Wipe out

And it started so well....I'd felt pretty well for a good two or three days before chemo six and was on a high from the steroids and the idea it was the last one. Beccy whipped me into town for a little pre chemo John Lewis run (the two now inextricably linked) where I changed the red shedders (again) and opted for the boring beige I should have bought in the first place. Somehow I also ended up with a new duvet, new pillows and new covers which suddenly seemed as essential as breathing. An indication of my bed obsession and wanting to start the next phase of my life in clean sheets. Beccy followed me round cheerfully, as I then scooped up front opening pyjamas and a sports bra....on the recommendation of the helpful assistant when asked what she recommended for post surgery lingerie. 'Cosmetic or Cancer?', she asked and I was for once rather glad to reply 'cancer', the alternative striking me as horribly frivolous...

Chemo itself was as usual - perked up a bit this time by some serious chatting to fellow patients and a few volunteers which filled in the four and a half hour wait for drugs - and continued well when Tamsin came to pick me up and we had a very pleasant lunch in a Thai restaurant and a quick shop in Stoke Newington. It wasn't until Thursday afternoon that the whole thing started to unravel -hence the long silence.

Not much to report except that I have been in bed for nearly a week pretty much unable to do anything except lie flat in silence. The cough is debilitating enough to prevent much moving around - and all forms of entertainment equivalent to having a pneumatic drill in action at the end of the bed. Was hoping to make Joseph last night - tix bought months ago - the last four in the house - to see Lee Mead who we all voted for in the lead role - but had to bow out at the last minute. Luckily the kids had a great time and didn't seem too upset by my absence.

Good chat with fellow sufferer yesterday reassured me that you have to let go of some of these things - it's not the end of the world - also that the last chemo is hell on earth (she wasn't kidding) as there is some sort of accumulative effect going on....I thought I'd feel elated that this was the last one but it's more a sort of gloom at my inability to even get down the stairs. Not to mention the dread of ever having to go through this again.

In any event - things are good enough today for me to have hauled my laptop into bed and to be writing this and answering a few emails so hopefully have turned a corner.

Next week is an endless round of cancer related trips - to the Haven (hopefully) on Monday and Tuesday, then more ultrasounds, mri and dr appointments to ascertain the new position of everything before surgery - which has now been postponed to 18th December which I am relieved about. I need some recovery time - even if it does mean I'll be wobbly over Xmas.

End of chemo

I can't really believe it but tomorrow I will be having my LAST chemo. I am so completely excited to get this over with that I don't really care how I feel afterwards - I'm sure it will not be pleasant - but each day into it I will be able to say it's 'the last 3rd/4th/5th etc day after chemo' with no nukes looming. Fantastic - feel quite liberated. Surgery scheduled for 11th December - so just crossing fingers that I will be in good enough health for it to go ahead - a few concerns re the ever present chest infection - but I am praying for some relief this time around. Between now and the surgery I have to succumb to another round of mri scans, ultrasounds and meetings with the docs to get an accurate update of the state of my tumour - and I've also put in a couple of retreat days at The Haven - as well as Emily's birthday and a trip to the ballet....I shall probably spend the rest of the time in bed - plus ca change...I am getting a little behind in my scaffolding know-how...

At the last MRI scan (lying prostate, face down, arms aloft for 35 minutes, wearing enormous headphones) they insisted on playing a medley of depressing soft rock songs at top volume - 'When you are gone' 'Blood is thicker than Water' 'Nothing will ever be the Same' etc which I pointed out at the time was perhaps not the best choice of soundtrack - but it fell on deaf ears -mainly mine.

Strangely, as it is with these things, I have been much, much better over the last couple of days - so have had about 4 good days since last chemo - and am thankful for small mercies. It meant I was able to escort Luc and a few of his friends to the Build a Bear Factory in Covent Garden for his 7th birthday (something I wasn't sure I'd be able to do) and also to suffer the humiliation of a small child shouting out at the lift in Covent Garden tube 'Luc's Mum is wearing a wig!' at the top of their little voice to the amused look of 50 complete strangers. Francois felt so sorry for me he bought me a pair of luxury socks (he knows the way to a girl's heart) but it was just another reminder of how much I want some hair - and how close I am now to getting some.....

I have commented here on my eyebrows - or lack of - but to clarify things - I do have a skinny little line that ends about a centimetre too soon - and look as if I should be dancing round my handbag - but Emily put it very well when she said, 'Don't worry Mummy, it just looks as if they've been plucked...............by a blind person.'

So tomorrow I will say goodbye to my lovely chemo nurses and all the other staff at the Clinic - whose lives have brushed against mine over these last months. One step of the journey behind me - and not a moment too soon.

