Best quote of the week

Best quote of the week came about like this...I'd had a fairly tough week.  I was sat on the loo feeling very very very sorry for myself, tears were dripping down my face, my nose was snuffly, I was muttering away about how horrid everything was, my darling Hubbie was sat beside me stroking my bald head, comforting me with his presence when he says this...."You have a beautiful cranium".   Tears instantly turned to giggles!! Xx

Turning Triangles

Cycle 4. This time it was all change. A new treatment regime. Time to figure out how to cope with the side effects all over again. Although obviously unpleasant, when you know what is going to happen and how to deal with it, it makes coping so much easier. So the fact that I was off into the unknown again was a little scary. On the plus side the new drugs would not be administered by hand, this had involved having a plasma infusion dripping into the cannula while a nurse simultaneously slowly pushes cylinders full of noxious looking chemicals into the cannula at the same time. The idea is that the two liquids mix at entry, so reducing the risk of being burned by the chemical. I was always a little worried that if someone knocked into or distracted the nurse, she might accidently press the whole cylinder into me in one go! So in the same way that I can't sleep on a plane because the pilot needs my concentration, I had to be constantly alert and staring at the nurse's hands! Thankfully the new regime would not be given in that way. One of the new drugs is Herceptin, this is the one that could mess with my heart, I needed to stay on the hospital ward so they could monitor me for any side effects. We are tooled up with downloaded games on phones and books on Kindles, plus supplies of food drink and most importantly, sweeties. We arrive at 10am, a little after I get settled into the "Chair", hot pack on hand to get my veins to show themselves. Lovely tea lady, lovely cup of tea. Hooked up to vital signs machine. All looking good, all good to go. Sweet Nurse K pulls the curtains around us. Hey up?!! Is this because I'm likely to flake out with adverse reactions? No, she tells us it's because the Herceptin is injected in my thigh, so they give me privacy. With my thighs I think it's more a case of protecting those that may be unfortunate enough to see them! Trousers rolled down, injection slowly given over a couple of minutes, could feel a bit of pain but nothing too bad. Nurses then had to watch me for 15 minutes, if I was going to get the worse reactions it would be now. Deciding to ignore any thoughts of what could or may happen, I apply my thoughts to playing Tangram HD, a puzzle solving game, highly recommended for distraction. With a little clock watching, 15 minutes pass. There's been no immediate reaction. Looking positive. I will have to have these injections every three weeks for the next 12 months, so this is a good start. On to the next bit, usual infusion of anti-sickness and then the new drug. Nurse K brought over a yellow plastic box, a Response Kit and set it by my side, again I could react badly to this other new drug so they need to be prepared. After a quick glance at the Kit and pondering what they would shove where, I choose to ignore it's presence. It's a bit like reading all the side effects of a medicine, you can almost guarantee your brain will absorb that info and you will start to feel ill. So best to ignore the negative thought train and crack on with games, sweets and tea. The new drug starts to trickle into my veins and for the next couple of hours Hubbie and I become slightly competitive gamers. I am sure I can see where a triangle fits in and Hubbie just can't see it! Hmmm, maybe he can, damn! Just as boredom sets in because it seems I'm not way more superior than my husband at rotating parallelograms, the infusion is done, with no adverse reactions!! But we now have to sit there until 6pm to make sure. Helping time pass there was good music being played by Free Radio, I was getting my bopping mode on, doing a little wiggle in my chair, but then tiredness swept over me, so I reclined my chair, oh yes, Chemo chairs are top notch, settled down for a little doze. Hubbie nudged me to say my wig had slipped sideways, total coiffed elegance! I couldn't have cared though, I was among fellow baldies! Finally 6pm arrives and we are free to go home! I noticed that I didn't have that horrid yucky Chemo feeling, which was a good thing. I didn't even need to go to bed straight away once home, unlike the previous times. Early days I know but things were looking good. Perhaps I would cope with this stage better than the first! The next day arrives and I have to start injecting myself with a substance that increases my bone marrow production, as this stage of Chemo really knocks out your immune system. Got Hubbie to inject me as I was too whimpy to try it myself. He pinched my tummy fat and in the needle went. I hardly felt it, much relief. I knew there was a good reason for middle aged spread. They told us I may get some pain as the body produces more bone marrow. This was an understatement. Pains in joints and aches in muscles, had me in tears. I needed drugs!! For a couple of days I tried to cope with Paracetamol and Ibuprofen but it would wear off before 4 hours. I needed help. I rang the Chemo ward, they are always very helpful, never ever dismissive. They said they needed to check my bone marrow count to see if the injections can stop. The fabulous Mother and Father-in-law (MIL and FIL) take me off to hospital. Apart from the pains I'm also suffering the usual side effects including the "someone's hit me with a steel door" type exhaustion, which makes rolling over in bed or getting out of a chair a feat of monumental hero status, my Hubbie even had to spoon feed me at one point as I was unable to move anything. At times I have found that a well timed cake does give a temporary energy boost. So energy boosted with a cup of organic green tea and a Belgian Bun, we head off to hospital. MIL and I sit down in the Triage corner of the Chemo ward. A lovely little chappie, Nurse C, brings in a chair, a sharps trolley and a vital signs machine and then plays an elaborate game of moving them amongst the existing two chairs, table trolley, bed and drip stand. We sit watching rather bemused. He tries again as casters get caught amongst chair legs and leads get tangled. I did think we needed triangle turning Hubbie here to solve the puzzle! Another couple of goes and he removes a chair, a trolley and a Mother-in-Law. Space has appeared. He reloads systematically, including the Mother-in-Law and we're good to go! MIL and I have no need of words, we just look that knowing look to each other. Nurse C asks me if I have a line in, no I don't, to which he replies "Ah I gorra puda needoll in den". My heart sinks, please please know what you are doing!! My distrust was misplaced, Nurse C took all my signs, once he wiggled the cables a bit to get the machine working, then did my bloods without a problem. He explained we would wait while they tested it. Excellent stuff. A beautiful young lady doctor with a dazzling smile then came over and explained stuff and examined my arms and legs. My Chemo-brain kicked in when she said I didn't have to take my trousers off, I could just roll them up. I stood with my hands on my waistband desperately trying to figure how I could roll them up from there. My brain would not compute. Luckily MIL showed me how to roll my trouser legs up from the bottom! The other day I swear I was effectively solving complex puzzles. Where's the cake?!! Doctor Dazzle says my limbs are OK and we just need to wait on the blood results. We are offered sandwiches and tea. We take the tea and a chatty nurse tells she is due to meet her son's prospective mother-in-law after 4 years. Her son deems her ready now!!! She is amused by it and has taken the attitude to just find her son rather funny. Best way! Doctor Dazzle arrives again, the results are in. With all this pain I had expected to be excessively over producing bone marrow and was wondering if I could start a lucrative black market operation selling it off, but no, surprisingly my count was still low, I still need the injections. They gave me some stronger painkillers, advised me to take the injections at night and eat small and often and a few other tips for other stuff I have going on.

