A Giggle For A Fumble!

A Giggle for a Fumble!

I thought I'd hit on something that would make my millions! Because of my perforated eardrum I needed to keep water out of my ear. I considered how to do this. Cotton wool? Nah, it would get soggy. I needed to cover my ear somehow. Plastic bag? Rain hat? Shower cap? Ah, shower cap. A mini sized shower cap for my ear! That would work. That's it, my idea will help water phobic ear people and make millions for me! £££££ Cha-ching! Very wisely I decided to check on Amazon to see if anything similar existed. Uh oh. There they were, the exact same thing I had invented. My imaginary millions flew out of the window and floated away. Oh well. I'd better buy some then. Next day they arrive and I shower happily without the need to put my head to one side and quickly flick away the water. They work very efficiently. Only problem is they are hysterical to look at! Lee and I have tears rolling down our faces. I look so silly!


So I am sharing this daft vision with you, but I want something in return, I want you to ask five people to have a good old feel of their boobs. Ask them all to tell five people too. Men as well, they can get BC also. Please have a fumble of your own boobs too. You never know between us all we could save someone's life. Finding a lump early can save your life. Sure it may mean a bit of a shit time for a while, but better that than death forever! There's no death for a little bit. Seriously find it early and stats are 97% survival. Get fumbling!!! Five friends for fumbling!!!!

Hopefully I've given you a giggle in return for a fumble!

Bravery

I never understood why people described cancer sufferers as being brave.  I just didn't get it.  Surely being brave is jumping in a river to save a drowning soul, or defending your military position against certain death, or standing up to bullies in the face of actual pain and humiliation.  That's bravery surely?

Yet cancer sufferers are paraded across our TV screens and newspapers like gods we should worship.  With all the accompanying wordy waffle of the feats of their bravery.  I couldn't understand what bravery had to do with it.  If you've got to have some medicine to fix you, that decision isn't brave, it's just foolhardy to refuse!

Apart from kids.  A photo of a bald headed little kid with a tube up its nose and an IV drip and trolley being dragged along, would of course elicit only sympathetic words like "Brave little thing" from me.  I don't know why I discriminated between children and adults.  Perhaps I saw the children as innocent and maybe viewed the adults had caused their own downfall in some way? (A discussion for another day).

Now that I have a Breast Cancer diagnosis I do feel a little differently about the "Brave" word.  I still don't think it's a good fit.  I think "Coping well" or "Handling it" or "Getting on with it" are better descriptors.  But I do admit to feeling that I may be a little bit brave at some points.  This is usually just before a Chemotherapy session.  I really, really don't want to do it.  My body has just started to heal after the last poisoning session and I am fully aware of what is about to happen to my body all over again and I quite simply do not want to do it.  Yet to me it is more of a question of survival than bravery.  Survival comes top of this particular decision making criteria.  (Anti chemotherapy souls may dispute my survival theory here).

But with all this unsolicited experience to my name, I am, whether I want to or not, expanding my comprehension of bravery.  I get it now that those dealing with illness face challenges which are met head on with stoicism, pluckiness and fearlessness.  That is their brave decision.  They could decide to deal with it by complaining, moaning, making a fuss, blaming medical staff for pain and turning against their loved ones.  Yet to remain resolutely defiant that you will not be brought down by this mass of unfair circumstances is most definitely a brave decision.

So I take it all back, my easy dismissal of yet another brave cancer victim.  Anyone who can sit and watch that chemotherapy liquid infusing into their body with the full knowledge of what will follow, is most definitely brave beyond words.

So there, I'm brave.  So are many ladies including Juliet, Marion, Karen and Tracy. Here's to us. (Plus all those before and those that will follow, too many).

I also have to include a mention for the Kidney people out there, both dialysis and donor. Jackie, David, Ruthie and Gaz. Wow.

Brave people xx

One favour, please do not comment saying I'm brave, my detractors will say I have only written this to get "brave" comments. It's not been done for that reason, it's a simple discussion on what "brave" means to me. So no brave comments!!!! Thank you x

A Welcome Side Effect Would Be....

