Oh no. It had to happen. Breast Cancer Awareness Month.... Having made the mistake of reading just one article which was actually relatively upbeat - I realise I am going to have to shun all forms of media communication for 30 days or go totally insane. I have no idea where to place myself between the 'survivors' selected for make overs in the glossy magazines and the gut wrenching stories of young women fighting a losing battle against this monstrous disease. Statistics are everywhere - 80% of women diagnosed early may soon survive - what do they mean by early - or soon? Two thirds of women currently live for 20 years after breast cancer - (so 33% of women do not - and what happens after 20 years?). 43,000 women are diagnosed every year - but only 3000 of them are under 50.... And these are just the three I read today...
Time for a large bar of Green & Blacks and a DVD I think. And a wide berth of the newsagents...
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
A reading list (part 1)
All views expressed here are entirely mine and should not be replaced with those of your licensed health practitioner...
Books to avoid at all costs
1. What to Eat When you have Cancer by Gillian H Kaplan (MD) Insititute of Madeupsville, VA
(Amazon £17.25 inc supersaver delivery)
Labouring briefly under mistaken impression that now I have got myself into this predicament, changing to soya milk will provide instant cure. After 50 pages of this I realised that I would rather be dead.
2. Feeling Uncertain but facing the fear and saying hello to LIFE by Susan K Happiness (Author of bestselling Stand up and be Counted or you will be SORRY)
(Amazon £27.99 plus express first class next day delivery £12)
Of course you're bloody scared. Much better spend the money on a nice lunch and a lipgloss.
3. Breast Cancer - My Journey by Valerie Smug-Evans
(Fairer Sex books £9.99 including free pink label pin)
I'm really glad I now know how to pin a chemo drip tube to the inside of my specially made tent dress so I can go and enjoy my usual activities with only the occasional hilarious mishap.
4. Triathlon - Why Not?
No comment
BOOK TO READ (Only one entry so far)
What Can I do to help by Deborah Hutton
This is the best and most practical brilliant book about living with cancer and I have used so much of it - from writing a blog to accepting all offers of help from everyone (Sorry guys!). I hadn't realised that she was the mother of a boy called Freddie who was in Emily's class at school for a while - I wish I'd known her.
Books to avoid at all costs
1. What to Eat When you have Cancer by Gillian H Kaplan (MD) Insititute of Madeupsville, VA
(Amazon £17.25 inc supersaver delivery)
Labouring briefly under mistaken impression that now I have got myself into this predicament, changing to soya milk will provide instant cure. After 50 pages of this I realised that I would rather be dead.
2. Feeling Uncertain but facing the fear and saying hello to LIFE by Susan K Happiness (Author of bestselling Stand up and be Counted or you will be SORRY)
(Amazon £27.99 plus express first class next day delivery £12)
Of course you're bloody scared. Much better spend the money on a nice lunch and a lipgloss.
3. Breast Cancer - My Journey by Valerie Smug-Evans
(Fairer Sex books £9.99 including free pink label pin)
I'm really glad I now know how to pin a chemo drip tube to the inside of my specially made tent dress so I can go and enjoy my usual activities with only the occasional hilarious mishap.
4. Triathlon - Why Not?
No comment
BOOK TO READ (Only one entry so far)
What Can I do to help by Deborah Hutton
This is the best and most practical brilliant book about living with cancer and I have used so much of it - from writing a blog to accepting all offers of help from everyone (Sorry guys!). I hadn't realised that she was the mother of a boy called Freddie who was in Emily's class at school for a while - I wish I'd known her.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Ultra ultra sound
Had ultrasound today in exactly the same room I had the one where I found out my 'cyst' was in fact a 2.8cm tumour. Day started badly - pouring rain and my mother (chauffeur) sick as a dog. Francois volunteered to take me instead. He is a great driver and general navigator and all would have been fine had I not got entirely the wrong address in my head for the hospital
and made him screech to a halt at what I was sure was the only available parking meter in central London - which turned out to be quite far from where I thought the hospital was, and a great deal further from where it actually was. I also had not taken into account the fact that 'taking some work to do while he was waiting', meant charging along W1 with a backpack stuffed full of Merlot... and to make matters worse, I developed a sudden and dramatic nosebleed all over his new cream interiors at about Camden Town.
Anyway - we finally made it only 20 minutes late - they were very calm and made me a peppermint tea while waiting. While I nervously fiddled with my 18 layers of clothing and blood stained tissues, Francois filled in the time by holding said Merlot up to the ceiling halogen lights to determine level of sediment - none - while the rest of the waiting room looked on. It's hard to tell what they thought given the general level of anxiety on the faces of everyone in the breast screening unit. The only exception today being a very loud dark haired woman who was boring her ashen faced (me in July) friend with a new car brochure and trying to elicit her opinion on 'jean blue' or 'graphite grey' paintwork and the advantages of having a CD player fitted in the showroom. I was busy counting how many wigs I could see and wondering which of these two women were here for scans when a nurse greeted dark-haired car enthusiast like long-lost friend - 'Oh lovely to see you again, didn't expect to see you so soon, how ARE you bla bla', which momentarily confused me as I was so sure that ashen-faced woman was the cancer candidate - to which she replied, 'Oh, I'm fine now - completely recovered - but you remember my friend who held my hand throughout all my treatment - well now I'm here holding hers....!'
Putting aside the fact that I found her concept of hand-holding a little wide of the mark and the fact that if someone had sat there with me droning on and on about the five point power steering capacity of the Audi 400 while I was waiting to find out whether I had a life-threatening illness, I would have preferred to have one - putting all that aside - I found it astonishing that the nature of this epidemic is such that soon everyone in the waiting room will know each other. I commented on this later to the nurse who said she entirely agreed - it was shocking - and that was why luckily she worked there and could give herself a mammogram every 6 months...
Anyway - finally they called me in - forgot to mention earlier that I must have mistakenly put my middle name on a form some months ago and throughout this entire process every medical interview has started with someone shouting 'Mary-Elizabeth' in a sing song voice across the waiting room. I don't even know where to start to try to correct this so I have not bothered - and truth be known, I find that there is something curiously comforting about the Waltonism.
Anyway - finally called in - same room, same nurses - different doctor in same body (voice, manner, air of breezy confidence) but entirely different experience. Hushed tones replaced by pleasant surprise as he pointed out that at its absolutely widest, widest part, my terrible tumour has been knocked back to a mere 13mm. In other words - less than half the size of its original evil self. Brilliant. He actually said that it was in the absolute maximum shrinkage capacity and is now clearly responding fantastically well to Dr Plowmans chemo cocktail.
