Today Felix and I strolled in late for my last session of Herceptin. As per normal I was physically examined by an oncologist (armpits, hands, breasts and breathing) and informed the doctor of my side effects: joint pain, hot flushes, fatigue, poor sleep, bit of a dry martini and some twinges. Tests of my heart functioning report that my heart does exactly that: function.

A year ago I commenced chemotherapy alongside Herceptin treatment. Herceptin runs for twelve months, though there are rumours in oncology that the length of time women receive Herceptin might reduce soon as it hasn’t been proven women with HERII positive breast cancer require such a long treatment. I don’t care I wanted to get the stuff for as long as possible (and also as long as it was safe).

It’s a big day, even though it doesn’t feel like one as yet. I’ve finished my IV drugs. In a couple months I can get my portacath removed.

Chicks in Pink is a fund raising organisation that runs out of Mater Private hospital. A public relations woman and photographer came to my house in May and 1.got my story down for an article in a magazine and 2.took a bunch of photographs for their banners. They use these banners for fund raising events and such. So, I don’t know which shot they’ll use as the three above are just examples. The photographer, a lovely Dutch man who’s mother died from breast cancer, sent a whole disc of me smiling into the camera (I should’ve worn lipstick or something as my face looks rather plain).

This year is pounding the pavement like an endorphin addicted marathon runner. Next month my son turns two, and I get nipples (under local anaesthetic no less). I’m shaking a bad cold which went to my chest producing much coughing and hacking. As a consequence I lost my voice three days ago and it hasn’t returned until today. I can now rasp words out. Apart from the winter cold I’m happy.