I've never been a skinny shape
When 7 stone there was no gape
Around my thighs jeans stretched tight
Against the wobble there was always a fight
I yearned to have long lean pins
Managed only half decent short shins
The trauma and worry of a big fat bum
For a seventies teenager was no real fun
Not conforming to a skinny size
My bum and hips I tried to disguise
My one saving grace
Was my tiny young waist
But straight up and down I did not go
Curves in those days a big no no
A tendency to spread was the norm
Child bearing hips always the form
If only Kardashians were popular back then
On the Bo Derek scale I would have been Ten
But that's how it is, just the same for us all
The more we want skinny, the fatter we fall
Age increases size, weight keeps track
But it's not so bad just look at my rack!
My bosom happily detracts the eye
With a whimper and sometimes a sigh
From looking at my rolling spare tyre
I can't deceive, my belt's not a liar
There is no excuse, I'm aware of that
I could eat less, do more and not get fat
But wait what's this? At last there's a chance!
A bad ass illness could just be the lance
To burst fat's hold on my wobbling bits
And lighten the load on my so heavy tits
My boobs big and bouncy have attracted a fight
The way I see it with a glimmer of light
It's bad, mad and wrong to look with such glee
At what side effects might just do for me
But if I go through a real rough time
At least the scales could come under nine?
I really am looking at this in a positive way
Onwards and upwards to a skinnier day.
The treatment is tough and there's no guarantee
I may win, I may lose, we sit wait and see
But my fingers are crossed I might get thin
With everything else surely this I can win?


What? Wait, I'm not sure I hear what you're saying?
I'm going to have to start seriously praying?
No don't bring me down it can't be true
The opposite can happen? Who can I sue?
You're telling me I will soon start to crave
Foods full of comfort, they'll all be my fave
Too tired to chew?
Pop a sweetie or two
No energy to crunch?
Have a soft carb lunch
Tummy won't do digestion?
Sugary drink's a suggestion
Taste buds receded?
Bread freshly so kneaded
A mouth so dry you can't swallow?
Fresh sorbet with ice cream to follow
Those meds and steroids are messing my brain
My reason and logic is starting to drain
They definitely told me some people lose weight
So why is Humpty Dumpty my inevitable fate?

From all the side effects, one may just have been
A nice new look, trim slim and so lean
But it's not going to happen, I will have to agree
Easy popping carbs offer comfort for me
A quick energy fix is first and foremost
So vital to help the counting cells boast
I simply can't worry about things expanding
There's time ahead to be more demanding
Day by day I'll eat what is right for me
And adjust my clothes to easy and free
But honestly, really, why couldn't it be?
That Chemo slimmed down podgy old me?

Chemo and Daytime TV

Halfway through my chemotherapy
And I haven't once watched Jeremy
Even with all this time on my hands
I refuse to succumb to TV demands
Daytime TV is no place for me
I'd rather set my imagination free
So my brain wanders from place to place
Improving my lot is not a fast race

I'm slowly marching through each week
Obviously without being too meek
I've dealt with the first three infusions
How nice if the next three were just illusions
The therapy now changes, it's all anew
Side effects will come out of the blue
The unknown is what causes most concern
But from a path travelled once I will learn
What helps, what hinders, what will heal
Only then can I wholeheartedly feel
With true judgment and cunning wile
I still don't want to watch Mr Kyle!

I've had the results of my scans

I've had the results of my scans......

We had been fairly petrified of what we were going to hear, a bad result meant we could be given a scenario of how many years I had left, but praise the Lord and hallelujah, the results were, no secondaries! This means my cancer has been contained, so my surgery and chemo etc should all be effective at knocking it on the head! (We will need to wait until treatment is finished for those results). So at this moment, after the scan results, I am very grateful and much relieved!

But....

