Out with the old

2010 - a year of leaking oil and leaking secrets, cruel cuts, and deep relief for 33 trapped miners.

A year in which an Icelandic volcano cast a three week shadow over European air travel; it snowed, and snowed again; and the students were revolting.

A year when more than 12 million people were diagnosed with cancer. 

In which two friends have died of the disease, four more were diagnosed and five received the all clear.

I'd like to raise a glass to those who've crossed my path who have done battle with the disease.  So here's to the cancer cast of 2010:  Jane I, Jane T, Sue, Margaret, Suzanne, Lisa, Maria, Hilary, Jenny, Cindy, Maureen, Maria, Beverley, Stuart, Lynette, Vicki-Jean, Michael, Joanne, Annette, Liz, and the countless others I've met whose names I never knew.

JP doesn't like New Year. He wants to drive a pin through the world to stop it spinning, or turn it round the other way. I have always believed in it. To me it spells hope and promise, because 'tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further...And one fine morning...'

When you've had cancer, you travel hopefully...

Radio silence

The last radiotherapy session today was oddly anticimatic. This cancer journey, which started out with a big bang and high drama, and is now kind of fizzling out.

Now treatment is over I am left to assess the damage - a mutilated boob that still looks like a boob, at least from the outside; an annoyingly aching back; general tiredness - but no worse than I normally experience at this time of year; and a very short haircut.

But I mustn't grumble, because whatever the hangovers of the treatment, it's better than the alternative! And I am truly glad to be here.

Today I've had my head shaved - which may sound barmy given that there's hardly any hair there anyway - but I'm told it helps it to grow back thicker. It's coming back dark!!

I shall probably wind this blog up in the new year - it will then be a complete record of treatment from start to finish.

These are strange, grey, in-betweeny days. Usually I go back to work in between Christmas and New Year, it's a good time for tying up loose ends, when it's quiet. We will probably see out the year as we saw it in, watching a band at our local pub. But this year no Jane. It seems impossible that someone so vital can be no longer here. It hasn't sunk in yet, like she's just away, or something. Like I will be seeing her next week, next month, next year....

Jane I'Anson R.I.P

To Jane, who died this morning.

Goodbye beautiful friend. The world will be a much duller place without you....

 

Doctor's orders

Thursday will be the last radiation session, marking the end of cancer-zapping procedures, but not the end of treatment. After that we're into prevention. Because mine was an oestrogen-fed cancer, to stop it returning I must take hormone tablets for up to five years. Some people don't like this medication because it brings on an early menopause. At my age I'm not too bothered as that's where I'm heading anyway.

All these months of treatment have left me knackered, so I'm not going back into work till February - although still working a few hours from home. I will use the time to build my strength up. My back, where they took the muscle out, is weakened and I get intermittent backache. The physio says I should swim in a 'posh pool' (where the water is warmer). So today we've been out looking at private gyms.

I used to frequent an old municipal pool in town, until last April when Nottingham City Council in their wisdom closed it. It had a small but loyal clientele. Often there would be only a handful of people in the water. That's why I liked it - and probably why they closed it. In this age of austerity I doubt whether the promised all-singing, all-dancing replacement will ever materialise.

The physio also says I must not sit for more than half an hour, but should get up and walk around. What a perfect excuse for getting out of meetings!

Merry Christmas everybody

Good will has followed me around all year but now it's the official season for it.

Even Colonel Sensitivity was nice to me earlier.

Here's a couple of  Chrimbo creatures spotted recently.

Have a good 'un..

Made for walking

Best buy of 2010. I got a pair of these at the start of the winter and have hardly taken them off since.

They're docs, so they've got the non-slip airware sole. They don't slide around on the ice, and they're the most comfortable footwear ever!

AND they look good!

Management-speak b*****ks of the year

(From a government communiqué)

"..sunsetting low-impact functions....."

WHAT??

I think it means stopping useless work. Worthy of a Plain English Campaign golden bull award, I'd say.

Talking of sunsets, here's a sunrise snapped over Sherwood. Solstice tomorrow ..

Befuddled

Trying to organise a fuddle to take to Jane in hospital over the weekend  (if she's well enough),  but getting bogged down with logisitics and variables to do with people, timings and snow.