I think it's got more to do with lasagnes, casseroles and fish pies....
and made him screech to a halt at what I was sure was the only available parking meter in central London - which turned out to be quite far from where I thought the hospital was, and a great deal further from where it actually was. I also had not taken into account the fact that 'taking some work to do while he was waiting', meant charging along W1 with a backpack stuffed full of Merlot... and to make matters worse, I developed a sudden and dramatic nosebleed all over his new cream interiors at about Camden Town.
Anyway - we finally made it only 20 minutes late - they were very calm and made me a peppermint tea while waiting. While I nervously fiddled with my 18 layers of clothing and blood stained tissues, Francois filled in the time by holding said Merlot up to the ceiling halogen lights to determine level of sediment - none - while the rest of the waiting room looked on. It's hard to tell what they thought given the general level of anxiety on the faces of everyone in the breast screening unit. The only exception today being a very loud dark haired woman who was boring her ashen faced (me in July) friend with a new car brochure and trying to elicit her opinion on 'jean blue' or 'graphite grey' paintwork and the advantages of having a CD player fitted in the showroom. I was busy counting how many wigs I could see and wondering which of these two women were here for scans when a nurse greeted dark-haired car enthusiast like long-lost friend - 'Oh lovely to see you again, didn't expect to see you so soon, how ARE you bla bla', which momentarily confused me as I was so sure that ashen-faced woman was the cancer candidate - to which she replied, 'Oh, I'm fine now - completely recovered - but you remember my friend who held my hand throughout all my treatment - well now I'm here holding hers....!'
Putting aside the fact that I found her concept of hand-holding a little wide of the mark and the fact that if someone had sat there with me droning on and on about the five point power steering capacity of the Audi 400 while I was waiting to find out whether I had a life-threatening illness, I would have preferred to have one - putting all that aside - I found it astonishing that the nature of this epidemic is such that soon everyone in the waiting room will know each other. I commented on this later to the nurse who said she entirely agreed - it was shocking - and that was why luckily she worked there and could give herself a mammogram every 6 months...
Anyway - finally they called me in - forgot to mention earlier that I must have mistakenly put my middle name on a form some months ago and throughout this entire process every medical interview has started with someone shouting 'Mary-Elizabeth' in a sing song voice across the waiting room. I don't even know where to start to try to correct this so I have not bothered - and truth be known, I find that there is something curiously comforting about the Waltonism.
Anyway - finally called in - same room, same nurses - different doctor in same body (voice, manner, air of breezy confidence) but entirely different experience. Hushed tones replaced by pleasant surprise as he pointed out that at its absolutely widest, widest part, my terrible tumour has been knocked back to a mere 13mm. In other words - less than half the size of its original evil self. Brilliant. He actually said that it was in the absolute maximum shrinkage capacity and is now clearly responding fantastically well to Dr Plowmans chemo cocktail.
I think it's got more to do with lasagnes, casseroles and fish pies....
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Third Time Lucky
Just a short one this week as another blast of the super poisons take grip of me - but some good things to mention so just wanted to get it down.
Having refused all company during chemo up until now - my old friend Hayley popped in from her Pilates instructor classes (yes, she does have a flatter stomach than a 12 year old) bearing a bag of super Clarins goodies (thanks also to Dorothy!!!) and her lap top which she'd lugged all the way in from East Sussex....so while Gladys the gorgeous nurse was trying to find a vein to stick her canula in, I gazed at Oxley family photos of their fab summer holiday in Montana. Not only did I not feel a thing, but I now associate the process with breathtaking scenes of pine studded mountains and glistening lakes with a couple of bears and coyotes thrown in. Montana just skittled up to the top of my list of 'places I will visit when I am better' list.
The only worrying point was when they weighed me before giving the drugs. Twice. They couldn't believe I'd actually put on weight since the last time ????? (This is obviously my punishment for that fleeting moment when I thought - Cancer - oh well - at least I'll lose a stone... ) I blame the chemo caterers....
On Sunday it was my 44th birthday - great timing - but the extra steroids they dished out this time meant the whole day was not a total write off - I made it down to lunch and was inundated with cards and presents - the most unexpected of which was from my family who had clubbed together and got me a fantastic white sony laptop!!! So no excuse for not blogging even while bedbound - although I admit to not so far having the energy to actually open it - but plan to get onto that soon...
And finally - and the best bit - while in hospital last week, consultant oncologist/human dynamo Dr Plowman had another grope (I'm sure it's all an excuse...) and declared joyfully that the lump was much smaller and reacting brilliantly to his wonder drugs...he has therefore packed me off for an ultrasound tomorrow to see where we are and a visit to the surgeon next week to see whether surgery may be brought forward. Either way -I'll still need 6 chemo in total - which makes me half way there now. The last time I was in that scan room I had such bad news I can't bear to think about it. I am trying not to drive myself mad wondering what 'smaller' actually means - will have to wait until Tuesday to get the full picture, and stay away from rulers.
Anyway - having expected very little - this birthday week has been full of surprises...
PS. Thanks to everyone who sent me cards and presents etc etc this week - I am starting to feel like Victoria Beckham - and Martina - I don't have your email address or new phone number - the flowers are gorgeous!!!! Thank you....
Having refused all company during chemo up until now - my old friend Hayley popped in from her Pilates instructor classes (yes, she does have a flatter stomach than a 12 year old) bearing a bag of super Clarins goodies (thanks also to Dorothy!!!) and her lap top which she'd lugged all the way in from East Sussex....so while Gladys the gorgeous nurse was trying to find a vein to stick her canula in, I gazed at Oxley family photos of their fab summer holiday in Montana. Not only did I not feel a thing, but I now associate the process with breathtaking scenes of pine studded mountains and glistening lakes with a couple of bears and coyotes thrown in. Montana just skittled up to the top of my list of 'places I will visit when I am better' list.
The only worrying point was when they weighed me before giving the drugs. Twice. They couldn't believe I'd actually put on weight since the last time ????? (This is obviously my punishment for that fleeting moment when I thought - Cancer - oh well - at least I'll lose a stone... ) I blame the chemo caterers....
On Sunday it was my 44th birthday - great timing - but the extra steroids they dished out this time meant the whole day was not a total write off - I made it down to lunch and was inundated with cards and presents - the most unexpected of which was from my family who had clubbed together and got me a fantastic white sony laptop!!! So no excuse for not blogging even while bedbound - although I admit to not so far having the energy to actually open it - but plan to get onto that soon...