I have to say "But". Why? Not because I am the most negative, pessimistic soul ever, but because I am a realist. I like to have all my facts and figures, know what the reality is, decide on my course of action. I also say "But" because I need to look after everyone around me. I need to be careful with their emotions and feelings. I care for them because they care for me. If after my treatment, I was to say I'm "all clear" they will quite rightly rejoice and feel relieved!! However if after 1 year, 5 years or 10 years, my cancer comes back, they may think, she told me she was all clear, what has she done to herself? Did she not look after herself? Didn't she do all the correct things she was supposed to do? I know they may think this, because I've thought it myself of other people. Have you not been a little bewildered by people you've known who have gone through all the chemo etc and said they've beaten it, but a year or so later it returned? I was. I now know that it comes from a complete lack of understanding of how breast cancer behaves, or rather misbehaves! This is how it goes, the surgery, chemo and radiotherapy should kill off anything that exists. The hormone and targeted therapies will help to reduce the risk of recurrence. So BC can then just decide to pop up again either as a repeat of the first time or as secondaries in other parts of the body. This is where my "But" comes in, I know my statistics, I am aware. I have less chance of recurrence than someone who smokes dying prematurely, 50% of smokers will. Most smokers live in a dream world of denial. I'm not in denial. If cancer dares to strike me again in the future, I will be prepared. If I told people it was beaten and then it came back, how puzzled and mystified would they feel? I have accepted, that albeit in the low percentages of chance, there is a possibility it could return, the rate is approx 25%. (To all smokers out there, look at me and realise that I have a better chance of living longer than you!!! That might make you give up!!). The recurrence rate is roughly the same for all Breast Cancer club members. It's the only cancer where you can't say after five years it's all clear, because it can come back after even 20 years! You can however, say that your cancer has been treated. Treated and cured, I have learned, are two different things. Now please believe me when I say I am incredibly positive and I am not being negative in any way, I am just being realistic. I have a future. A future filled with laughter and love, my future. What this future will have to contain though is for any lumps, bumps, aches or pains that arise, I will have to view them with a little more suspicion. Now trust me, I can handle that! The answer I will be looking for is, there is nothing wrong. I will not be spending my life thinking it may be cancer, now that is negative! However it is a conundrum, looking for lumps and aches all the time is negative, but ignoring them is negative! What's the one thing that we are all persistently told? Examine yourself, get it checked out. So why then after a diagnosis would you not follow that advice? It is the most positive action ever. I've saved my life once already by finding my lump in time, I'm definitely up for saving it again should those pesky blighters dare to return!! I believe taking a pro-active stance is positive. This can't be viewed as having a negative outlook. So when I say I have "no secondaries...But" you now know that it's a positive thing to say "But", it will help those around me to deal with possible future shock and most importantly, it may well just save my life! Again.

Bald Showers Are No Fun

Bald showers are simply no fun
With no hair there's nowt to be done!
Ten minutes each morning I would spend
Washing and rinsing hair root to end
Lathering, rinsing, massaging with froth
The water completely carried me off
It took me to a island paradise dream
With waterfalls crisp and sparkly clean
The sun envelopes me with a healing glow
I add conditioner to the smooth liquid flow
I feel the suds slide down my back
Of joy and glee there is no lack
The sparkling water splashes through my hair
I'm enraptured by the sense of clean fresh air
No longer a razor called Venus have I
Its a real life sponge I drape up my thigh
Removing hair in a turquoise sea so blue
Much better than stubble flicked into the loo

A ten minute morning adventure
From real life a moment of censure

But no longer can I enjoy such bliss
With no hair its simply all amiss
Five minutes is all it will take
No exotic island tour to make
I now have no reason to drift far away
There's no tresses to wash at the start of my day
No more depilation
To aid relaxation
I get in wash my bod and I'm all done
That's why bald showers are no damn fun!

My boss left his job this week and I sobbed my heart out.

My boss left his job this week and I sobbed my heart out.

Not because he left, but because when I said goodbye I shed a tear, then without warning the floodgates opened. I became a blubbering sobbing mess.

I returned home from his leaving do and fell into the arms of my bewildered husband, heaving, gasping, muttering nonsense, tears streaming down my face. "What's wrong?" Asked my husband, holding his arms tightly around me whilst trying to look me up and down to inspect for any signs of outward damage. Talking in the gulp, gulp, grab breath, one word, gulp, parlance of a bereft sobbing woman, I tried to explain "I," gulp, gulp,"feel", big breath, more tears, "so sad". Floods of shoulder shaking tears. My body gives up, being upright can only be supported by my husband. He moves me to the sofa and we sit. I'm wrapped up in his love. He wipes the tears from my face with his fingers "Oh Sweetie, what's happened, why are you so sad?".