The injections are for 8 days in total and I have just had my last one for this cycle. I think we've figured out how to cope with it all and can face cycles 5 and 6 head on. I now have a growing list of solutions for each side effect and to misquote Meghan Trainor "I got all the right pills in all the right places".

Sonic Pings and Sheldon

This week's adventure was an Echocardiogram. 

I will be receiving a treatment soon that could cause heart problems, so my heart needs to be monitored. I received my appointment letter for the Echocardiogram and it made me giggle. Strange you may think, but the opening paragraph was so random, it had to be written by Sheldon (Big Bang Theory). This is how it went....."Dear Mrs Bond, Ships use very high frequency sound waves". Feeling bewildered? So was I. It continued "projecting down into the sea to monitor the depth of water and to look for moving objects in the water". Yes, Sheldon's still explaining. "Recording equipment picks up the echoes bounced back from objects below the water enabling their size, shape and movement to be monitored". OK Shelley, what are you wittering on about? Ships? Water? Sound waves? Where is this going? For a moment I felt I was in work reading an engineering working instruction! Then Sheldon became a little clearer, "This procedure can be used to study the anatomy of your heart". Ah ha! So I need a ship, some water and some sonic pings? My brain was a little on the side of confused, whilst giggling to myself that this was the strangest appointment letter I had ever received! Wait, wait, Sheldon almost manages to talk a bit of patient speak "The Doppler Study uses changes in the frequency of reflected sound to measure blood flow through your heart". So it's just a fancy scan!   Now I know we all crave more information from the medical world, so I will not be critical and heck it did make me laugh!!! Hubbie and sons inform me that ships send sonic pings down to hunt for submarines, so it did occur to me that the odd sub may well be found floating around my heart, but the type with ham, cheese and tomato!!!!