And finally - and the best bit - while in hospital last week, consultant oncologist/human dynamo Dr Plowman had another grope (I'm sure it's all an excuse...) and declared joyfully that the lump was much smaller and reacting brilliantly to his wonder drugs...he has therefore packed me off for an ultrasound tomorrow to see where we are and a visit to the surgeon next week to see whether surgery may be brought forward. Either way -I'll still need 6 chemo in total - which makes me half way there now. The last time I was in that scan room I had such bad news I can't bear to think about it. I am trying not to drive myself mad wondering what 'smaller' actually means - will have to wait until Tuesday to get the full picture, and stay away from rulers.
Anyway - having expected very little - this birthday week has been full of surprises...
PS. Thanks to everyone who sent me cards and presents etc etc this week - I am starting to feel like Victoria Beckham - and Martina - I don't have your email address or new phone number - the flowers are gorgeous!!!! Thank you....
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Pre chemo quickie
Thanks so much to everyone who has left lovely messages, texts etc re tomorrow...I am feeling ok - and had a fabulous reflexology today, made even better when I took out my chequebook and (Saint) Tony said, Happy birthday from Jo and Patrick!!! Thanks guys - it was really, really naughty of you and amazing Jo that you managed to track down Tony like that....and thanks Tony for adding another session next week. It is really kind of you and much appreciated. Reflexology is the only thing I get out of bed for!
After this one I should be half way through chemo and on Oct 2nd I have a review to see what's going on in there and what will happen next - ie how many more chemos, whether the tumour has shrunk (I think it has) and by how much, and whether or what kind of hormone therapy might be relevant. I am looking forward to this as it will give me a few more goal posts in what is currently a bit of a wide open football field...
Sorry I have not been out and about much (PA meetings, playground, dinners, pub etc) - all this will change - and I am thinking about everyone who has sent me messages and cards - I really believe that all the positive energy and prayers people are saying for me is life affirming and will work. (Not to mention the dinners - yippee - the Cancer Caterers are on their way!)
My marvellous mum arrives tomorrow for a few days and hopefully she, Benedicte and Francois will crack open a bottle of wine and have a quiet Mary-free evening before I come back to make their lives a misery. This is the first time the children have been here afterwards so I have warned them about what to expect. Emily said, 'Oh yes, like when you had that throat infection and made us phone Pizza Hut for our dinner,' 'Yes,' I replied. 'Like that, only without the pizza.' We're counting on you Catherine!!!
I also want to thank everyone who is giving Luc and Emily a social life at the moment - they seem barely to be at home and they are loving it. Emily absolutely ADORES her new school and was chosen to be class rep today which she is thrilled about. This slightly overshadows Luc who is nevertheless really enjoying year 2 and leaves happily every morning to boss Benedicte about all the way to Highbury. I wish he could behave a bit more like a French child but have resigned myself to the fact that this is impossible.
Anyway - I will blog again next week with another post and in the meantime am busy planning a huge party for my 45th birthday in 2008 which is filling up all the empty bits of my brain. Am thinking that the venue will have to be the size of a small country to invite everyone who has been so kind, supportive and brilliant during these tough times. All suggestions welcome!
A bientot.
After this one I should be half way through chemo and on Oct 2nd I have a review to see what's going on in there and what will happen next - ie how many more chemos, whether the tumour has shrunk (I think it has) and by how much, and whether or what kind of hormone therapy might be relevant. I am looking forward to this as it will give me a few more goal posts in what is currently a bit of a wide open football field...
Sorry I have not been out and about much (PA meetings, playground, dinners, pub etc) - all this will change - and I am thinking about everyone who has sent me messages and cards - I really believe that all the positive energy and prayers people are saying for me is life affirming and will work. (Not to mention the dinners - yippee - the Cancer Caterers are on their way!)
My marvellous mum arrives tomorrow for a few days and hopefully she, Benedicte and Francois will crack open a bottle of wine and have a quiet Mary-free evening before I come back to make their lives a misery. This is the first time the children have been here afterwards so I have warned them about what to expect. Emily said, 'Oh yes, like when you had that throat infection and made us phone Pizza Hut for our dinner,' 'Yes,' I replied. 'Like that, only without the pizza.' We're counting on you Catherine!!!
I also want to thank everyone who is giving Luc and Emily a social life at the moment - they seem barely to be at home and they are loving it. Emily absolutely ADORES her new school and was chosen to be class rep today which she is thrilled about. This slightly overshadows Luc who is nevertheless really enjoying year 2 and leaves happily every morning to boss Benedicte about all the way to Highbury. I wish he could behave a bit more like a French child but have resigned myself to the fact that this is impossible.
Anyway - I will blog again next week with another post and in the meantime am busy planning a huge party for my 45th birthday in 2008 which is filling up all the empty bits of my brain. Am thinking that the venue will have to be the size of a small country to invite everyone who has been so kind, supportive and brilliant during these tough times. All suggestions welcome!
A bientot.
Monday, September 17, 2007
So much to do, so little time
This week has been full on - no time to blog.
Although it was supposed to be my 'good' week, it has been marred by a return of the chest infection, more antibiotics, and another super low white blood cell count - although I have ploughed through all of that, and managed a trip to Mamma Mia with the kids (dancing in the aisles fun) and the Terracotta Army (interesting but not enough of them). Now feeling a bit exhausted.
Au Pair update
The big event of the week, was, however, the arrival of Benedicte - our new au pair. I have to say (and not just because she may read this) that if we'd written a list of everything an au pair should be and sent off for her mail order, we could not have done better. She is completely lovely, very easy to have around, totally responsible and has a great sense of humour. She also has many cult US TV shows downloaded onto her laptop which she has kindly set up for me to watch in bed!
Benedicte has also endeared herself to me by eating absolutely everything I've put in front of her with gusto, and declared a passion for fish pie and custard (not together). Having never been to England before, she is both pleased and dismayed that she is not going back to France a stone lighter as predicted.
She has also started a rival blog entitled 'My life in London' or 'The British Breakfast'. (I have to come clean here and admit that this is possibly because in my rather sad and controlling way I have written a detailed menu plan and pinned it to the kitchen notice board - thus giving her the impression that I always get up early to prepare freshly squeezed orange juice and scrambled eggs or porridge with stewed apples...)
The children are 'bonding' with her nicely - fighting to sit next to her in the car etc and she is accompanying Emily to guides tonight to see if she can help out. My only worry is whether she will be able to put up with us! We are currently (bar Luc) on our best behaviour which may also account for the fatigue...
Pre Chemo preparations
Chemo is creeping up on me again this Thursday. It's so odd - waiting for something that you know is going to make you feel completely terrible - and yet desperate that it should not be delayed for any reason. Dread vs dread.