"I just don't want to be doing this". There I've said it. My bravery, my stoical resolution, my smile no matter what, my Dunkirk Spirit, my inspirational status, has all come crashing down. It's hit the floor with a resounding smash like a redundant chimney tower being demolished.

I had gone out that evening for the first time, for a normal night out with friends, since my diagnosis. It was also the first evening out with my new "1920's Hollywood" look, A.K.A. a headscarf, dangly earrings and a bit more slap. I felt fine, I was looking forward to the copious giggles that I knew would occur with my workmates. I have always been very lucky with the people I have worked with, laughter and bad taste jokes have always been in plentiful supply, whichever Company I've worked for.

So there I was in the pub with my lovely friends, being normal. Except it wasn't normal. I'd joined everyone a couple of hours after the start, as I'd been home for a sleep. I wasn't drinking, I am allowed to, but I'm keeping it very limited. I wasn't having a meal because I need to keep the risk of infection to a minimum. I had no hair, but instead a headscarf on my head.

Whilst I sat there enveloped by the warm companionship of my friends, it was different. I was viewing everything around me with suspicion. The sauce bottles and menus had congealed liquid over them, the table had sticky patches on it, the woman on the next table coughed, the plates did not look clean, my friends meal looked undercooked, there was a used tissue on the floor. Oh my God, I had turned into Miles from Frasier! I've already got hand gel in my bag. It was like I was a newborn babe being taken out into the world for the first time. You wrap an imaginary bubble of protection around that baby and by staring hard at people you can will them not to breathe over your precious bundle. But I had to do my own staring and willing. I felt apart somehow, the gooseberry on someone else's date. My levels of self protection were at Defcon 1. I couldn't stop wondering how many dirty hands had touched my glass and straw. Dear God, paranoia? But no, this had been drummed into me, be careful. I have a low immune system, no way of battling infection. I take my temperature three times a day everyday, if it rises it could be a sign of infection and off to hospital I would need to go.

This was not a normal night out.

Then my headscarf came undone. My poise and perfected elegance unravelled. I dashed to the loo with the same fear as if the arse in my trousers had split. The underneath of you does not get exposed. The veneer of clothes and accessories should remain intact. As I re-tied my scarf my hands were shaking. This was not good. This should not happen. This was upsetting. How odd. I knew that the pre-diagnosis me would not have bothered to re-tie it and slung it down on the table with a "Sod it". But suddenly I felt vulnerable.

I looked at myself in the mirror, my face more heavily made up to balance the loss of hair. Was that me? Am I still there? I felt like a drag queen without his wig.

Deep breath taken, scarf sorted, I rejoin my lovely friends for some more laughter. Then it's time to say goodbye to my boss for the very last time. I feel a lump in my throat, a tear starts to roll, oh no, am I really going to blub? It's on its way, I try a breath and a gulp, it's no good, I spurt out "I have to go home now". I scuttle away. Rushing towards the door the tears are streaming down my face, just get outside is all I can think, then my headscarf comes undone again, I sob.

I'm outside, I get in my car and swear at myself. Stupid stupid cow. What the f**k is wrong with you?

I get home and collapse into my husbands ever strong, ever calming arms.

I go to sleep still gently sobbing. I wake up to find I'm in the same state, tears start to trickle. A nice cup of tea might fix this. Oh my Lord, I'm off again. Where the hell has all this emotion come from? I consider myself a strong and capable woman, like everyone I've dealt with lots of shit over the years and come through it still smiling, but today I need help. Today is not a day to be brave and stoical. Today I give in. I text a friend who is nearby, brief details that I've had a major meltdown. She prescribes an afternoon of chocolate and cake and she will bring supplies.

She arrives on the doorstep, we look at each other and instantly cry. We dissect my feelings. We cry some more. More tea, more chocolate, more dawning realisation. I'd reached that moment. It was my time to crash and burn.

My friend dug all these feelings gently out of my soul. I could not understand why I was sobbing, was I really that upset about my boss leaving? It turned out to be the catalyst that unleashed my built up anxieties.

Without friends like this our world would not be as rich. I am lucky in that I know I could have dropped my blubbering self on any of my friends doorsteps and they would have all scooped me up. A true mate is one that you can cry in front of with no make up on, unwashed, unkempt but not unloved. I am blessed.

