Five down

ONLY ONE LEFT!!!

FEC felt like an old friend after the nasty yew poison. It's perversely reassuring to see that pink wee once again (FEC contains three chemo drugs. One of them, epirubicin, is as its name suggests bright red and dyes urine the same colour).

Someone said to me the other day:  "You're being very brave. If I was you I'd be absolutely terrified." to which I replied: "You underestimate yourself, if it was you, you'd be brave too!"

Each time I go to chemo clinic or anywhere else connected with cancer I come across people braver than me, dealing with worse prognoses, repeat diagnoses or more ghastly treatment regimes; coping with courage and good humour.

The truth is, it's impossible to remain 'absolutely terrified' for six months solid. There have been moments of  fear, panic and helplessness, and plenty of tears, but there's also been a lot of laughter and times of tracendental wonder when I remember how FEC-ing great it is to be alive!

Finish line in sight

The good news is my bloods are up, liver functioning normally and chest x-ray fine - so fit for chemo on Thursday.

The bad news is I will miss Emma's wedding on Saturday. Sorry Cruton. I will be there in spirit (a gin and vermouth please) and I will pray for good weather.

In between hospital visits we've been enjoying the unexpected warm spell. We've now brought the boat the rest of the way back. Andrew came with us to crew, which was very welcome as I am mostly a figurehead first mate at the moment. Don't have the strength to do locks and ropes although every now and then John lets me steer!

This week's treatment is the penultimate one, the end of this protracted journey now coming into view. Thursday marks exactly six months since Diagnosis Day. Thanks for sticking with me through it!

Maiden voyage

We took advantage of yesterday's sunshine and brought the boat half way home. It's great! Apart from having lots more room, it's got a CB radio to warn the lock-keeper of your approach, and a depth meter which shows how much water is beneath you. It's even got a fish-finder should you want to catch your dinner.

Here is JP skippering. He's grown a beard for the occasion.

Tonight we are going to sleep on it. I love spending the night on boats. The motion of the water lulls you  to sleep and you wake in the morning to see swans gliding past the window. Serene.

And the Colonel was on his best behaviour. We gave him a meal and a bed for the night and he's now left us in peace.

How to get rid of life insurance salesmen

Tell them you've got cancer - they can't get off the phone fast enough! There's been a spate of them recently. Sometimes they make a cursory attempt at concern but mostly they just say 'thank you madam' and put the phone down. They just don't know what to say; it's not covered in the script.

Being at home in the daytime you notice how many cold-calls you get. On the day I came out of hospital someone rang up wanting me to do a survey. I said: "I don't want to do a survey. I've just come out of hospital and I'm feeling rather tired," thinking that would get rid of him, but I underestimated the tenacity of the commision-based tele-salesman.

"Madam, it's a very quick survey and will only take a few moments of your time."

Madam got a bit cross with him at that point.

I am feeling much better - can get up the hill again and today walked back from the hospital. Liver scan came up clear - good news. Also had a chest X-ray - another unexplained appointment - I'm told it's 'routine'.

JP is on leave next week so we might get some boating in. In the meantime we are bracing ourselves for a visit tomorrow by Colonel Sensitivity. Perhaps while he's here I should put him on phone duty?

What the fec?

Oncologist took a look at the list of side effects and put me back on FEC for the final two sessions. FEC is the regime used for the first three cycles which my body tolerated well.

So no more Yew tree poison for me! Result!

She also delayed the next chemo by a week to give me time to recover properly.

Bed rest

Still spending most afternoons horizontal, and invariably when I wake up there is a furball somewhere nearby! Oscar is sleeping in sympathy.

On Saturday I got a letter from the hospital telling me I have an appointment for an abdomen scan. This brought on a paroxysm of panic - what do they expect to find? Is there something they're not telling me?  Then I remembered they said the last chemo affected my liver function - so it's probably that. Ironic after years of probably drinking more than the average RDA of alcohol, if it takes one dose of chemo to mess with my liver! Thankfully livers are resilient and repair themselves quickly. 

Tomorrow I see the oncologist to discuss options for the next dose - originally planned for Wednesday but I think they will delay it by a week.

The scariest thing about the recent spell in hospital was that it brought me face-to-face with the end game of this disease. And although I remain optimistic that my prognosis after treatment is pretty good, it was still poignant and very sad to see such poorly people.

Holiday

Usually at this time of year I go on holiday. I like to go when everyone else comes back. It's cheaper, less busy and cooler.

The pic was taken last September in the Ukraine. It shows me on a rather large trike on Yalta beach. The trip was the latest in a series of Clare-and-Emma adventures. We've done Hong Kong, Morocco and Romania in recent years.

This year I can't go abroad, of course, as need to stay close to Nottingham City Hospital, so am enjoying other people's holidays vicariously instead. Joy's just got back from New Zealand, and Jules is off again today to Majorca.

The boat, however, provides the perfect staycation. Today we've been for a walk down to Beeston Marina to choose new moorings. Proves I must be feeling better.