My wonderful MIL (Mother in law) collects me and off we go for my sonic ping adventure. The Cardiology waiting room is full, as all waiting rooms are, but we are good at this now and are Kindle ready. We sit down, the MIL manages to sit on part of another lady patient's bag, which she tries to whip away quickly. Apologies given etc, the lady says "Don't worry it's only an Echocardiogram!". We smile and make the right noises, but I'm thinking, why have you got an Echocardiogram in a carrier bag and just what does one look like? The object in the bag looked to be the size of my Sky Hub. Very confused and with so so many questions I wanted to ask, I did the right thing and said nothing. I did think, I may have my own soon to transport around in a carrier bag!  Not enough time to resort to the Kindle as my name is called. The Cardiac Physiologist (lady doing the pinging), takes me into a room and tells me to strip to my waist, it crosses my mind how easily I do that these days, will I be stood in Sainsbury's one day and over the tannoy I hear "Shelf strip down in aisle five please" and before I know it, I've released my boobs to the unsuspecting pickles, sauces and tinned goods customers? Back to the pinging, I put a gown on and lie on the bed. Sticky pads get applied and wired up and lashings of lovely lubricating gel gets slowly smeared all over my chest. Steady boys, steady, if only it were going to be that much fun!!!  I'm told to lie on my left side and my Pinger says "I'm not really hurting you but I have to press hard". Oh dear Lord but you are!  Ouch and double ouch!!!  She is pressing the Doppler doodah very hard into my left boob, right on the site of my surgery. This is not good I tell myself, I'm not liking this.  It's pressing down right onto my ribs.  She finally releases the pressure.   Then she tells me to breathe in, in, in and out and...... hold it!  I'm holding, holding, still holding, s..t..i..l..l.. holding.   I start rolling my eyes and pursing my lips, trying to stop my brain from thinking "Hello, I am not breathing!".  And release. Praise the Lord, I grasp a few quick breaths.   Uh oh, the Doppler Pinger is on the move, she plops my boob out of the way and attacks me in the side of my rib cage, I mean right in my rib cage, this hurts!   She does apologise though and I understand she has to push or the pings wouldn't work.  More deep breaths in and out and hold.  Oh no, more eyeball rolling, lip pursing.   I am going to expire. My brain is screaming "breathe!!!".   It also occurs to me at this point that I should never seek an alternative career as a deep sea free diver.  At last she says "Oh sorry, release"!!!!!! She forgot to tell me!  She then says "just hold it for as long as you can".  A little late in the day for that important message don't you think Cruella De Vil??   Then the door opens, a man says "Hello" from the other side of the curtain.   Please don't come in, please, my boobs are spread all over the shop, dignity where have you gone?  Cruella kindly pulls my gown half over one boob.   Thankfully he doesn't come in any further, they exchange a few words and off he pops.  Sometimes I just hate the helplessness of undignified hospital body bits exposure.  So a few more rib cracking thrusts from Miss De Vil and she tells me to move onto my back, she Dopples my tummy with the same manoeuvres and then sticks it in my neck.  Any other situation you would be wrestling someone off who purposely tried to throttle you!!!!!  Throughout all this I did hear the occasional sound of blood swishing through my heart, which was reassuring. I didn't hear any hatches being battened and calls for "Dive, Dive".  Also reassuring.   All done.   My lovely lady Cardiac Physiologist (can't call her Cruella anymore, once the Doppler was out of her hand, she stopped being a sadist), then told me my heart was all good, it was all balanced and everything was working normally.  So it's official I have a good heart!!!!   Gel wiped off, clothes back on, back to the waiting room to interrupt the MIL from her Kindle, which did look like it irritated her a bit, has she found a legitimate escape from the FIL?  As she also has a good heart (huge one), she packed away her Kindle and drove me and my good heart home.

Overall a positive day, but I hadn't been given my own Echocardiogram, just what was in that woman's carrier bag?

Loves to CB xx

Amazing Coppafeel Rae Morris video

Please watch this amazing video by Rae Morris for Coppafeel charity.  I am in the position on the left, don't be the one on the right.  Feel those boobs!  If you download the video from iTunes, all the money goes to Coppafeel

Coppafeel charity

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!

Look for Lumps = Look for Life

Be honest ladies, how many of you have run your fingers over what felt like a lump, had a mini electric shock of fear course through you, then hurriedly move your fingers away and ignored what you may have just found?  

My hands are up, I've done it in the past!  My boobs are naturally lumpy anyway and whenever docs and nurses had a rummage in them, they always found something, but it was always a harmless natural lumpiness.  Anything that I found I always put down to that too. I quite simply sectioned it off to those compartments that us girls have in our heads, that are titled "nothing to be worried about". We don't want to make a fuss and take up the time of NHS staff for simply nothing. But that really isn't the right attitude nowadays.  