I'm also trying to get all sorts of silly things done before becoming incapacitated once more - from sending in my new mortgage application (will they accept me now?) to trying to work out how the hell to plug in my new flat screen TV/DVD player for the bedroom. This is, of course, by far the most pressing problem as I have lined up a selection of intellectually challenging horizontal viewing next week. (Yes, of course I mean Lost, the whole of series one....)
I appear to have the wrong cables as my satellite box is so old - apparently I need ones with something called HDMI (?) which are not included in the box. The instructions appear to have been written in Russian by someone with Aspergers. After a frustrating hour on the internet I was no closer to resolving this problem and narrowly escaped spending vast sums of money on a variety of cables with gold and silver plated ends. Luckily before I could do any more damage to my credit card this week, my father agreed to send me a box of his 'spare cables' (obviously a boy thing), one of which I hope will do the trick.
The other worrying bit of paperwork hanging over me is my passport which expires in about 2 weeks. I rather sensibly got some pictures taken just after my diagnosis, before I had my hair cut short. Unfortunately they make Myra Hindley look like a supermodel. If they are rejected I will face a huge dilemma - Can I have more taken wearing a wig or headscarf or will I be committing myself to a lifetime of problems at immigration? And can I really live with a bald passport photo (What will I do when my hair grows back?)
Other than these obviously challenging tasks, a mound of dull things, including the fact that Luc suddenly has no school uniform that fits him and Emily's leotard resembles a g-string are weighing heavily on my conscience. And there's still my yoga and reflexology and regular juicing to fit in.... The chemo window is closing in fast - but I still hope it happens on Thursday.
Although it was supposed to be my 'good' week, it has been marred by a return of the chest infection, more antibiotics, and another super low white blood cell count - although I have ploughed through all of that, and managed a trip to Mamma Mia with the kids (dancing in the aisles fun) and the Terracotta Army (interesting but not enough of them). Now feeling a bit exhausted.
Au Pair update
The big event of the week, was, however, the arrival of Benedicte - our new au pair. I have to say (and not just because she may read this) that if we'd written a list of everything an au pair should be and sent off for her mail order, we could not have done better. She is completely lovely, very easy to have around, totally responsible and has a great sense of humour. She also has many cult US TV shows downloaded onto her laptop which she has kindly set up for me to watch in bed!
Benedicte has also endeared herself to me by eating absolutely everything I've put in front of her with gusto, and declared a passion for fish pie and custard (not together). Having never been to England before, she is both pleased and dismayed that she is not going back to France a stone lighter as predicted.
She has also started a rival blog entitled 'My life in London' or 'The British Breakfast'. (I have to come clean here and admit that this is possibly because in my rather sad and controlling way I have written a detailed menu plan and pinned it to the kitchen notice board - thus giving her the impression that I always get up early to prepare freshly squeezed orange juice and scrambled eggs or porridge with stewed apples...)
The children are 'bonding' with her nicely - fighting to sit next to her in the car etc and she is accompanying Emily to guides tonight to see if she can help out. My only worry is whether she will be able to put up with us! We are currently (bar Luc) on our best behaviour which may also account for the fatigue...
Pre Chemo preparations
Chemo is creeping up on me again this Thursday. It's so odd - waiting for something that you know is going to make you feel completely terrible - and yet desperate that it should not be delayed for any reason. Dread vs dread.
I'm also trying to get all sorts of silly things done before becoming incapacitated once more - from sending in my new mortgage application (will they accept me now?) to trying to work out how the hell to plug in my new flat screen TV/DVD player for the bedroom. This is, of course, by far the most pressing problem as I have lined up a selection of intellectually challenging horizontal viewing next week. (Yes, of course I mean Lost, the whole of series one....)
I appear to have the wrong cables as my satellite box is so old - apparently I need ones with something called HDMI (?) which are not included in the box. The instructions appear to have been written in Russian by someone with Aspergers. After a frustrating hour on the internet I was no closer to resolving this problem and narrowly escaped spending vast sums of money on a variety of cables with gold and silver plated ends. Luckily before I could do any more damage to my credit card this week, my father agreed to send me a box of his 'spare cables' (obviously a boy thing), one of which I hope will do the trick.
The other worrying bit of paperwork hanging over me is my passport which expires in about 2 weeks. I rather sensibly got some pictures taken just after my diagnosis, before I had my hair cut short. Unfortunately they make Myra Hindley look like a supermodel. If they are rejected I will face a huge dilemma - Can I have more taken wearing a wig or headscarf or will I be committing myself to a lifetime of problems at immigration? And can I really live with a bald passport photo (What will I do when my hair grows back?)
Other than these obviously challenging tasks, a mound of dull things, including the fact that Luc suddenly has no school uniform that fits him and Emily's leotard resembles a g-string are weighing heavily on my conscience. And there's still my yoga and reflexology and regular juicing to fit in.... The chemo window is closing in fast - but I still hope it happens on Thursday.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Therapy
I know that things are getting better after a day like today. Spent a blissful 2 hours in John Lewis Oxford street taking care of some much needed au pair shopping. I'm starting to suspect that having chemo is a bit like being pregnant as I came back with a sack load of bright red towels (asking for trouble) and hideously expensive coat hangers. So now, not only has the au pair got a better room than me, but also better towels and better wardrobe accoutrements. My neighbour Rose commented that she would like to be my au pair.
Anyway - coming back laden with green and white bags gave me a great buzz and I spent the rest of the day washing and folding red towels into identically symmetrical rectangles. I suppose that the good thing about chemo, unlike pregnancy, is that you don't get a baby at the end of it.
Anyway - coming back laden with green and white bags gave me a great buzz and I spent the rest of the day washing and folding red towels into identically symmetrical rectangles. I suppose that the good thing about chemo, unlike pregnancy, is that you don't get a baby at the end of it.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
On Bravery
Spent a really lovely couple of hours last night in Chris and Claire's gorgeous garden. Having spent most of the day in bed, I had to force myself to go out, and don't regret it. The impact of good food and good friends cannot be underestimated for boosting the morale. For at least half and hour at a stretch I completely forgot about the cancer and felt like my old self. A short trip back to the other side. It is so easy to feel like nothing more than a disease on legs and so important for there to be more about me than just that. I don't feel like the same person I was before, but I cannot be entirely defined by this new status. It is still early days and I think I am still struggling with all the new definitions - but just being the me I was before is so relaxing. Wish I'd appreciated it more at the time!