For the uninitiated, 'fuddle' is a Nottingham word meaning a gathering where everyone brings food. I'm guessing it's a fusion of the words 'food' and 'huddle'. There will doubtless be lots of these going on in offices across town at the moment. I don't think fuddles exist outside Notts (but correct me if I'm wrong).

Nice idea but can be a nightmare to plan - who's bringing what where when why etc etc. Maybe it should be called a muddle...

What a lovely dentist!

He took a real interest. He asked loads of questions, none of them about teeth! He wanted to know how, where and when I found my lump; how big it was (precise dimensions please); what operation I had; which bits of me are being irradiated and who I'm spending Christmas with. Oh and he also cleaned up my teeth. They look a lot better now.

Nobody told me

Chemotherapy affects teeth. Just when I'm starting to feel human again with hair and fingernails returning,  I've noticed bits of teeth have gone black. I look like a 'before' model in one of those cosmetic makeover programmes, or someone with a 40-a-day habit.

And this really pisses me off because I've always looked after my teeth. I only have two fillings and these I've had since I was ten.

Google led me to a forum full of horror stories about molars crumbling and front teeth falling out - the internet is a dangerous thing!

Hoping it's just plaque which a few trips to the hygienist will sort. Booked into the dentist later so I'll find out the worst. Funny how despite being cut open, poisoned and irradiated this year, a visit to the dentist can still induce such dread. It's a primeval thing.

A toast to absent friends

Feeling festive after putting the tree up earlier, and looking forward to the usual round of celebrations.

But this year this is tinged with sadness because there'll be one party-goer missing and that is Jane, who is currently in the Macmillan Centre in Derby Royal.

Jane, who could always be relied upon to come out and party; who would brighten up a room just by walking in; who can liven up the dullest of proceedings.

She has fought off cancer so many times in the past and bounced back more vibrant than ever. And despite her grim prognosis now she still faces up to life with immense courage and good humour.

This year, we will have to take the party to her....

They don't give you the 'all clear'

They just zap you with everything they've got then send you merrily on your way, with a wave and a smile and a 'come back next year'.

I thought they'd do a scan or something.

Saw a registrar yesterday, who looked about 19. He assured me the pimple on my tongue (a small thing but it's wreaking havoc with my neurosis) is NOT anything sinister like a secondary cancer but merely a pimple on my tongue. He also refused to refer me to a cognitive behaviour therapist because he says I'm not depressed. I know I'm not, at the moment anyway. I just fancied talking to an expert about the way I think.

Been dog walking again this morning. This time she behaved herself. She found a flourescent pink squeaky ball in the snow, which helped.

Going for work Christmas do later. Question is, what to wear? Can't go for anything vaguely low cut as it will show off the radiotherapy marks. (They draw on you daily in enduring marker pen and I can't be bothered to scrub it off). Think I'll go for something warm but mildly festive, as it's still bloody cold out there.

The worst thing about daily radiotherapy

Is getting glimpses of the Jeremy Kyle show in the waiting room. Whenever I catch even a few seconds of this programme I get a sense of abandoning all hope. It's far more depressing than cancer treatment.

I'm with Judge Alan Berg, who sentencing a man who headbutted someone on the show said: "It seems to me that the purpose of this show is to effect a morbid and depressing display of dysfunctional people....some of whom have limited intellects.."

Soon our American cousins will be able to enjoy their own version of this freak show after ITV successfully exported him to the US. They can keep him!

One thing I'm thankful for is that throughout all these months at home I have not succumbed to daytime telly. Perhaps it's all a clever conspiracy to get people back into work.

First green shoots of recovery

The blokes at the radiotherapy clinic have been growing facial hair to raise money for prostate cancer research. Now they are all going round sporting moustaches.

This set me thinking - perhaps I should get people to sponsor me to grow my hair back - a pound per centimetre, maybe.

A guy I once worked with used to pop out to the barbers some lunchtimes to get his head shaved.  Some of us girls liked to stroke his hair when he came back with a number 1 cut. It felt nice - all soft and springy. My head is starting to feel like this - there's now a covering of fine down about a millimetre long.

