Tao of tash - Adios Herceptin

10th February 2007 Part 1

After three years of "service" the hormonal drug Herceptin is being retired from Tash's 'menu d'treatment'. As I have mentioned in previous posts, the scan results that we've had since the finish of the last Chemo regime, Jan 06, have been increasingly disappointing and after November's liver and spine double knockdown it was obvious that something had to change. 'The Slev', our Oncologist, has been making noises for a while about a possible Herceptin replacement, one that doesn't have the same drawbacks.

Herceptin is a hormone based treatment, ie, it locks out the HER2 hormone that Tash's tumours use to grow - All cancer treatment can be broadly split into those treatments that kill new and fast growing cells, such as Chemotherapy drugs and those that stop the growth in the first place, Herceptin in this case. This second group is relatively new. Herceptin wasn't available in 2000 when Tash was first diagnosed and was just starting to gain acceptance when we found her liver 'friends' in 2004. The problem with Herceptin is that the body develops a resistance to the drug, so after a period of time (2 years +) it's effectiveness starts to weaken, which is what has happened to us.

Anyway, just before Christmas Tash came back from one of her regular 3 weekly treatment visits armed with the news that 'The Slev' was attempting to get her signed up to a drug trial that was due to start somewhere in London at some point in early 2007; we rejoiced, because in our world that constitutes a positive thing.

We meandered through Christmas and the new year, as I wrote last time, to be honest I think that we were still both a bit shell shocked from the preceding 4 months, no make that 12 months, as I was just explaining to a Doctor the other day, the problem isn't in what happened to us last year, but in finding the time to deal with the stress that it generated.

The mechanics were always quite simple; Tash has a scan, we get results, plan any extra treatment, Tash goes into hospital, Tash comes out, recuperates. We realised quite quickly after the first post chemo scans that this was always going to be a tight schedule to keep to. The 'extra work' that Tash would require to 'fix things' (Ablation mostly, if I am being too subtle for you) would almost take up the first month of the 3 month scan cycle and as soon as we had our first mishap in June we never really had time to recover before we hit the problems in September/October - In retrospect being out of work for this time wasn't the best move either, I really could have done without the extra stress (that I?) placed on my shoulders. So, I wouldn't really say that we have hit this new year running. In this statement you have of course noticed that I have made no mention of how we might of felt about going into 2007 with Tash's treatment regime in such doubt, we didn't really talk about that, there are just some things that are better not discussed at the time, to be honest.

Early January continued and the second Monday of the year brought Tash back home from the LOC full to the brim with hereptin and saline (such a heady mix!) and carrying the metaphorical 'Olive branch of hope' that 'The Slev' had come through and Tash was in fact on this drug trial... somewhere in London, starting sometime in early 2007.

Actually now I mention the 'heady mix'; we had met up with Carolyn, Russell and Matthew the day before for "Sunday lunch" (the reason for quotation marks will become apparent), which became a long boozy afternoon-into-evening session (there you are). This meant that at least three of us started Monday and the new week, with a thick head. Tash also had an LOC visit and Herceptin treatment to contend with; up early, on the tube at rush hour, out into busy Oxford St and then off to the LOC to have some student nurse stab you in the chest with the wrong size needle (not always, but I consider once was enough for me to continually mention it).

On this occasion Tash let on about her previous days indulgence and subsequent current hangover to one of the nurses that she is friendly with, then quick as a flash, Amanda returned with an extra large bag of Saline, connected her up and 20 minutes later I am hunched over our kitchen table head in hand taking a call from the misses devoid of head pain and happy to tell me, in a louder and chirpier tone than I could myself handle at that moment, that apparently this is a tried and tested medical method for removing the effects of any drink related indulgence used by doctors and nurses alike; sit yourself down, plug in a bag of water and salt, 30 minutes later away you go.

She referred to this trip to the LOC as 'my last Herceptin treatment' .... and then came the next, and the next....

Eventually after these 'final' visits back to the LOC (Tash was in danger of becoming the James Brown of Harley Street with all her curtain calls) and some slight secretarial based confusion, we received the call to come and see Dr Onco II, Dr Gallagher, at St Bartholomew's (St Bart's) just down from the Old Bailey and St Paul's.

Pete Tossclump, the drug frazzled idiot poet of a stupid generation

But first Tash needed to indulge her passion (I suspect an early mid life crisis) for this musical urchin, Pete Doherty - I don't know if she has mentioned this new passion to any of you, she seems to be tight lipped about it most of the time, I suspect because most people's reaction to a 32 year old woman avidly following the exploits of a musical junkie would be 'Why?', even if he is Mr Kate Moss.

Tash had been scouring the fan forums all week for signs that he was about to put on a show, in fact she always scours the fan forums, just on this occasion she had a reason for it. Three shows were announced at a place just up the road from us, conveniently, he also lives, well squats, just up the road too. Bearing in mind that even playing just one gig requires a mastery of punctuality and the requirement to be straight enough to be able to remember the words and play your instrument, we knew this would be a tall order for a junkie so took a casual attitude to the proceedings.

The first show on the Wednesday was a solo acoustic gig; ie if he doesn't show, then only the fans and not the rest of the band are inconvenienced. I offered to escort Tash to that one (young ladies should not be walking around Whitechapel at night) and Matthew offered his services for Friday night's full band show. The immediate 'fly in the ointment' was going to be the rest of the bands on the bill, as the promoters wisely, knowing his reputation, had filled up both evenings with other up and coming muso's, who from what little I eventually saw, all seemed to be singing from the Rolling Stones book of style, to such a degree that on the Wednesday Pete would be on stage at 12:10 - Yes you read that correctly, Pete Doherty would be onstage the next day. I usually go to bed before this so I was already presented with the logistical conundrum of how I was going hide my pyjamas under my 'Rock' outfit and smuggle in my cocoa and teddy.

