Hi ladies, I'm triple negative too. It's been a week since I had this particular news and had first chemo session yesterday. I'd already gone into DEFCON 3 mode when the first cancer diagnosis was confirmed 3 weeks ago. Went through every pile of papers, every trinket box with the strange rubbish I'd been stuffing in there for years, re-read letters from old boyfriends, chucked out SO much stuff over days and nights of compulsive sorting. The reason for doing this, of course, was because in my head was the "This is it" moment. I even made keep-sake boxes for the people I love! Now things have sunk in a bit, including the TN information, I've reached the view that I am where I am. There's nothing I can do to alter the diagnosis but I CAN change how I respond to what it will bring. It's a bit like having a toxic colleague in the workplace - you can't change their behaviours, you can only change your own, and while I'm not thrilled with the immediate prospect of 20 weeks of chemo, I'm going to try not to look round too many corners for the middle or long-term, including googling any data. That could change, of course, but the up-side for right now is that I have a very tidy house! The first chemo session was so much better than I'd been expecting, although it started off strangely. When I walked into the reception, we did the usual ritual of name and DOB, then the receptionist said, "Blah blah area, take the first left, Chair 21." I must have looked very confident (like someone else?) but she hadn't clicked I was a newbie. Once we got things back on the right foot, I plonked down in Chair 21. Everything was going swimmingly when, just before the cannula went in, they realised I hadn't been given the anti-emetic that I should have taken an hour before the appointment. No one had told me about this or given me the medication! So, pill popped, I twiddled my thumbs with my arm snuggled into the heat-pad-thing for an hour before we got down to business. It was all completely fine. Lots of lovely eye contact from the nurses, lots of explanation and some intriguing tips based on their experiences, eg, "if you have a favourite perfume you wear regularly, try swapping it out for something new while you're going through the treatment process." Something to do with emotion, memory and smell, I think. Anyway, it's the perfect excuse to buy a new fragrance! Also, when the various drugs (epirubicin, which makes your wee go pink for a bit, and cyclophosphamide) were going down the tube into the cannula, I was told I might feel certain fleeting sensations, such as tickly backside (?!), a taste of black pepper at the back of my nose, a sudden headache down my nose and across my eyebrows. When none of these things happened - very disappointing, especially the tickly bottom - my friend and I got a fit of the giggles and I kept bending the tube, which made the machine start beeping. The nurses were very patient and good humoured about us cackling away in the corner. Thank goodness we were the only ones there by this time. Last night and today have been fine. I'm a bit tired, a bit spacey, and there are lots more anti-nausea pills to take than I was expecting. This could have been because, based on some advice on one of these brilliant threads, I kept saying "I'm a very sicky person, I'm a very sicky person!" so someone must have written it down. The irony is that I missed one earlier because it was 30-60 mins before a meal and I forgot, so am off to buy a cheapy dosette box in the morning. So after all that jabbering on, I guess the TN thing is really an extra card to hold in our cancer hands. It might mean something, it might not. I've been looking into some counselling options provided by my hospitals/Macmillan and there's also a specialist centre fairly close by which runs lots of services re cancer support. It might be a good space to talk through some of the feelings I don't want to lay on my loved ones. Just waiting to see if any of that nausea turns up in the next few days before I start ringing for appointments! Sue
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