I am so glad I wasn't afraid to ask for that proverbial shoulder to cry on.

It helps. Big time.

Fortunately my brain and my tear producing hormones have now written a peace treaty. The dust from my collapsed chimney tower has settled. I will expect to feel like that again at some point. This is surely what normal is. Otherwise to be a in constant state of controlled vigilance, guarding against raw emotional fears, cannot be healthy and can only lead to years of suppressed resentment. I'm not going to do that. I'm here, this is me, life at times is shit, but for the majority of time, life is a gossipy giggle with real good friends.

As well as remembering to tie double knots in my scarves, I'm now back to being irreverent, rude, rebellious and a little bit naughty. Because being good all the time isn't normal either!!!!

Kisses to MK xx

Head Shaving Day

This is a hard hitting photograph. I make no apologies for it. I am aware that its unflattering, shows my double chin, not glamorous, blah blah blah, but it depicts a pivotal moment, I now look like I have cancer, I now have a universally recognised badge, whether I want it or not.

However my real reason for showing this photo is that it is a perfect capture of that exquisite moment of pain which results in total relief. A bit like ripping off an irritating plaster, you know it will hurt, but it will be worth it. If you wondered why Breast Cancer Club members shave their heads, not only is it to stop hair falling out all over the place, it is to prevent the pain. For me the pain can be described as each hair having turned into a bristle, think scrubbing brush, each bristle was buried an inch deep into my scalp and whenever my hair moved or was touched, it hurt. Serious hurt. This is because the hair follicles die. My darling husband was prepared to shave my head. His emotions were more fraught than mine, I was eliminating pain, he was eliminating a part of his wife's femininity, he had already seen my breast be altered to a less rounded shape and now it was down to him to remove the hair that he enjoyed running his fingers though or sweeping to one side so he could kiss my neck. What a strong man he is to be able to get those clippers out and remove the last of his wife's hair. Which he did. You see him doing so in this photo. You can see pain in my face, but it was temporary, as soon as the hair was shaved off, the pain was gone. This very emotive picture was taken by my talented son Stuart Murray. This was not easy for him either. Documenting your mother's journey through cancer is not something you ever think will happen to you. He was concerned about showing the photo to me, but he knew he had caught a captivating moment. I think so too.

My Hair is Falling Out

My hair is falling out

I would really like to clout
The person who decided
My follicles would be divided
Between my pillow and the drain
And why does it involve such pain?

No more elegant flicking and curling of hair
No running fingers through tresses with flare
To do such things makes my scalp so ache
And increases the need for hair that’s fake

So as I approach coiffure by Mitchell Bros
My head will soon shine, but who gives a toss
I’ve wigs and scarves and hats to please
I’ll rock the bald, I know I can tease