Can't tell what colour it's going to be yet. Bits seem blonde, other bits appear to be darker. Hope it's not grey. But I don't really care, as long as it's not green!

Long dark tea-time of the soul

Around this time of year, especially at this time of day, an oppressive gloom descends. I feel an impenetrable sadness that can make everyday activity feel like walking through thick fog.

It has nothing to do with cancer. I get it every year, a kind of over-riding sense of things coming to an end, as though quite literally when the nights close in so do my options.

I know this is classic Seasonal Affective Disorder. Strange how falling light levels can actually affect your thought processes. Circumstances which at any other time would seem neutral or even positive become weighted with negativity, and I rage against the dying of the light.

Over the years I've tried ways of handling it. Forcing myself to do stuff. Allowing myself to hibernate. Taking St John's Wort. Buying a light-box. Walking to work so I catch at least some daylight. All these things help a bit. Usually closer to Christmas with all its associated distractions I start to pick up, and when the new year comes, even though 1 January is really just an artificial milestone, I feel a huge sense of hope and relief.

It's almost worth it for the high that comes in March, when everything opens up again and life is once more ripe with possibility.

People say to me sometimes: "Your blog sounds upbeat but how are you really?" I'd say mostly it's a pretty accurate reflection of my mood. I am glad that diagnosis and the worst of the treatment came in the Spring and Summer months. Had I been diagnosed in November not March, this could have been a very different blog.

The trouble with emergency planners

Squirty in the snow. He hasn't moved for days.

They predict emergencies....

JP: If this snow keeps up and the power goes, we're snookered.
Me: We've got gas, we can cook on that
JP: Not if we can't get out for food
Me: I can walk to the co-op in the snow
JP: Not if the supermarkets run out...

Now I'm worried!

Supermarkets don't have many storage facilities these days so rely on just-in-time deliveries from super-depots in places like Daventry. Which is all very well until it snows and the lorries can't get through, in which case the shops could run out of produce in a couple of days.

When I was a child in Somerset in the seventies our village got cut off for what seemed like weeks. My Dad walked to work across snow covered fields; when the power went off we cooked on an open fire and we bought unpasteurised milk direct from the local farm - straight from the cows. None of that could happen now because we are much less locally self-sufficient and much more reliant on automation and transport systems.

Meanwhile the white stuff keeps on falling...

Let it snow..

The whiteout continues. Wonder how long it will be before it brings our fragile infrastructure to a standstill?

Selfishly, I'm liking it. I don't have to go anywhere except to hospital and I've kind of enjoyed trudging there and back through freshly driven snow.

When I worked as a local newspaper reporter this sort of weather was a gift - we'd send a photographer out and fill the paper with snow stories.
                                                                     
Snow brings out a sort of Dunkirk spirit in people. I remember one especially slippy day during last year's big freeze forming a human chain with a bunch of eclectic strangers so we could get across the road.

Machines don't seem to like the cold though, the boiler broke down on Sunday, the dishwasher's on a go-slow, the cooker's become temperamental and yesterday the device that beams radiation into me threw a wobbly too, meaning things weren't quite so punctual. Hoping this jinx doesn't affect the trains as JP's got to get back from London.

Winterland

Awoke to a white world.... this is the view from the bedroom window and below from Attenborough where I went for a trudge in the snow while John played on the boat.

My energy is returning - managed a four mile hike round the nature reserve, and walked to the hospital and back each day this week. Radiotherapy is going fine - five sessions down,  20 to go. And it's punctual - in and out in 20 minutes. Now I've got the weekend off.

Tastebuds are back too - bananas taste like bananas! Let's see what chocolate tastes like...

Thought for the year

Someone said to me today: "You can write off 2010 and let your life begin again in the new year."

They meant well but they don't get it. My life is not on hold. To live through this illness is to live fully. Perversely cancer, bringing with it the shadow of death, puts into sharp focus what it is to be alive.

It has by no means been an annus horribilis. It has been a time of many triumphs and surprises; the wave of goodwill that took me by storm at the beginning and still propels me through every hurdle; the people, some already close, some re-discovered, others strangers, who have stepped forward to help, knowingly or not; the luxury of having time to write,  reflect, and just to be; the realisation of what's important and what's not.