Someone said last night (and not for the first time), that I am being very 'brave'. I have to say that things could not be further from the truth. Brave implies an element of choice, or free will, in how you respond to events such as these. At the beginning, I was consumed by fear, the like of which I hope never to know again. I spent two or three weeks in a sort of daze, going through the motions as if I was someone else. Other people have commented on the fact that you feel as if you are in a film, watching yourself, and I still feel like that from time to time. The brain just cannot comprehend the enormity of the change in circumstances - it takes time to assimilate it all and to reach a level of acceptance that you can live with. I am not brave, but I am more accepting. The 'Why me's?' replaced by more of a 'Why not me?' approach. One in nine women get this disease, and there are many thousands of us out there, and there are many men and women who have far less friendly cancers and a much tougher time.
I am not brave, but I am letting myself go with the flow, and trying to get something good out of each day. Having a wonderful home-cooked meal made with by great friends has been the highlight of every single day this week. It's not just the shopping, and the food, it's the thought, the love and the attention to detail that has been so cheering. These things give me hope and a will to go on to the next day with optimism.
Spending time with the children, listening to them talk about their day is incredibly uplifting, but again, sometimes tinged with sadness as I wish I could take this away from them, and moments of fear have a nasty tendency to creep in.
Late at night, trying to sleep, or at 4 in the morning, the brain sometimes goes into overdrive and I don't feel brave at all. And I would give anything to turn the clock back.
But morning always comes eventually and I wake up pleased to be one step further along the path. If this is a test, a personal challenge, I know I will do everything in my power to come through it a better, stronger person. That's not bravery - it's survival.
And thanks Chris and Claire for a fab evening. My house and garden envy lingers on.....!
Someone said last night (and not for the first time), that I am being very 'brave'. I have to say that things could not be further from the truth. Brave implies an element of choice, or free will, in how you respond to events such as these. At the beginning, I was consumed by fear, the like of which I hope never to know again. I spent two or three weeks in a sort of daze, going through the motions as if I was someone else. Other people have commented on the fact that you feel as if you are in a film, watching yourself, and I still feel like that from time to time. The brain just cannot comprehend the enormity of the change in circumstances - it takes time to assimilate it all and to reach a level of acceptance that you can live with. I am not brave, but I am more accepting. The 'Why me's?' replaced by more of a 'Why not me?' approach. One in nine women get this disease, and there are many thousands of us out there, and there are many men and women who have far less friendly cancers and a much tougher time.
I am not brave, but I am letting myself go with the flow, and trying to get something good out of each day. Having a wonderful home-cooked meal made with by great friends has been the highlight of every single day this week. It's not just the shopping, and the food, it's the thought, the love and the attention to detail that has been so cheering. These things give me hope and a will to go on to the next day with optimism.
Spending time with the children, listening to them talk about their day is incredibly uplifting, but again, sometimes tinged with sadness as I wish I could take this away from them, and moments of fear have a nasty tendency to creep in.
Late at night, trying to sleep, or at 4 in the morning, the brain sometimes goes into overdrive and I don't feel brave at all. And I would give anything to turn the clock back.
But morning always comes eventually and I wake up pleased to be one step further along the path. If this is a test, a personal challenge, I know I will do everything in my power to come through it a better, stronger person. That's not bravery - it's survival.
And thanks Chris and Claire for a fab evening. My house and garden envy lingers on.....!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Yoga for beginners
Feeling very odd today - probably low white blood cells/blood pressure. Have spent most of the day in bed eating jelly dinosaurs while Francois prepares our spare room for the New Aupair...more of that later...
Anyway, I remembered that my yoga teacher, the lovely soon-to-be-published young novelist and yoga master Ruth Fowler (www.umayoga.org) taught me a strange upside down position to bring blood to the head which involves lying on my back, bum against a wall, feet in the air, balancing on my shoulders. The only problem in this house being the fact that the only clear bits of wall seem to be behind doors, so the relaxing benefits of getting myself into this uncompromising position seems to be counteracted by the fear that one of the children will charge into the room and slam the door on my head. This yoga thing is a hazardous activity. I have had two private lessons now - the aim being to become sufficiently proficient to be able to 'drop in' at the YogaHome 'drop in' which currently fills me with dread. All those limber Stokey mums who probably spend most of their time in full shoulder stands or saluting the dead dog or whatever while I just topple over. Anyway - the second lesson went far better than the first and I definitely felt some sort of benefit from all the stretching and whathaveyou. Having laid in bed almost constantly for the last week it was brilliant to actually move around a bit.
The other scary thing about a class is that it is impossible to carry out all these positions wearing my wig as it was not designed to go upside down - unless you like the sweaty loo brush look - and the miracle scarf gripper, while perfect in inclement weather, is also worse than useless faced with the upside down challenge. Being Gail Porter in my own home is one thing...but in front of aforementioned Stokey Mums with their untamed curls and chic crops is quite another.
I was completely thrilled today when my wedding ring - presumed lost for over 2 years - turned up at the back of a drawer that Francois was scrupulously emptying. I take this as a sign that my luck is swinging the other way - amazing.
The Au Pair
Having resisted the whole idea of a complete stranger living in the house ever since the kids were born (despite Francois' enthusiasm at various times), under the circumstances I felt no option but to succumb. In my view this is not an au pair friendly house - not enough space and the only decent size bedroom will now be hers - but the pros seem to outweigh the cons for once. Despite the fact that my long suffering mother will now have to sleep in Emily's room when she comes, moving Emily into Luc's room which is Emily's worst nightmare.
Also, after years of of listening to my friends horror stories including the one who announced after 10 days at my hard working single mother friend's house that she was pregnant and had 'nowhere to go' and the eastern european with a bizarre eating disorder which involved stashing food under her bed, I wasn't sure I had the mental stamina for one of my own.
Anyway having trawled through several hundred CVs, including Katarina from Moldavia who 'will not do extra hours for extra money, does not iron, but has helped out many summers on her family's pig farm and can milk a cow' (I kid you not) and Birgitta from Sweden who would like to go home during all school holidays and would only consider a house with a cat (I am allergic), we appear to have found the ideal candidate.
Benedicte is French, thus making communication extremely simple, is 23, has a masters degree in Biology and is happy to stay until June. She is also allergic to animals (superb), dyslexic (even better) and an enthusiastic young guide leader (is she making this up???) On the phone she sounds incredibly sweet and jolly and although she has admitted to being terrible at ironing she still won me over by sending me lots of pictures of her making indian headdresses with a group of muddy guides and telling me that she loves English food....She is arriving on Wednesday evening so watch this space...