So here’s to styling all a new
Let’s hope I won’t need any glue

A Simple CT Scan

A simple CT Scan

At the end of week one I went for a CT Scan, to check if all my organs are OK. I was still rather trippy at this point and was not at all looking forward to having to stay upright and awake in the waiting room. Neither was I looking forward to drinking 1.5 litres within 40 minutes, as my relationship with liquid was not overly friendly, having to ensure I drink a good 2.5 litres every day. Especially if I was going to have to hang on to that liquid and not be allowed to visit the loo. Serious stuff as I’ve had three children and am in my fifties. We arrive at the CT waiting room. It is filled with patient looking patients and their companions, with a suspicious looking hospital water jug placed in front of each. A smiley Radiographer with a jug in hand, calls my name, walks over and places a jug and a cup in front of me, “drink this within the next 40 minutes, it’s only water, the toilets are round the corner”, he says. Oh thank the Lord, I can wee. My bladder is smiling. Also it’s just water, no nasty sickly yucky stuff to have to force down. I can do this. Lee dutifully fills my cup and off we go, glug it down. I join the others in a weird enforced non-race to reach the bottom of my jug. I sip, I lean against Lee, upright is so hard and I so want to close my eyes, I sip, I lean. First cup done. Lee refills it, off we go again. Rinse and repeat until done. The silence is broken by a lovely water swigging lady in her sixties doing an enormous belch, giggling and apologising. We all nod and smile at her, we understand, we are united. Smiley Radiographer guy reappears with another jug, he gives it to Mrs Belch and says “This is your last one, when finished change into a gown”. What? More to drink? A second jug? They snuck that in. In between my sips and leans I start to observe, everyone gets a second jug which is only half full, so not as bad as it could be. Fast forward to the bottom of my jug. Here he is, Smiley Radiographer with the second one. Sip 1, lean 1, knit 1, purl 1, turn, repeat. The end of the jug has arrived. Walking like a drunk pretending not to be drunk, I concentrate hard and collect my gown and plastic bag for clothes. Oh now a conundrum, how undressed should I get? I try to remember other scans I’ve had in the past, but brain won’t focus, I decide on completely undressed as I don’t want to lean on the CT Scanner trying to delicately whip my knickers off. At least I brought my dressing gown with me, so I can hang on to a bit of modesty. After a dizzy visit to the loo, with my plastic bag full of clothes, I stare hard at the patients’ legs and feet as I negotiate getting past them back to my seat without falling over. If only I’d had the fun beforehand to warrant such a hungover state. It’s my turn. In the scanning room, I take off my dressing gown and two girl Radiographers smile at me, the one offers to do my gown up at the back, oh dear, my arse was hanging out, but I’m too spaced out to care. I bend down to get on the scanner and fart. Yes a loud unmistakable, unstoppable, uncontrollable, no warning fart. I choose to ignore it. A thought brushes past that I should apologise, phaff, who cares, these girls will have seen and heard it all before. Carefree chemo induced flatulence. Radiographer no 2 inserts a cannula and informs me that the dye going in can make me feel like I’ve wet myself. Really? Oh come on, I’ve just drunk litres of water, farted uncontrollably and now I will feel like I’ve wet myself? Chemo Calm kicks in. So what, who cares if I pee myself too, they’ll mop it up. Such liberation from one brought up in well-mannered leafy suburban Surrey! The scanner talks to me, instructing me to breathe in, hold it, and breathe out. A couple of rounds of this and there it is, I’ve wet myself. Have I? It feels very very warm and wet down there. No, no, the feelings gone, Halleluiah my body didn’t let me down. One more round of breaths and I’m being slid back out. Cannula out and I can get up. I get to my feet and fart. Oh my good God, why? My body once so in tune with my brain now has its own agenda. Once again it wasn’t a small little phhit, no it was a rip rawing son trying to out-fart other son, type of fart, my boys would have been proud of me. The struggle to put on my dressing gown and stay upright, doesn’t allow me to verbalise any kind of apology, I just smile weakly and leave the room. I get changed in a different cubicle which contains a big poster explaining what to do, I note it says to leave your knickers on. Oh God, I went in there knickerless and I farted, twice.

You may think that was enough, but it doesn’t end there. Lee has hold of me and we walk to the hospital exit, lying down is such a strong need right now. Damn we need to pay for car parking. The card taking payment machine is broken, do we have any cash? Of course not. I just want to lie down. We need to go to the shop and get some cashback, but I don’t think I can make it. Lee finds a wheelchair to plonk me in while he goes to get the cash. He pushes it out of the way, towards the row of public phones, a little thought plinks into my head, don’t leave me by the phones, but I don’t have the energy to tell him nor to have the conversation where he tells me it will be OK etc etc. I just sit down in the wheelchair hugging my handbag, feeling so way spaced out, tired, dizzy, I just want to go home and sleep. Lee goes man-hunting for money in the shop. I watch the myriad of different types of people walking through the exit, all types from all walks of life each with their own sad stories, a group of Eastern European looking gypsies go past, then they stop, turn look at the phones and look at me. They are walking towards me, I stare at my handbag, don’t make eye contact. Three of them surround me, a woman talks gobbledy-gook at me, all I see is headscarf, dirty face, eyebrows, missing teeth, gold teeth. I’m thinking please don’t have a cold or anything, I have a really low immune system. More gobbeldy-gook, more missing teeth, she’s reaching in her bag, the other two lean in, Lee where are you? Help me, help me! She pulls out a business card, it’s for a taxi firm. She points at the phone, points at me, points at the card. Seriously?? She wants me to f**king phone a taxi for her??? I’m sat in a hospital, in a wheelchair, looking like something the cat dragged home and she thinks I’m going to phone a taxi for her?? Two more join her crew, there are five surrounding me, I can’t help it, I feel unclean, in danger, scared, vulnerable. I shake my head and slur “I’m sorry, I’m really ill”. One of the men points and talks now, I shake my head. Lee, Lee where are you, I’m not liking this!!! At last they give up and go, as the man turns away his top is rucked up and his back is full of rash type spots, oh yuck yuck, am I infected now??? Irrational self protective thoughts. Finally alone again, I can’t quite believe what just happened, it was horrid. Where is Lee? I wait a bit longer, then decide I can’t wait any more and get up to go find him. Hang on, get up? Why the hell did I not just get up when all that was going on?? Why did I just sit there?? Where the hell has my brain gone?? I could have just stood up and walked away. I just sat there like a prized lemon. I find Lee, sandwiches in hand, doing battle with the cash machine. I tell him I want to go now, he hurries up. I’ll explain to him in the car what happened, once we are well away from my intimidators who are now all stood outside, just in case my fiercely protective husband decides he may want to have a conversation with them!! So that was my adventurous scan appointment. Just a routine CT Scan. Full body Bone Scan coming up next…..