And what's most important to me, I realise, is connection with others. I cannot imagine going through this in isolation. Also important is physical fitness. Whether I can walk up the hill or not in Woodthorpe Park can make the difference between a good or a bad day. Something else that matters to me is writing - it's my therapy - and I'm proud of having completed an OU course in creative writing in August, despite cancer. And last but not least is faith. There have been low spots when the only thing that brings peace is prayer. Someone said there are no atheists in the trenches, and I know where they're coming from. When I think my life's in danger I pray like there's no tomorrow...

Beam me up

Radiotherapy consists of lying on a machine which beams radioactivity into you. You have to lie still so the beams hit the right bits. You don't feel a thing - except soreness later - for which they give you a big vat of skin cream.

It all seems fairly innocuous until you remember that this is actually highly powerful radiation which zaps everything in its path.

Anyway, first one over with, twenty four to go! Last session is on 30 December.

If anyone had told me a year ago I'd be cut open, poisoned and irradiated all in the interests of good health, I wouldn't have believed them.

Life's a beach

Yesterday's revelations about Departmental expenses, including tales of Rada acting lessons and a visit to a chocolate factory, must be music to the ears of those who like to villify the public sector. But I say take these stories with a barrelful of salt.

My former Department fell foul of similar exposure when it published details of annual expenditure. Elements of the media pounced on accounts of chauffeur-driven cars and a trip to Blackpool Pleasure beach with suitably outraged indignation.

The resulting coverage read like civil servants had been having one long jolly at taxpayers' expense. The reality - which never got published - was that most of these jaunts were organised at the behest of Ministers. The chauffer-driven cars were booked not for staff but for Ministers on their travels. And the pleasure beach, which the media enjoyed so much, was used solely for its conference facilities.

Talking of beaches, we've just been up to Northumbria for a couple of days. The coastline is spectacular; miles and miles of golden sands dotted with castles, built to keep out the Scots and the Scandinavians. Weather was a bit grey but hey, it's November..

First night in for ages!

After feeling isolated and a little low last week I've started getting out again in earnest. Have taken in a movie, a meal out and a 50th birthday bash in the last few days. And today went for a swim with a friend and her three-year-old. Wonderful to be back in the water.

This all feels like emerging after some chemically-imposed house arrest.

Next week brings a new regime of daily radiotherapy. Although it's a slog going to the hospital every day, each session only takes ten minutes, apparently.

'We're punctual here. Not like at the chemo clinic,' said the consultant. Good, because I need time to fit in my social life.

Re-emergence

It's been three weeks since the last chemo infusion so the drugs should officially be out of my system. Recovery starts here!

Have been scanning my scalp for signs of re-growth. Nothing yet. Probably a bit optimisitc. I'm told within 2-3 weeks I can expect 'soft fuzz', with normal hair growth after a month. In two months I could have a whole inch of hair! Such potential...maybe the hairdresser could make me look like this?

Now that winter is here the wig has been getting more of an airing. It keeps my head warm, but soon starts to irritate.  Anyone who invents an itch-free wig could make a lot of money out of the NHS.

Got a week off before radiotherapy starts so hoping to head out of town for a couple of days. Also planning trips to places that have been off limits, like restaurants, swimming pools and the cinema. Anyone seen any good films lately?

Tales of the riverbank



Home from home


Another glorious November day. We brought the boat to its new winter moorings. JP and brother did all the work. I just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

Years ago I lived near here as a student in a wooden shack called the Boathouse. Three of us rented the place during the summer of  '83 (a hot one) for the princely sum of £25 a month. We spent the summer working shifts in a nearby pork pie factory, swimming in the river and tootling around in a rubber dinghy. Happy memories. Funny how things come full circle.

Sadly the Boathouse is no more. It got demolished to make way for a car park. Generations of Nottingham students mourned its passing...

Brothers on lock duty

Cat in the doghouse

Oscar, bored with his prescription 'sensitivity' diet, has been causing chaos in the kitchen.