Cosmetically challenged

The week has ended much better than it begun. An addition to my list of surreal experiences since July has to be the Look Good Feel Better (LGFB) session I attended at the hospital - for women with cancer. Berenice from the Clinique counter at JL and Shirley from Clarins assisted Janet from New Zealand in showing a motley crew of women with one thing in common, how to use cleanser, toner and moisturiser - and how to draw realistic eyebrows. I will not come out of this experience without new skills. I fell over at several hurdles (trying to use the eyebrow pencil as an eyeliner for one), and Berenice was forced to grapple the little make-up brush out of my hand when she saw my attempts at applying the dark brown eyeshadow over the lighter base - but on the whole it was quite an uplifting experience. 'I'm mary, and I have breast cancer, 2 children and I moisturise daily', 'I'm Carol, I live in Cirencester, have cancer of the bile duct and enjoy bright coloured eyeshadow', and so on.

Inevitably the conversation turned to heads - bald or otherwise - but as Janet tried desperately to persuade those of us who were wigged up to let it all hang out 'I've noticed that when women are brave enough to remove their weg, we can really see their tremendous bone structure,' I clung resolutely on to mine. I am not ready to go there. My new friend (opposite me, 2 kids, twinkly eyes and gsh) whipped hers off before we'd even sat down - but I just couldn't bring myself to take the plunge.

I have been wondering about that ever since. Is it because I am in some way ashamed of having cancer - or is it because I am fundamentally extremely vain? It's difficult to analyse how I feel about my Duncan Goodhew look - in the mirror in the privacy of my own bathroom I think I look ok - but the idea of sharing this with anyone other than my nearest and dearest fills me with horror. There is something so vulnerable about being bald. I can only say that for me it feels a little like popping out to get the bread and realising that you forgot to put your top on. Despite having spent a number of months when I was 10 walking with a limp in order to attract attention, I simply cannot bear the idea of that kind of attention now that I am 44.

Anyway LGFB had many redeeming features - not least the fact that we were given an enormous goodie bag full of products. Having resisted the urge to leave them all in their smart packaging and recycle them for Xmas I now know how to use green cream (excessive redness) and how to draw attention away from my lack of facial hair. And if I get stuck, as I was leaving, Berenice whispered in my ear that she'd be happy to give me a bit of 'extra help' next time I pop into John Lewis. The shame.

Is anybody out there?

My only link to the outside world seems to be my fleeting contributions to this blog and regular communication with all my Cancer Buddies from CBN. I am living in a cyberworld....It's hard to keep a sense of proportion about what is important and what is not. Little things take on a ridiculous level of importance while the big things are consecrated to a compartment marked Later at the back of my brain.

Currently smarting about delicate household relationships which seem impossible to manage from a largely horizontal position. Since this whole thing has started, Luc has been the most loving and affectionate of children - his anxiety about what has happened to his mother is palpable and real. He is gentle and helpful and kind with me almost all of the time - as if his input alone will make the difference between me getting well or staying sick. He is, however, less accommodating with other people on whom he lets out some of his anger and frustration. I believe that the only way to deal with this is by understanding and affection but this is not an easy message to get across.

Emily has turned a corner recently after receiving a glowing report from all her teachers at school - and various merit awards and certificates for good behaviour, punctuality etc. While she remains fragile with regard to me, and sensitive to the insensitivity of some of her peers, her self esteem is soaring academically which is all for the good. I feel incredibly protective of them both at the moment - I want to swoop them up and let nobody hurt them - and thinking about this occupies far too much of my time.

Despite working 14 hours a day including weekends, Francois remains my absolute hero throughout all of this as he never lets his stress of frustration out on me, and remains a source of positive comfort and strength. My mother too has shown the depth of her resilience under pressure and overall tolerance, patience and love - as have all of my family. And of course, though I haven't said it for a while, the amazing generosity of everyone who continues to text me, call me, visit me, drive me and feed me remain a source of incredible comfort. I'm sure the novelty must be wearing off and yet I am not forgotten.

Testing times which are not without profound value. If I'd never been ill - I would never have known how far I could fall on the kindness of others and how many people I will keep in my life forever.

Anyway - my underlying health is really taking a hit at the moment as the chemo slowly destroys all my living healthy cells which are taking longer and longer to bounce back, but with only one more to go - there is an end in sight. I am comforted by thoughts of a large glass of Champagne at Christmas and a chemo free New year....not to mention my mounting pile of brochures for French Spas!

If anyone is still reading this outpouring of a deranged housewife, I apologise for recent sense of humour failure - I'm assured it will come back with my eyebrows.

Better today

Amazing what a good night's sleep can do. Morale in camp chemo is somewhat restored after taking a couple of superdrugs from my ever expanding medicine cabinet which knocked me out for a straight 7 hours. Woke up feeling like a newer woman. Back on antibiotics but no temperature so no need to go back 'inside' which is great. Sun is shining and I have eaten a chocolate brioche from the Spence along with a real coffee with milk - the soya stuff does not agree with me. Things are looking up.