What I hadn't thought about when saying yes to this 'recapture your youth' evening was that this would mean that Tash and I would have to go out and spend the evening together! without the comfy sofa!, without numerous cups of tea! without the TV to take up the invariable lack of conversation! AHHHHHHHHHHHH! As a rule the girl and I are incompatible around alcohol - remember it is your similarities that attract you initially and then it is your differences that ~~push you apart~~ keep you together (as I was once told; as a man I find it a great shame that breasts as not also included in this statement) - 'Mr Argument' usually puts in an appearance at some point during any normal home drinking session, so I was approaching this night out carefully. Initially the evening looked to be taking an early bath, we walked around Spitalfields for 40 minutes trying to find a bar that wasn't packed or restaurant that we wanted to eat in; this is London remember, so the problem isn't a lack of venue or choice, it is the opposite. I wasn't in the mood for a curry, despite standing one block away from the western world's most famous street of Indian restaurants and about 5 minutes into our 'casual stroll' I needed to go to the toilet so all my decision making and conversation skills went out of the window - it is hard to be objective when all you can think about is "I must wee!".

Tash saved the day by directing me away from the trendy bars and towards an old fashion pub hidden just off Brick Lane, I was in heaven, a toilet and a pint of bitter! - In recognising that I am getting older and that the effects of drink are felt more harshly by my own personal ecosystem, as you have noticed, because embarassingly I write about it a lot - I have given up the lager in favour of the traditional man's drink, bitter, which isn't bitter at all, it is quite sweet. The point is that it annoys Tash that I now drink this, so it is all the more tasty (next month I am going to throw out all my jeans and insist on only wearing corduroy and slacks). Things went well, we spent a large part of the evening discussing the pub cat who had a prime position on top of a seat next to the chimney breast, this of course being a 'traditional English pub' it had a roaring fire. Then I got talked into a curry, oh dear! (for the morning)

Finally we reached a more rude hour, about 11:30 if I remember correctly, both of us were relatively sober and were ready to make our entrance into the venue.

One of the 'features' that I have picked up from our experiences of the last 6 years of T&C (Tash and Cancer), yes it has been that long, is that I have adopted the role of Tash's protector when we are out. The sort of deep rooted emotional anger and turmoil that our life regularly bestows on us has given me the ability (it is no real ability I might add, I would prefer not to have it) to 'red-mist' and have developed a '1000 yard stare' (Tash calls it my 'deranged look'). Genetics has also had a hand in providing me with the impetus to have a close crew cut (this would be the famous Anglo-Saxon baldness gene) and with an increasingly stocky build (though to be fair that might have more to do with the beer). I am told that I can be quite intimidating at times; when done around Tash it buys her the space to relax and principally stops people barging into her. To someone with so many 'hot spots' this is of course quite a painful experience to have happen to you. So as we walked out of the bar area into the music room of this venue I realised that she was laughing at me, I asked why...

"you're so funny, did you see what you did in there"

Apparently I hadn't realised that I had slipped into 'Deano the Barbarian' on walking through the door - politely say "good evening" to both the doormen, look them in the eyes, scan the room for any drunken idiots, make eye contact with anyone who looks back at you, do not smile. We move to the bar, I make sure she has an easy route, I'll ask you politely to make some room, but will have my hand on your shoulder at the time. Whilst Tash orders drinks I stand right behind her with my arms crossed (my natural posture) making sure no other fools try some side-swipe-bar-action.

"oh" I replied " I wondered why we had so much room"

I don't have a side job in running protection rackets by the way, looking after Tash is my only focus. Maybe next time we go to see a trendy young thing like Pete, I might wear Gillian and try to blend in more, I was the only skin head in there.

Pete eventually made it to the stage, on time funnily, just after midnight, guitar in hand and flanked by a couple of 'randoms' (other gentlmen on stage) . Pete's large stage security guard proved to be a gem, standing for the entire set at the back of the stage so everyone could see him. About a quarter of the way into the gig he gave up scanning the crowd for possible trouble makers (why bother when the biggest one in here is sitting on stage with you) and settled down with his mobile to, as far as I could see, text a few of his mates. Pete sat at the mike, swigged the last vestiges from a large bottle of Jack Daniel's (not a full bottle, nor a half full bottle, but a bottle with only just enough for him to be seen finishing - think about it, you've drunk a bottle of JD neat, you wouldn't be able to see, let alone perfectly plan the last couple of sips so that you can finish it on stage at the beginning of your set!) and then started playing some songs that I didn't recognise, followed by some more that I didn't know either. This didn't surprise me as think that he is an idiot and so have no real interest in his musical ability. Tash reports that the gig was good and that he played a lot of Libertines songs that he would not normally play with Babyshambles . Still the venue and crowd were ok, my memories of gigs are that they are sweaty beer stained events where people are continuously pushing into you (this is part of the reason behind my earlier accidental usage of 'Deano the Barbarian'), but maybe things have changed in the last 15 years, there was air, it was a comfortable temperature and most surprisingly, people were (mostly) careful and polite when they moved past you - That's how I like my Rock and Roll I remember thinking.

Tash would be happy to give you a full review of the gig, suffice to say that I saw the fin early and he got tired about an hour in and by the time he jumped the shark , we were ready to leave. I still had time though to join in with the crowd, who in between songs were shouting out song requests, not knowing or caring what these musical nuggets were, I offered up my suggestion - "Born in the USA" I shouted, he didn't play it sadly, his loss.

And it doesn't stop here, read on there's more..... >>

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