He has just learnt, in late middle-age, how to leap onto the work surface, and in the past week has SHOVED the lid off a steaming pan of bolognese, SMASHED one of our best plates, SWIPED three meat balls and SCOFFED the best part of a tin of tuna.

John thinks we should get tough, show him who's boss, teach him obedience through a system of reward and punishment. But Oscar won't buy that Pavlovian stuff. Being a cat, not a dog, Oscar won't obey...

Why me?

I don't mean this in a self-pitying, 'woe is me', sort of way, but 

Sunny Beeston - who needs California?

everyone with cancer must ask themselves this question.  Why does someone with none of the usual risk factors (no family history, not a smoker, healthy lifestyle, healthy diet etc etc.) get it?

I got chatting to a woman at the radiotherapy clinic. We were speculating as to causes. She thought it was something to do with micorowaved meals in plastic containers. 

Toxins leaching out from plastics? Pollutants in the air? Electromagnetics from our phones and wi-fi devices? Growth hormone in dairy products? A combination of factors in our chemical world? Or maybe it's just luck.

Another woman I know was diagnosed last week. Cancer, it seems, is everywhere.

Meanwhile JP's been trying to persuade me that November is the best - not the worst - month of the year, and after the glorious weekend we've just had, I was starting to believe him, until today's relentless rain set in.  Took this pic down by the marina on Saturday.

California dreamin'

Shoreline Lake Mountain View

Now that November's upon us it's hibernation time. With its misty grey drizzle and dark afternoons it's bringing on a touch of winter blues. I want to curl up under a duvet with lots of good books and stay there till spring.

Some people beat the SADness by jetting off to sunnier climes. My hit counter on this blog tells me there's a regular visitor from Mountain View California. Doesn't that sound a wonderful place? Whoever you are, can I come visit?

Just when we thought I'd got it licked..

I've developed a mouth ulcer at the base of my tongue. A miniscule thing but it's wreaking havoc. Everything I swallow has to pass near there so eating is an effort. Food must be soft or preferably liquidised.

It's the chemo's final assault before retreating from my system for ever.

I am hoping it will get better of its own accord, but I've had it three days now and the pain has started to spread up my ear canal so I may have to get it checked out. I guess you need white cells even to fight a mouth ulcer.

Red cells, white cells, platelets; chemo attacks so many of the body's natural defences. I hope it has been as ruthless with any lingering cancer traces. It is only when the system's out of sync that you realise what an amazing triumph of design and engineering the human body is.

Dream sequence

"Trying to get to Heaven before they close the doors"..Dylan

I am in a spacious, white-walled room. The only thing is this room is a giant canvas on the far wall depicting the Last Supper. It's not the one by Leonardo. It's more like El Greco's painting as seen here.

As I move towards the canvas the room I am in melts away and I am walking into the picture. The disciples are getting up from the table and exiting through some doors at the far end. Last one out is Peter - the only one to look round. I instinctively know this is Peter. Noticing me, he holds his arm outstretched, 'talk to the hand' style, as though pushing me away. He then turns his back and makes towards the doors.

I run after him yelling: "Let me in, let me in, don't leave me here," but he is gone.

Seconds later her reappears, and beckons me through.

At this point I am woken by JP because I'm shouting in my sleep.

What's THAT about?

I don't normally remember dreams but this one remains vivid. And I'm not even on steroids any more.

Treats in store

These are things I'm looking forward to when treatment is finished.....

• Return of the taste-buds - mulled wine and mince pies tasting as they should (Christmas is coming).
• Hair growing back - thicker and even curly!
• Holidays in the sun - or at least further than a couple of hours drive from Nottingham City Hospital
• Running, swimming and going to the gym; I actually miss these things. (The gym has promised me a personal trainer when I return.)
• Fingernails growing back. Yes they're knackered too!
• Going to gatherings - Christmas is coming.
• Cinema trips - only been once while on chemo and had to go early afternoon when the place was empty.
• Skin rejuvenating - chemotherapy dries it out and bits are peeling off.
• Ditching the thermometer, and with it the paranoia
• Having a massage -  banned during treatment because it stimulates lymph glands.

Well Halloween weekend is nearly over and not one trick-or-treat-er. What are we going to do with all those Quality Streets?