Out of fuel

This bloody chemo thing is getting me down. Having had high hopes of number 5, it has unfortunately reactivated the chest infection. Back to gp tomorrow after nights and days of coughing incessently. Have barely made it out of bed since thurs so my saintly mother is staying on for a few more days. I am desperately hoping that I do not have to go back to hospital - it is Luc's birthday on Thursday and I had so many plans for this week. I also have to get better for the next and final dose on the 21st. I had no idea when I started this journey what the word chemotherapy actually meant. I can't believe my vaguely callous and flippant attitude to friends and family who had been through it. I feel a bit like Earl (in My Name is) mentally crossing off previous wrongs and making them right by living through this myself. My mother in law who had breast cancer 35 years ago and was never really on good form afterwards got short shrift from me - I thought breast cancer was a step up from flu - but it is not. She must be up there now with her very best 'told you so' face and she would be dead right. I am so sick of being sick, so tired of being tired and so completely frustrated with being such a huge burden on everyone.

Other than that I managed to miss Luc's class assembly on Friday and phoned his head teacher to say that I had not had a note about it - I spent half the day in tears - and then found a fluorescent orange note the size of The Telegraph pasted into his reading record - which I had not consulted all week. What a complete loser I have become. Sorry Clare.


Having said all that - I was glued to the tv screen last night watching the Kylie Show - what a superb advert for chemotherapy she is. It gives me hope that the joy I will feel when this is over will in some way compensate for the hideousness of now. Despite pausing the TV every time she lifted up her arm to look for scars, I saw nothing - she looks incredible and radiates happiness and energy. She has a new single out called No More Rain which she says is 'very personal to her' and has obviously come out of her experience - which I intend to buy and listen to on repeat until this passes.

Rocket fuel

I feel like a rocket in a computer game. One of those that has a fuel tank that you can see depleting with every hit, until suddenly there is no more fuel and you crash and burn. Two lives left...

Yesterday I managed to get Emily's braces sorted (purple, painful), take a quick trip to Woolworths Angel for Operation Xmas Child shoebox stuff and last minute shopping for Luc's birthday next week, take her for some much needed retail therapy at Gap (New jeans and a long scarf for me) have lunch at Wagamama (dentist said only soup and noodles for lunch) and home. Where I crashed and burned. Have not really moved out of bed since 4pm yesterday.

Thank god for the lap top - particularly in view of last night's tv lineup - Channel 4 showing The Mummy Diaries - five families and a tv shrink look at how to tell the kids you only have a year to live - ITV What's Killing Me - 5 celebrities take genetic tests to see what their risk of dying of cancer is. Is it me or are we living in a world where we are so desensitised that gratification can only be found through the sick glorification of the personal hell of others. I sat sulking on my laptop researching international spa holidays in Mauritius.

Tonight is the Quiz Night at St Joan and I don't know how November came round so fast. I feel as if I have been lying in this bed since August. Well I have really. I am an expert on scaffolding and scaffolders (seen daily through my window as they renovate the flats the back of my house). And there is nothing I do not know about property developing, buying a place in the sun or escaping to the country. And while I never thought it possible, I now understand the rules of Eggheads...eat your heart out quiz night candidates!

Five and counting

It's strange how similar this whole thing is to pregnancy and childbirth. Take, for example, the fact that each time I get nuked, I appear to have completely forgotten how awful it is. And this number 5 has been no exception. Since Saturday I have been lying almost immobile in a state of sweating, jittering hell - punctuated by nightmares of the Elm Street kind which blur into a kind of purple haze reality and prevent me from getting any real rest. I know that the worst is over when I manage to get through the night without changing my pillowcase. And that day is today - and not a moment too soon - given the number of real life crises that await my attention.

Apart from the fact that I am now three birthday parties down in buying gifts etc (all Luc's- he will have no friends soon) and that it is his birthday next week (only one present so far and no wrapping or card), and that my Xmas cake is no more than a large bag of dried fruit in the under stairs cupboard - tomorrow I have to take Emily to Angel to have a full set of tram lines fitted top and bottom turning her into a metal mouth for the forseeable future. Given that she is not good at handling pain at the best of times, never mind ongoing discomfort, this prospect is not filling me with joy. Luckily Mum is here as usual to hold my hand through the proceedings - and drive the car as my chemo brain would give the insurance companies something to worry about.

We also have no hot water without using the £400 a minute emersion heater - and getting a plumber out to sort this problem seems like a cruel twist of fate at a time in my life when plumbing comes low on my list of priorities.