Anyway, I remembered that my yoga teacher, the lovely soon-to-be-published young novelist and yoga master Ruth Fowler (www.umayoga.org) taught me a strange upside down position to bring blood to the head which involves lying on my back, bum against a wall, feet in the air, balancing on my shoulders. The only problem in this house being the fact that the only clear bits of wall seem to be behind doors, so the relaxing benefits of getting myself into this uncompromising position seems to be counteracted by the fear that one of the children will charge into the room and slam the door on my head. This yoga thing is a hazardous activity. I have had two private lessons now - the aim being to become sufficiently proficient to be able to 'drop in' at the YogaHome 'drop in' which currently fills me with dread. All those limber Stokey mums who probably spend most of their time in full shoulder stands or saluting the dead dog or whatever while I just topple over. Anyway - the second lesson went far better than the first and I definitely felt some sort of benefit from all the stretching and whathaveyou. Having laid in bed almost constantly for the last week it was brilliant to actually move around a bit.
The other scary thing about a class is that it is impossible to carry out all these positions wearing my wig as it was not designed to go upside down - unless you like the sweaty loo brush look - and the miracle scarf gripper, while perfect in inclement weather, is also worse than useless faced with the upside down challenge. Being Gail Porter in my own home is one thing...but in front of aforementioned Stokey Mums with their untamed curls and chic crops is quite another.
I was completely thrilled today when my wedding ring - presumed lost for over 2 years - turned up at the back of a drawer that Francois was scrupulously emptying. I take this as a sign that my luck is swinging the other way - amazing.
The Au Pair
Having resisted the whole idea of a complete stranger living in the house ever since the kids were born (despite Francois' enthusiasm at various times), under the circumstances I felt no option but to succumb. In my view this is not an au pair friendly house - not enough space and the only decent size bedroom will now be hers - but the pros seem to outweigh the cons for once. Despite the fact that my long suffering mother will now have to sleep in Emily's room when she comes, moving Emily into Luc's room which is Emily's worst nightmare.
Also, after years of of listening to my friends horror stories including the one who announced after 10 days at my hard working single mother friend's house that she was pregnant and had 'nowhere to go' and the eastern european with a bizarre eating disorder which involved stashing food under her bed, I wasn't sure I had the mental stamina for one of my own.
Anyway having trawled through several hundred CVs, including Katarina from Moldavia who 'will not do extra hours for extra money, does not iron, but has helped out many summers on her family's pig farm and can milk a cow' (I kid you not) and Birgitta from Sweden who would like to go home during all school holidays and would only consider a house with a cat (I am allergic), we appear to have found the ideal candidate.
Benedicte is French, thus making communication extremely simple, is 23, has a masters degree in Biology and is happy to stay until June. She is also allergic to animals (superb), dyslexic (even better) and an enthusiastic young guide leader (is she making this up???) On the phone she sounds incredibly sweet and jolly and although she has admitted to being terrible at ironing she still won me over by sending me lots of pictures of her making indian headdresses with a group of muddy guides and telling me that she loves English food....She is arriving on Wednesday evening so watch this space...
Friday, September 7, 2007
Hair today...
Since I wrote my opening gambit, two very exciting things have happened.
First, my parcel finally arrived from youarebald.com (http://www.headcovers.com/), the great US site for people with no hair. I spent a happy internet hour a couple of weeks back selecting from a vast array of head wear and trying to decide between the Lady Charlotte wide brimmed fedora with pink trim and the extra large grey arctic fleece with sequin border. Finally, slightly overwhelmed by choice, and anxiety over my head size without hair - I still had some at this point - opted for some plain square cotton scarves and a handy head band that you wear underneath to 'prevent the possibility of hat or scarf slip in strong winds'. ????!!! Not something that had previously occurred to me.
I also got one ready tied scarf (black with gypsy style embroidery) which turned out to be a stroke of genius as the plain scarves came with a horrifying two-sided A4 sheet of origami diagrams demonstrating the many jaunty ways you could tie it. I couldn't even work out which way up to hold the paper.
Second, my fantastic lovely friend and hairdresser Lisa Hilton who has helped me through all of this - from cutting all my hair off in the salon at night when everyone had gone home and coming to Notting Hill to choose and fit my wig, (Trendco, 229 Kensington Church St) managed to turn it into a head of hair I'd be proud of even before I lost mine. Emily commented that it 'was like my hair, only nicer', so I've been trotting around in it all day feeling like the sort of woman who gets up an hour early to blow dry.
Luc said, 'Ok, you can take me to school now', so I guess if it has passed the child challenge I must be fit for public consumption.
My only question is - do I need to wear my super non slip head band in case of strong winds?
First, my parcel finally arrived from youarebald.com (http://www.headcovers.com/), the great US site for people with no hair. I spent a happy internet hour a couple of weeks back selecting from a vast array of head wear and trying to decide between the Lady Charlotte wide brimmed fedora with pink trim and the extra large grey arctic fleece with sequin border. Finally, slightly overwhelmed by choice, and anxiety over my head size without hair - I still had some at this point - opted for some plain square cotton scarves and a handy head band that you wear underneath to 'prevent the possibility of hat or scarf slip in strong winds'. ????!!! Not something that had previously occurred to me.
I also got one ready tied scarf (black with gypsy style embroidery) which turned out to be a stroke of genius as the plain scarves came with a horrifying two-sided A4 sheet of origami diagrams demonstrating the many jaunty ways you could tie it. I couldn't even work out which way up to hold the paper.
Second, my fantastic lovely friend and hairdresser Lisa Hilton who has helped me through all of this - from cutting all my hair off in the salon at night when everyone had gone home and coming to Notting Hill to choose and fit my wig, (Trendco, 229 Kensington Church St) managed to turn it into a head of hair I'd be proud of even before I lost mine. Emily commented that it 'was like my hair, only nicer', so I've been trotting around in it all day feeling like the sort of woman who gets up an hour early to blow dry.
Luc said, 'Ok, you can take me to school now', so I guess if it has passed the child challenge I must be fit for public consumption.
My only question is - do I need to wear my super non slip head band in case of strong winds?
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
One hell of a summer
As most people now know, this summer I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and now that the shock is less shocking, the reality less unreal, it felt like a good time to blog it. Not least because of the myriad lines of communication linking chaotically around the world from Highbury to Hong Kong, about the actual state of life chez Les Domanges. It seemed like a good way to keep everyone up to date with our lives while avoiding the otherwise necessary evil of repeating every little bit of information ad infinitum. This will also stop me from becoming too boring. If it's out there - I won't need to talk about it at all while more important things are going on such as coffee drinking, gossiping and shopping.
All of that done I was sent to my oncologist, also primarily at Barts - Piers Plowman - a very lovely and dedicated man who talks faster and even more than I do. He gave me the good news that there was no sign of any spread to anywhere else (including the main lymphatic node) and that these quick growing aggressive tumours are the first to die given the right dose of heavy duty chemo. I have to add here for everyone that has asked me this question - that the fact that there is no sign of spread does not mean it has not or will not one day. Cancer cells are minuscule and are impossible to track entirely. But overall - all of the above seemed like very good news indeed to me.