Crazy dog dash

Just been for a walk with a kamikaze canine. She's small but fearless, with an irrational dislike of certain groups of people - like joggers and cyclists. She chases anything that growls, including motorbikes and large agricultural vehicles.

Usually we pre-empt these encounters by getting her on the lead, but today she spotted some sort of harvester roaring down the lane, and legged it out of the field straight into the path of four massive wheels.

I feared we could be scraping dead dog up off the road. But she survived, having seen the monster off good and proper.

Managed quite a few miles. Not bad considering I'm nearing the nadir

Tattooed lady

Today I go for radiotherapy planning. They will put me in a 'big doughnut' (CT scanner) to map out where everything is.

They will also give me tattoos to show them where to point the beams.

Question is, what designs to go for? A tasteful flower, discrete butterfly, or an anchor, perhaps? I'm rather taken with the Japanese bird motif below.
Yesterday I popped into town to visit a former colleague who is retiring. During her career she has been down a mine with Princess Anne, gone shoe shopping with Raisa Gorbachev, and met Nelson Mandela. She had thank you letters from three former Prime Ministers.

It was good to see her and others I used to work with. Now that chemo is over I have a sense of re-emerging into the world. Lots to look forward to, not least being able to go to 'gatherings'. Christmas is coming -  perhaps I should go for a festive tat...

Smart streets

Just to prove you can fit three of these in the space it takes to park one large gas-guzzler.

Here is Squirty - our yellow smart, gone to join two friends one fine day.

And below is an example of some smart Parisian parking! Taken on a trip to Montmartre a couple of years ago.

Sleepless on steroids again - for the last time! And this week have to inject myself daily with a potion to boost immunity, in the hope of keeping out of hospital this time round.

Never had to plunge a needle into myself before. Better not make a habit of it...

First in last out



Last chemo!! No more gory pictures after this one - promise!

Booked a nine am appointment for my fnal chemo in the hope  I'd be out quickly. Finally emerged after treatment at nearly NINE PM!

NHS time excelled itself today:
9am: Arrived. Advised to wait for doc to approve bloods.
12 pm: Wednesday's bloods not up to scratch. Had another blood test.
12:15pm Went home to wait for results.
3pm: Phoned - bloods now ok. Advised to come back in an hour.
4pm: Returned to chemo clinic
7pm: Called in for treatment.

I was the last one out - at ten to nine in the evening - nearly 12 hours from the original appointment time.  Despite being allowed home for a few hours in the afternoon, still spent SIX HOURS in the clinic waiting room. Long enough to read the whole of Salmon Fishing in the Yemen.

Nobody's fault, really. Just one of those days of big delays. The nurses were run ragged. Never mind. None of this matters because after today there'll be no more chemo!! Yay!

Just three weeks recovery time then I will be able to discard the thermometer, get fit again and lose the paranoia about germs. This time round I hope to avoid being admitted to hospital.

What do they want - blood?

My veins are knackered - it's official. Shot to pieces by chemo and cannulation. Just been for a blood test. Now even expert blood-takers have to jab more than once to find a vessel that will yield.

Never mind. Not much more of this. Last chemo on Friday - fingers crossed.

Meanwhile public sector workers are avidly awaiting this afternoon's Spending Review announcement, with some Departments facing a possible 40 per cent cut. I predict more blood-letting before the day is out....

It's not a competition

The Post article sparked a mini-debate among readers about funding for different types of cancer. Two people expressed annoyance that breast cancer seems to get more funding - and better publicity - than other forms of cancer. A third person pointed out that this is because more individuals are affected by it and that being the case the funding is evenly proportioned.

What occurred to me on reading these comments was, it's not a case of either/or. Surely any publicity for any type of cancer is good. True, those involved in breast cancer campaigns do seem to be particularly good at it - but there is no reason why this should detract from efforts to raise the profile of other types of cancer. There is no cap on awareness.

Interesting, since I've been diagnosed I've noticed that rarely a day goes by without some form of cancer being in the news. Today's Post features two cancer fundraising events which took place yesterday, the 'pedal  it pink' event (pictured) and a walk in Wollaton Park to raise money for the Maggies centre. And pancreatic cancer got a mention on this morning's Today programme.

