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.