Anyway - I intend to fully reactivate myself before the next and last chemo (on 22nd November) and make the most of every day. When so much of your life is so deeply unpleasant, very small things can take on an almost utopian pleasure. Eating a bowl of noodles at Wagamama is high on my list of celestial pleasures - as is walking in sunlight and looking at purple pansies next to red cyclamen - none of these things would have brought quite the deep sense of well-being and satisfaction that they do now - and for this I am truly thankful.

Wet and wild

Fifth chemo done. Can't believe it. After the first one I thought I would die if I had to do another one, never mind six! And here I am - feeling ropey and sick and up more or less since 4am but anxiety levels under control and feeling relatively perky about the fact that the next one of these will be the last. I usually manage ok now until about Monday when the slump sets in - but if I manage to avoid my brush with the stomach cramps and other surprises, I'm hopeful I will get through this one ok.

The great news is that I found one of my embroidery threaders - in my chemo book??? Obvious really - so am now able to sew again - still have no idea where the spare has gone and as John Lewis denied all knowledge of ever having sold such a thing when lovely Helen went into haberdashery yesterday - I will have to guard this one with my life.

Found a better thing to do with my time at 4am than panic. Spent it researching spa holidays on the internet. Have been focussing on yoga retreats until now but they all seem so damn physical - not sure I'll be up to it in the forseeable future. France has some incredible thallasotherapie spas - on the sea front - full of lovely iodine to counteract the effects of radiotherapy and far more r&r based - along with michelin starred dietique fishy cuisine, juice bars and a bit of yoga thrown in. Mmmm perhaps more my style......uncle barclaycard be prepared to take a well deserved battering!

Who am I - who are you?

One of the difficulties in writing a blog is knowing how to pitch it. It occurs to me that there is a blog writing frame of mind that needs to occur at the same time as access to a computer - and the time and energy to write it. I was reading someone else's blog last week - a young, dynamic, successful woman who's abandonment and freedom in her posts made me consider the way that for all her freedom of speech and thought (although no doubt she too would admit to having a degree of self censorship), I am the reverse. I use the blog to provide information and to in some way thank all the people who have proved to be such amazing friends over this difficult time - but I don't really use it to express the rollercoaster reality - and am not sure if this is the place for it. I have to admit here to also writing a secret diary - called The Dark Side - which will never be published here - this fulfills a great deal of my cathartic needs - and keeps me sane in the wee hours.

Anyway - after a long gap - the chemo deadline which looms this morning - number 5 - so penultimate - I thought I had better add something or people would start to think I had fallen off the internet.

Half term was wonderful. A glorious week of sunshine, walks, fresh air and slobbing in front of th telly in Shropshire was the tonic I needed. The kids had a great time and my family did a great job of looking after me. My sister was such a star - taking out the kids so I could watch box office movies and driving me on Friday to an amazing place called The Haven in Hereford. There is also a branch in London that I will be attending for a 2 day workshop and retreat day in early Decmeber. The Haven was set up in 2000 to support women with breast cancer - emotionally, phsyically and pyschologically. They offer everything from highly skilled breast cancer nurses to nutritionists, massage therapists and workshops on everything from relaxation and meditation to tai chi. And it is all completely free. The centres work as a charity and are opening another in Leeds next year. They hope to open 10 around the country over the next few years. It costs £1000 to put each woman through the service - and when I have finished my treatment I intend to raise £1000 for them so that another woman can benefit as much as I am already. It really is the most incredible place and they should be everywhere in the UK so that more women can benefit. I cannot put a value on having access to this kind of help at a time like this and in helping maintain that fighting spirit! So watch this space and feel free to suggest any good fundraising ideas for me next year!!

Anyway - I was so uplifted after my trip to the Hereford branch that I was persuaded to do a little light clothes shopping - yet another comfy cardi to add to my collection - do I ever buy anything else? And a very comfy pair of dark grey cords from the White Stuff which are lovely. Helen and I also had a nice lunch and a quick trip to the cross stitch shop to buy two more teeny weeny canvases. I am hooked and now suffering the frustration of having lost both my embroidery needle threader hooks just before next chemo. So annoying.

I discovered yesterday that I am not going mad - memory loss is a feature of chemotherapy. Bloody hell - I can't afford to lose any more. I go around doing the most ridiculous things - can't remember anything - please forgive me if I have forgotten who you are after this next one.

I bought 2 of those needle threaders - so that I would have a back up and have lost both! No idea where I have put them. Can't believe it. Also managed this week to double book look for the same evening after school to be in two different places at once - within 10 minutes! Francois is doing his nut because I can't retain anything he tells me - ie what time he will be home - does he need feeding etc - so twice he has had no dinner and had to raid the fridge for leftover hummous and halloween chocolate.

Anyway - I am sincerely hoping that the memory will come back along with the hair - but if not, what was your name again?