While I was disappointed my last chemo got delayed it's kinda nice to have a 'free' week, when I'm feeling ok. We went for a bike ride yesterday in glorious sunshine along the river and I felt refreshed and healthy afterwards. Ok it was flat, but it fuels hope that I can recover fitness quite quickly after treatment is finished. Who knows, I might even make next year's half marathon. If I do I will run it in aid of Cancer Research UK - which raises funds to help all types of cancer.

Fame at last?

When I heard the Nottingham Post were doing an article I envisaged three pars on about page 17 - or at the very most a half pager.

They've given it front page lead plus double page spread inside. Blimey!!!

Here's the links:
http://www.thisisnottingham.co.uk/news/Breast-cancer-blogger-s-inspirational-story/article-2765155-detail/article.html
http://www.thisisnottingham.co.uk/news/Blogging-breast-cancer/article-2765154-detail/article.html

Picture's not bad, either, although I think I prefer the one of seven Alsation police puppies....
http://www.thisisnottingham.co.uk/news/Notts-police-seven-new-pup-crimefighters/article-2766198-detail/article.html

Christmas is coming

Showed up at chemo clinic feeling de-mob happy only to learn that although the neutrophils are up my liver is malfunctioning again so they delayed the final treatment till next Friday (22nd).

Bummer!

Also this week had a chat with the radiotherapy man about the next phase of treatment and discovered I have to have five weeks' worth (25 sessions), not two as I had previously thought.

Radiotherapy is, from all accounts, a doddle compared with chemo, but it involves daily trips to the hospital. This will start four weeks after the last chemo.

Which, by my reckoning, will mean my last ever treatment will be on Christmas Eve. Could be cause for a celebration - liver permitting!

Release day

For me and - hopefully - for the first of the Chilean miners.

Scores on the doors: neutrophils 0.8,
haemoglobin 10.0. Both heading in the right direction so they let me go. If this trend continues I should be fit for the final chemo on Thursday.

Got out late afternoon, and the sun came out too so we went for a walk round Woolly Park. Took this picture looking out across the lake. Autumn is a beautiful season.

Waiting Game

I am patient - in every sense of the word. Still in hospital. Waiting for neutraphils (white cells) to increase; for red cells to stabilise and for my bone marrow to start producing more cells. Production is slow - yesterday I had 0.2 neutraphils. I need at least 1.0 before they'll let me out.


I feel fine actually. Nice ward. Own room. I've stayed in worse hotels. Food leaves a bit to be desired but visitors have been supplementing with fresh fruit, cake and home-made soup.

I've been killing time with frequent forays off the ward. I am getting to know this site quite well. Yesterday John and I made a great escape off the hospital campus to Mill Lakes. It was a gorgeous day, like summer.

Waiting for today's blood results. Fingers crossed I'll get out soon. Just have to be patient....

Weekend on the Ward

I'm sampling hospital hospitality yet again.  Admitted yesterday when they discovered my white blood cells were down to zero again.

Berman 2 offers superior accommodation, spacious private room plus en-suite shower.

At ONE AM they decided to wake me up and wheel me through deserted corridors to Radiography for a chest x-ray.  Reasons unknown!

They wont let me go until my bloods are back up.  Could be in for the weekend.

Here we go again

Woke to a high temperature (37.9). Waiting for the chemo clinic to open so I can phone for advice. I may have to go into hospital again to get checked over.

This is getting boring. They must be sick of the sight of me by now. And I'm certainly sick of the sight, smells and sounds of that place.

Racking my brains to think of where I could have picked something up; the most likely place is the doctors' waiting room, where I went to renew my fit-note. That involved spending half an hour in an airless space with people coughing around me.

Perhaps for the sixth and final session, I should live in an oxygen tent like Michael Jackson, and only go out wearing a mask. I've still got a SARS mask they gave me at Hong Kong airport, I've also got this this rather fine feline article made for the Venetian ball scene. Some say it's sinister.

Not long to go now. Thursday 14th is my last chemo treatment - three weeks after that I can put an end to this neurosis about germs.