Also - for the benefit of people who have asked. They do not give you a prognosis and nor do I want one. Every case is entirely different and treatment is tailored to the individual. All I know is that statistically I'd be happier not having it than having it - but other than that - the future seems to me to lie between a hearty combination of faith, medicine and most of all, luck.
Various people including the breast cancer care nurse told me I would lose my hair, including eyebrows and eyelashes - and I left with a sack load of ominously entitled pamphlets such as 'Coping with Hair Loss - or how to fool the world that you are not a strange, bald alien' and 'How to tell the children - or Oh my God I'm going to die!'
I came home, read everything from cover to cover - put it away - and have never referred to it since. The rest is common sense.
The Children
Luckily (if the word applies in this situation), the children were now ensconced with Francois in a neat little holiday rental on the coast of Brittany. He duly signed them up for every activity going from sailing (Emily - every day) to swimming and tennis. He batted beach balls at them till his arm ached and fed them mussels and ratatouille and lots of chocolate, between clandestine phone calls to me from various Central London medical institutions. At this point I really felt more sorry for him than for me. My lovely mother was luckily with me throughout this stressful week.
Francois then left the kids with his sister for a week and came back to London to see me through the next bit, including the first chemo - then went back to spend another week with them in our own house that the visitors had now vacated. Again, poor thing spent most of the week fixing guttering, cementing bits of stone back to the house while feeding and looking after the children really brilliantly. A great upside was that from the day I left, Luc started speaking French - something he'd always refused to do before. The week with my sister-in-law was great for this too. Both the children have plenty of friends in the village so their week passed pleasantly playing, swimming, eating, reading and playing with Harry Potter lego - so all was not lost. I missed them desperately but realised that they were far better off having a summer holiday than moping around London with a sickly mother. I spoke to them every day and together we broke the news of my dramatic illness. They both took it incredibly well and have, ever since, provided me with the most incredible amount of love and support. We have explained things to them in clear, age appropriate terms, always with a positive spin. The treatment is hard, but I will get better. Luc's main concern was that I should get a long blond wig as he has always fancied a 'long, blond Mummy'.
Now we are all back in one place - both happily back at school and their routine is getting back to normal. Emily, however, is not mad about people asking her about me as it makes her feel scared and uncomfortable and slightly out of control. She prefers to focus on her new school, hobbies and friends. We talk a lot about everything and that is enough for now.
What is chemotherapy like for me?
Again, this is a question that you may want to skip but so many people have asked me that I thought I could just write it here once and never mention it again for reasons that will become obvious.
There are hundreds of different chemotherapy drugs that are used for different people in different combinations. The combination you are on is called the regime. I am on TAC which is a combination of three strong poisons that have excellent results in treating tumours like mine. I am given these drugs every 21 days - on a Thursday. The next one is on the 20th Sept. These drugs kill all the fastest growing cells in the body, including those in the lining of the gut, the mouth, and sadly, the hair follicles - in particular in the head and nether regions. Quite unbelievably while all of the above has now bitten the dust, my lower leg hairs appear to be gripping on with a determination that gives new meaning to the word 'unfair.'
For the first week after the drugs are administered (by very super slow IV drip - overnight so far) I feel so bad that I can barely describe it. I particularly cannot describe it while I am in it. Imagaine having the worst sick hangover known to man and someone asking you to describe in detail your symptoms. No one ever does because everyone knows. Very few people (luckily) know what this is like. For me it feels as if someone has used a dyson on the inside of my bones, while giving me a poisonous hangover (with none of the fun) mixed with the early stages of a bad pregnancy (such as the one I had with Luc). The poison careers around your body in waves and at first the waves are so close together that it just seems unbearable. After a couple of days I start to get windows in the waves where I don't feel quite so bad and gradually these 'windows' get longer and by about day 5 I am able to make it down stairs for a session of Dr Phil. Before that I cannot even listen to the radio as everything is irritating. I have to try to eat my way through this so have little bits of soup, fruit, vegetables and drinks, which can help temporarily. I can barely speak on bad days - even to the people right next to me - I just moan and grumble and hope that they can interpret my incoherent grunts and appear within the next 3 seconds with exactly what I need. Sadly this is a feat for anyone.... By day 6 I am semi functional, can manage more food and a trip to the reflexologist - in my case this is actually a Saint by the name of Tony Porter - without whom I don't know if I would survive at all!
The next two weeks are about gaining strength and not catching an infection. The white blood cells get obliterated by chemotherapy so between day 7 and 14 I am particularly prone and must stay away from anyone with any sort of bug. I did, in fact, get a bug after my first round of chemo - which was a chest infection already lurking - a fairly common occurrence. This sent me back to hospital with a zero white blood cell count and blood pressure so low you could float a boat on it. This was not nice and I want to avoid this happening again.
By the third week in the cycle I should be functioning pretty well (and no, I have not yet signed up for a marathon) before being hit with the next lot.
I am feeling very pleased that I now have two down and hopefully only 4 more to go - so a third of the way there.
Well that's the boring bits over with. I will add to this as I go along and that way anyone who wants to know will just be able to read it straight from the syphynx cat's mouth.....
FINALLY AND MOST IMPORTANTLY
I need to say the biggest thank you in the world to absolutely everyone who has taken the time to call me, text me, listen to me angsting, cheered me up, driven me, looked after the kids, sent me cards, presents, flowers and cakes. It means so so much and really lifts my spirits when they start to flag..
And to the Cancer Caterers - you know who you are....nothing in the world could be more heartwarming, helpful and genuinely gobsmackingly kind than the chemo dinner rota. I will be the only cancer sufferer to come out of this even fatter than when I went in.....Thank you from the bottom of my heart.....
Mary
PS Francois wants to add that he feels exactly the same way. Thanks so much guys.
A quick recap for anyone that hasn't had the full story
A week after arriving in France for our well-earned summer break - I found a strange, hard and alien like lump in my left breast. It seemed to have come from nowhere. I had never noticed it or anything like it before and now it seemed huge. A French GP sent me for a mammogram and ultrasound where they declared it to be a cyst - but as every French consultant worth his salt was holidaying on the coast - I had an overwhelming feeling that I should come back to the UK - get it sorted - and get back to my holiday. Luckily one of our French neighbours is a consultant boob man and he kindly agreed to have a quick fondle in my living room while looking at the various pictures of my chest. Strange as this was - you have to remember that whipping your top off in France just doesn't have the social implications it might have in North London. He very calmly suggested I should get back to the UK as soon as possible - just in case it turned out to need further treatment. He didn't panic me but I am now immensely grateful that he clearly saw the problem for what it actually was. We packed up the house and got it ready for visitors who were renting our house for the first time, we all drove to our seaside rental where I set up beds, food, kitchen etc and got on the next flight back to London. I still thought I could be done and dusted in a week. So far my holiday had comprised of little more than packing, unpacking, making beds, cleaning, packing, unpacking and making more beds....plus ca change!