First Week of Chemo is.....

Mid July 2015


Whirlwind tour of first week of Chemotherapy…….


See this solid steel door? I’m going to slam it in your face - now lie down and deal with it. Sleepy, so sleepy. Who slipped me 16 Gin and Tonics?? Dizzy dizzy dizzy. Nausea uh oh, friend’s Stem Ginger biscuits, blissful relief. Hangover from hell. Headache, ouch ouch. Spaced out weirdness. I’m pointing at things but words not leaving mouth. Teenage spots, really?? Can’t move, just can’t move. Open my eyes? How? Lovely sofa, my friend. I’m in the kitchen now, why? Tingly head, tingle tingle. Constipation? You are joking?! Prunes for breakfast. Shower or bed, shower or bed? Bed duh! I can’t drink anymore water, squash, juice, never want to drink again. Sorry lovely husband, didn’t mean to leave the gas ring on. Sooooo hungry, don’t want to eat, yucky thought. Eating feels so good. Lasagne, how good is Lasagne? Floaty floaty pretty things. Spangled head. I can stand up! Oh maybe not. Image of friend singing “Don’t blame it on the Moonlight, blame it on the Chemo”. Mouth…..so..…dry. Raspberry sorbet at 4am. Stop rubbing sore bit on tongue, stop it. Magic Iglu cream. Went all day without sleeping, a whole day! No hair loss. More vertical than horizontal. Dizzy is the new normal. Come on week two, it can only be an improvement. I’m ready……

Chemo Day no 1

7th July 2015


Chemo Cycle No 1......Of course it had to have a dramatic start!


Settled in my chair, lovely nurse felt my hand, said it was cold, which I replied was not unusual (am very cold blooded), but I had never ever had any problems with finding my veins. Nurse applied hotpack, left to warm up. Returned gave it a go with the canula, nothing! But suddenly all the alarms started ringing, nurse drops everything rushes over to another patient, as do lots of other staff, one goes around and closes all the curtains. Hubbie and I sit there in our curtained barricade, look at each other and mouthe "Shit!" "Oh my God" "Good start"! Lovely nurse sticks her head through curtain and says "You OK?" we nod. After 10 mins, curtains open all returns to normal. Other patient had a bad reaction, Hubbie had seen him go, but the staff got him back on track. We were a little frazzled but thought at least we know what happens if anything goes wrong!


Nurse looks at veins again, decides she is going to pass up to the Sister. I so did not want to have a port put in. While waiting for her, there is a bed in the corner with curtains drawn and docs and family coming and going, two nurses whisper to each other "Serious?" "Yes, come outside". Again a little disconcerting, but we learn the patient is an emergency brought in.

