receiving cancer treatment is like taking your car to the workshop to get fixed, but having to deal with 10 separate mechanics. Each mechanic only deals with one specific component of the car, and none of them talk to each other. The mechanics are all very busy—and very, very important—just ask them. Each mechanic only communicates via their office assistants, who are lovely but often try to give their expert mechanical advice instead of checking with the mechanic first. And they are always late…. because that’s just a universally accepted fact in the mechanic industry and for anyone to think otherwise is just preposterous. And they charge lots of money. Oh, and one particular mechanic just put a square cardboard box on instead of a tyre... but "it should work".

The only difference is, mechanics seem to care about the cars they work on and take a modicum of pride in their profession. Too harsh? You should see me after half-a-box of wine.

We also met with the radiation oncologist while we were at the hospital. She told us that the radiation treatment would consist of approximately five weeks of daily treatment after the chemo is finished. She told us that the radiation will reduce the chance of the cancer returning by about 10 - 15%. I don’t know where she pulled that number from. She went through the range of side effects with us, which include localised discomfort, lethargy and, get this… cancer.

I’m sorry for being a negative-nancy. I promise I (or Kirby) will write something more positive next time. We hope you’re all well. 

Oh, and I got a parking ticket. I assure you my head exploded with rage and for a moment I actually transformed into Michael Douglas from 'Falling Down'. But I'm ok now.

Every setback is an opportunity. Unless you’re a doctor in which case it’s just an embuggerance. 

Chris