Reunited

This is Oscar with his namesake Oscar 2 - who has recently come home after spending the past 18 months on my desk at work.

My boss brought him round last week with the rest of my personal effects. I've now officially left that Department and transferred back to the bit of Government I worked in before (for complicated reasons involving austerity measures and office closures.)

He also brought gifts, a card, and lots of nice Spanish food, so we had a little leaving lunch here. Thankfully chorizo is one of the things I can still taste.

Oscar 2 is full of beans, and handy for throwing at people. In a previous workplace, he was banned from my workstation because he didn't conform to the clear desk standard. You were allowed one photograph but no soft toys.

Talking of former colleagues, the Nottingham Post is coming to interview me tomorrow for a feature for breast cancer awareness month. Their feature writer is a girl I used to work with 20 years ago when I was a reporter. It will be good to catch up. They're sending a photographer too - better spruce up the wig!

Highs and lows

The mid-point between two chemo sessions is called the nadir - which means low point. It's when blood count is most depleted and energy levels hit rock bottom. It's where I am now. Even small amounts of exertion send my pulse rate racing; getting up the hill in Woodthorpe Park is out of the question. I take comfort in the knowledge that I only have to do this one more time.

Recently when I did manage to struggle up the hill, and flopped down exhausted on the bench at the top, I noticed the man sitting next to me was equally out of breath. 

"Can't believe I used to run up this hill!" I said.

"Me too!" he answered.

Turns out he's a guitar maker who developed lung problems through breathing in wood spores. We were both on steroids so we compared notes.

Funny how through this cancer experience I've connected with more strangers than I ever did while at work, even though my job-title is communications manager!

Accounting for taste

Chemotherapy messes with your taste buds. In some people, they go completely, so eating becomes merely a mechanical exercise with no enjoyment involved.

In my case, sense of taste has become progressively toned down. I have a metallic, acrid tang in my mouth all the time. Eating provides some relief, but is usually a disappointment because most things don't taste as they ought to.

Favourites like bananas and chocolate taste like plastic. Some stronger flavours - ginger, pineapple and a few spices - manage to partially break through, but there is one thing which tastes EXACTLY as it should, and as it always has, and that is Marmite.

Nutritious, sharp and mouthwatering, it cuts through all that chemo crap.  Love it or hate it, thank God I love it. Marmite is masterpiece.

Guess what's on toast for breakfast!

Bugwatch

It seems as though the whole world is sneezing, sniffing, snivelling, right now; and I am neurotic to the point of paranoia about it.

I used to think: "I won't catch that' and was largely right. Now I know a single cold germ could land me in hospital.

If anyone coughs near me I feel violated. How DARE they?

Back on temperature watch after a scary 38 degree reading this morning. It's gone back down since but JP is on standby to take me to hospital if it spikes again.

Have been feeling under the weather the last couple of days. And there is lots of weather;  mostly a grey, oppressive drizzle.

Never mind, we had some glorious sunny days out on the boat last week. We even slept on it twice.

Lookalikes (everyone's a winner)

Ed the Red

Ronnie the Rocket

Has anyone noticed the striking resemblance between Red Ed, newly elected leader of the Labour party and snooker ace Ronnie (the Rocket) O'Sullivan?

Both were winners yesterday.

Could they by any chance be related?

Brothers perhaps?

Wedding bells (updated with pics)

It's a day for happy couples and a night for happy coupling! Emma and Rog tied the knot today. They have had a bright cold day for it up on the North Yorks coast. Emma doesn't mind the cold, being a Yorkshire lass. Nor does Roger, being from well North of the border - hence the tartan.

I beat Hello to first picture publishing rights.

Emma's Mum sent me the order of service to follow remotely, so Rob and I sang the hymns. (He sang Bread of Heaven in Welsh!)

Had my health and immune system permitted, I'd have been there, doing a reading:

"Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things......so faith, hope, love abide, but the greatest of these is love" 1 Corinthians 13.

Emma's brother stepped in for me.

It's not often you see the bride playing a euphonium!

Now they'll be on the champagne.

Have a great day, Cruton and Dodge! I'm with you in spirit xxx

Pics: Jim Lee