I bet you will know not only 1 person with Breast Cancer, but more likely at least 2 or 3 if not more.  You may even know people that have passed away from it.  It does seem to be everywhere now.

Thankfully when I felt my lump, I just knew it was a nasty one.  It felt different.  But I did have that fleeting moment of thinking "Ignore it", seriously I did!  Luckily that disappeared from my brain in a nanosecond.  But what if it hadn't?  What if I had ignored it?  Not wanted to make a fuss, not wanted to go through the awful waiting for results? The period of keeping it quiet in case it was nothing and I looked a fool for making a song and dance over nothing? Quite simply, my lump would have grown and spread, I would be looking at a very different scenario than the one presently before me.  

Once you can feel a lump it has the ability to spread, this means you have to leap into action, not sit around pondering whether to do anything about it!   Did you watch "The C-Word" recently on BBC1?  It was raw watching for me as I had only just been diagnosed, but a Mammographer that I know, reported an increase of 30 women who, following the programme, noticed changes in their boobs and followed it up, 3 of those women were diagnosed with Breast Cancer.  That was just in one hospital in one town.  Potentially that one programme has saved 100's of lives.

So you see if you find it early enough and follow it up, you may well save your life!  We have to accept that Breast Cancer is out there and its likely to get you, so let's stop it in its tracks!

I want looking for lumps not to be equated with a dire outcome, but a positive one, looking for lumps should equal looking for life.  Go looking for lumps, understand your boobs, know their road map, know how they feel throughout your cycle, you will then stand a good chance of feeling any changes and acting upon them straight away, look for life.  Impress on your daughters and granddaughters that this should become a habit for life.  I support the Coppafeel charity because they start with the youngsters, they offer a free checking reminder service. Take up that service whatever age you are.  Lets make lump finding a positive thing. Please also remember it's not just lumps, but any other changes too.  Get to know your boobs!

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

Stuff that I have found out, that we should all know

Stuff that I have found out that I think every woman should know, no matter what age they are.  Please tell your wives, girlfriends, daughters, sisters, aunts, grannies, grandaughters, cousins, friends.

Your risk of Breast Cancer (BC) is different depending on how old you are, younger woman have less chance, but it grows quicker, older woman more chance, but it grows slower.  We can’t win can we?

For over 50’s (changing to 47 in 2016) there is a screening programme, consisting of a Mammogram once every three years. This is not offered to younger woman, because it is not effective.  Breast tissue is different in younger woman, it is more dense, so the Mammogram x-rays can’t see through it, so there is not much point in having one.

Just because you are younger and don’t have regular Mammograms it doesn’t mean that you are not at risk of getting BC, you still are.  Your chances are less, but they are still there. You need to Self-Check. This is important! This may be the only way BC can be found.

When BC decides to hop a lift in your body, the one original cell multiplies, so 1 becomes 2, 2 becomes 4, 4 to 8, 8 to 16, 16 to 32, etc etc.  Once it has done this around 30 times, it is big enough to be felt.  Before this point it can’t usually be felt by you or your doctor.  It’s why the lump seems to appear all of a sudden!  By the time it gets to the 30 times, it also has the ability to spread, this doesn’t mean that it has already or is about to, but it does mean you need to take action and luckily your doctor is committed to getting you a Breast Clinic appointment within 2 weeks.  You find a lump, you deal with it.

If you are worrying that something you did a couple of months ago has caused this, don’t, each multiplication takes around 1-2 months, so by the time you can you feel it, you may have had it for around 2-5 years (each person is different).  This is where Mammograms come in, they can pick up tiny lumps probably years before we can feel them. 

Caught early, BC is treatable.  The main reason for problems is late detection or women ignoring it!  Don’t do that!!!  Ignoring it goes through everyone’s heads, but just don’t!  Way better to waste your Doctor’s time than waste your life!

Older women, please attend your Mammograms and Self-Check regularly, don’t rely on 3 yearly screening. Younger women, set up a Self-Check routine.

All ladies please set up a regular time to check, make it a habit and you won’t forget. You can get free reminders sent to you by text, see http://coppafeel.org/remind-me/.  Have a look at http://coppafeel.org/ for lots more good info.

Please remember it’s not just lumps but any changes that you notice, see http://coppafeel.org/boob-check/

Remember you can always get someone else to check for you!!

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.