So back to my veins, hotpack has been re-hotted and replaced and I got Lee with his mega warm hands to hold mine. Super Sister gives it another go in a different place, nothing! She decides to try one more time, different place again, tourniquet tightened. Success, hurrah!! She fires up the anti-sickness bag first, then hands over to another nurse to do the next bit. Bag empty, so next nurse appears, removes bag, has shaky hands and drops things, hangs up next bag, looks at it and says "how do I get the air bubbles out of here?" Oh my good God!! Lee says something on a different subject, I shoot him a look which I hope says "can you see what's going on here??!!". We both stare at the bubbles and I stare at another nurse at the chair next to me, she comes over, tells a different nurse to get a syringe of saline, explains to new nurse to pinch the tube leading to my hand and shoot the saline back up into the bag to remove the bubbles. Hubbie and I watch without breathing or speaking as the bubbles move back up. Our feeling of safety is resumed. New nurse sits down, introduces herself and says "I'm from the agency, all the equipment here is different". She was lovely, but for a newbee like me, that was very scary!!! She pushed a syringe of lovely chemicals into me along with the saline bag and then she left and went across to another patient.


Super Sister returned to do the other 3 or 4 (lost count) syringes, thank God, thank God! The rest of it went fine. We were given nice cups of tea and really well looked after with plenty of giggles after the initial dramas! I reacted instantly by going straight into hangover mode, straight home to bed and slept! Treatment no 1 over. Move on to Cycle 2 in three weeks

Shit, That's a Fucker

Shit, That's a Fucker



Why is it that our wonderful descriptive ever evolving language has no truly acceptable words to convey to a person who has experienced a life changing event such as diagnosis of a serious illness, how we actually feel, apart from cursing Shit That's a Fucker?

It fits the bill perfectly! When we hear someone's news it makes us feel: awful, heartbroken, scared, sad, desperate to help, hopeful. Yet we can never convey this. Instead we come out with:

• I'm so sorry 
• I know how you feel 
• Try not worry 
• It's happened to my 2nd cousin 
• I have had some experience not to this degree but.. 
• Be positive 
• On the bright side... 
• The survival rates are really high 
• Modern medicine nowadays is wonderful 
• The doctors and nurses will really look after you 
• It's not as bad as you think 
• Chin up 
• Get better soon 

All these have wonderful sentiment behind them and we all say them with every good intention. We want to help, we want to take the pain away, we don't want that person to go through that experience. We want the World to be a kinder and less cruel place. But our Society has developed to make us feel compelled to try to jolly up the diagnosed person, to not allow them to wallow in any self pity or look on any kind of bleak side. So we spout forth the above platitudes, feeling shallow and vacuous as we say them, questioning ourselves as the words fall out of our mouths "Is this really the right thing to say?".


Well here is the answer, no! It most definitely is not.


All the above make the person on the receiving end feel: not listened to, dismissed, belittled, unimportant, stupid, a hypochondriac, a failure, confused, a depressive, not able cope as well as obviously everyone else can.


This person already has every intention of being super positive, doing all the stuff that's required, smiling every day, being grateful, knowing it could be so much worse. Being 100% certain it will be OK. But just for now, just for this moment of telling you something that you are not going to want to hear, the jolliness is too fake to be believable. A deeper level of communication is required, a reaching out and a receipt and acknowledgement of understanding. Simple uncomplicated human emotion.


Instead of embracing this connection of souls, we dismiss that opportunity, choosing instead to waffle on using language never used in any other area of our lives, apart from when we have no time for someone and want to move on from them unaffected, like the smelly person in the queue, the stressed out mum with tantrum throwing toddler, the nerdy slightly on the spectrum person. All the people that we offer a platitude to, because we are nice, but quickly move on from. We all do it, accept it! So why do we allow our language to classify our friend into that same category? We don't want that, we don't mean for that to happen!


Why does our communication let us down? Why do we persist with getting it wrong? Dunkirk Spirit? Or dull acceptance of convention? Do we fall back on what we think should be done because we don't what to hurt anyone and convention protects us?


It's time to change it.


Remove the above platitudes from our conventional safe conversation. Face what is in front of us. Face our own mortality. Face the fact we are powerless and cannot fix things. Let's stop making it about us. Let's make it about the person telling us their news. Listen to them, hear them out, take in and absorb what you've been told and respond with..


Shit, That's a Fucker!


Because it really is.


For now.