The Chemo Chronicles
Updates on Tara Hawken’s journey through treatment for brain cancer.
After awake brain surgery and 7 weeks of intense radiotherapy Tara is now heading into five months of chemo. 2016 is shaping up to be a doozy. But, all is not doom and gloom. Here’s an update on how things have been going since the last instalment:
Radiotherapy seems to have done its job.
The 7 weeks of having heat beams shot through Tara’s skull wasn’t exactly sunshine and lollipops. However, thanks to the concerted effort of friends and family, the five-day-a-week trip to the hospital an hour away turned out pretty well. Time in the car meant catching up with people Tara wouldn’t normally have time to see, so socially it was the most active she has been in a while. It was a big silver lining to the otherwise rigorous schedule. We also enjoyed some epic ketogenic meals cooked for us by legend mates, who rose to the call of supplying food three nights a week. This helped alleviate time and financial pressures, allowing extra quality time with the kids. Side effects of the treatment were manageable. There has been some hair loss, fatigue, and some skin irritation around the site of Tara’s surgery scar. The more troubling side effect has been an impact on Tara’s hearing. She’s now finding it really hard to pinpoint sounds in noisy rooms. If she’s in a crowded cafe, or a room of playing children, it’s super hard to follow the conversation. In other news, she can now pretend to have not heard my lame jokes, without hurting my ego.
In terms of actual results, the latest MRI shows that there is a definite reduction in the size of the tumour. The doctors are upbeat about the progress and were keen to move quickly to chemotherapy to kick the ass of what’s left. I have dubbed this phase “Operation Sledgehammer Tumour In It’s Stupid Face”.
We enjoyed a family holiday.
Thanks to the generous support of friends who gifted us a trip away, we were able to head up to Gnaraloo Station in northwest WA. Two and a bit weeks of vitamin sea, red dirt and caravan life was an incredible way to get some peace of mind and feel like we’re still ‘living’. There were plenty of great memories created, but as usual Tara took out most valuable player by suiting up for a couple of surfs at Tombstones. It was her first time back in the water since childbirth and then the brain surgery, so it was goosebump inducing to see her catch the longest wave of her life, with a little help from Surf Sensei Crystal Simpson.
Chemo has begun to mild side effects.
Chemotherapy has been going for a month now. I had no idea there were a bunch of different types of chemo, so there you go. She’s on a schedule of PCV (Procarbazine, CCNU and Vincristine). Despite that sexy sounding combination, there’s not much razzle dazzle in the process. Each ‘cycle’ of treament goes for four weeks with a two week break before the next cycle. Right now we’re looking at four cycles, which will take us almost up to Christmas. With luck, she’ll get a proper amazing present from Santa: a cancer-free brain, or maybe a surfboard. Side effects so far have been some nausea and fatigue. However, anti-nausea medication is working well and it’s been a manageable process to date. Still, the next MRI check isn’t until very late November, so we won’t have any true indication of how well things are actually working. Time will also tell how many more side effects Tara is likely to encounter. Most people seem to suggest that things get worse as time goes on, because the poison of the chemo has been in your system longer and is doing more damage to both healthy and cancerous cells. As usual Tara is doing as much exercise as she can, eating good food and undertaking a few alternative treatments as well that seem to be helping (I’ll write more on this in a separate post later). We’re fairly certain she’s going to charge through, and if not there’s a lot of support to keep her on her feet and punching. Right now she looks and feels great. At the cancer centre people are constantly mistaking her for a relative who is supporting someone else through the disease. Last week she was directed to the ‘non-patient’ toilet by a nurse. It’s a little bitter sweet that feeling. Knowing Tara doesn’t look, feel or act sick, but still has this thing inside her. Most people in chemo are 70+, struggling with the process and generally unwell. The why me, I’m so young syndrome is something that is easy to slide in and can mess with you if you dwell on things for too long. Better to be grateful she’s able to take therapy in stride, keep living and know how precious waking up each day truly is.
Thanks so much as always for all of the love and wishes. I’ll keep the updates coming once there is more worthy news on hand.