All of that done I was sent to my oncologist, also primarily at Barts - Piers Plowman - a very lovely and dedicated man who talks faster and even more than I do. He gave me the good news that there was no sign of any spread to anywhere else (including the main lymphatic node) and that these quick growing aggressive tumours are the first to die given the right dose of heavy duty chemo. I have to add here for everyone that has asked me this question - that the fact that there is no sign of spread does not mean it has not or will not one day. Cancer cells are minuscule and are impossible to track entirely. But overall - all of the above seemed like very good news indeed to me.
Also - for the benefit of people who have asked. They do not give you a prognosis and nor do I want one. Every case is entirely different and treatment is tailored to the individual. All I know is that statistically I'd be happier not having it than having it - but other than that - the future seems to me to lie between a hearty combination of faith, medicine and most of all, luck.
Various people including the breast cancer care nurse told me I would lose my hair, including eyebrows and eyelashes - and I left with a sack load of ominously entitled pamphlets such as 'Coping with Hair Loss - or how to fool the world that you are not a strange, bald alien' and 'How to tell the children - or Oh my God I'm going to die!'
I came home, read everything from cover to cover - put it away - and have never referred to it since. The rest is common sense.
The Children
Luckily (if the word applies in this situation), the children were now ensconced with Francois in a neat little holiday rental on the coast of Brittany. He duly signed them up for every activity going from sailing (Emily - every day) to swimming and tennis. He batted beach balls at them till his arm ached and fed them mussels and ratatouille and lots of chocolate, between clandestine phone calls to me from various Central London medical institutions. At this point I really felt more sorry for him than for me. My lovely mother was luckily with me throughout this stressful week.
Francois then left the kids with his sister for a week and came back to London to see me through the next bit, including the first chemo - then went back to spend another week with them in our own house that the visitors had now vacated. Again, poor thing spent most of the week fixing guttering, cementing bits of stone back to the house while feeding and looking after the children really brilliantly. A great upside was that from the day I left, Luc started speaking French - something he'd always refused to do before. The week with my sister-in-law was great for this too. Both the children have plenty of friends in the village so their week passed pleasantly playing, swimming, eating, reading and playing with Harry Potter lego - so all was not lost. I missed them desperately but realised that they were far better off having a summer holiday than moping around London with a sickly mother. I spoke to them every day and together we broke the news of my dramatic illness. They both took it incredibly well and have, ever since, provided me with the most incredible amount of love and support. We have explained things to them in clear, age appropriate terms, always with a positive spin. The treatment is hard, but I will get better. Luc's main concern was that I should get a long blond wig as he has always fancied a 'long, blond Mummy'.
Now we are all back in one place - both happily back at school and their routine is getting back to normal. Emily, however, is not mad about people asking her about me as it makes her feel scared and uncomfortable and slightly out of control. She prefers to focus on her new school, hobbies and friends. We talk a lot about everything and that is enough for now.
What is chemotherapy like for me?
Again, this is a question that you may want to skip but so many people have asked me that I thought I could just write it here once and never mention it again for reasons that will become obvious.
There are hundreds of different chemotherapy drugs that are used for different people in different combinations. The combination you are on is called the regime. I am on TAC which is a combination of three strong poisons that have excellent results in treating tumours like mine. I am given these drugs every 21 days - on a Thursday. The next one is on the 20th Sept. These drugs kill all the fastest growing cells in the body, including those in the lining of the gut, the mouth, and sadly, the hair follicles - in particular in the head and nether regions. Quite unbelievably while all of the above has now bitten the dust, my lower leg hairs appear to be gripping on with a determination that gives new meaning to the word 'unfair.'
For the first week after the drugs are administered (by very super slow IV drip - overnight so far) I feel so bad that I can barely describe it. I particularly cannot describe it while I am in it. Imagaine having the worst sick hangover known to man and someone asking you to describe in detail your symptoms. No one ever does because everyone knows. Very few people (luckily) know what this is like. For me it feels as if someone has used a dyson on the inside of my bones, while giving me a poisonous hangover (with none of the fun) mixed with the early stages of a bad pregnancy (such as the one I had with Luc). The poison careers around your body in waves and at first the waves are so close together that it just seems unbearable. After a couple of days I start to get windows in the waves where I don't feel quite so bad and gradually these 'windows' get longer and by about day 5 I am able to make it down stairs for a session of Dr Phil. Before that I cannot even listen to the radio as everything is irritating. I have to try to eat my way through this so have little bits of soup, fruit, vegetables and drinks, which can help temporarily. I can barely speak on bad days - even to the people right next to me - I just moan and grumble and hope that they can interpret my incoherent grunts and appear within the next 3 seconds with exactly what I need. Sadly this is a feat for anyone.... By day 6 I am semi functional, can manage more food and a trip to the reflexologist - in my case this is actually a Saint by the name of Tony Porter - without whom I don't know if I would survive at all!
The next two weeks are about gaining strength and not catching an infection. The white blood cells get obliterated by chemotherapy so between day 7 and 14 I am particularly prone and must stay away from anyone with any sort of bug. I did, in fact, get a bug after my first round of chemo - which was a chest infection already lurking - a fairly common occurrence. This sent me back to hospital with a zero white blood cell count and blood pressure so low you could float a boat on it. This was not nice and I want to avoid this happening again.
By the third week in the cycle I should be functioning pretty well (and no, I have not yet signed up for a marathon) before being hit with the next lot.
I am feeling very pleased that I now have two down and hopefully only 4 more to go - so a third of the way there.
Well that's the boring bits over with. I will add to this as I go along and that way anyone who wants to know will just be able to read it straight from the syphynx cat's mouth.....
FINALLY AND MOST IMPORTANTLY
I need to say the biggest thank you in the world to absolutely everyone who has taken the time to call me, text me, listen to me angsting, cheered me up, driven me, looked after the kids, sent me cards, presents, flowers and cakes. It means so so much and really lifts my spirits when they start to flag..
And to the Cancer Caterers - you know who you are....nothing in the world could be more heartwarming, helpful and genuinely gobsmackingly kind than the chemo dinner rota. I will be the only cancer sufferer to come out of this even fatter than when I went in.....Thank you from the bottom of my heart.....
Mary
PS Francois wants to add that he feels exactly the same way. Thanks so much guys.
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