Either I am becoming immune to medical appointments, or I really am approaching the end of the tunnel. My experience at the radiotherapy planning this morning was more than I'd hoped for. The staff were all lovely, informative, organised and helpful. I felt as if I was in the safest hands. Dr Plowman was chatty and positive, and when I commented that I felt sure I was going to get rid of this cancer - he said - 'If it hasn't already gone'. Now that's more like it.
I've been given my appointment schedule, which apart from a couple of afternoon appointments, means that I will be given my 15 minute dose of radiotherapy every morning between 9 and 10am which suits me very well - up, out, nuke, shop. They also tattooed three dots onto me - one on each side and one in the middle - which hurt like hell. Hats off to the Beckhams - their pain threshold obviously greater than mine. I asked about turning one of the dots into a heart and the young, rather good looking male nurse gave me the kind of look you would normally reserve for an old lady on the bus.
Along with the 25 sessions, I also get 4 massages - roughly one a week - and plenty of opportunity to talk to the breast care nurse as well as a weekly catch up with Dr P.
Starting as I mean to go on I diverted into John Lewis directly after the session to buy a couple of home phones (none working) and then onto M&S to get Emily some new school uniform as she has already grown out of the stuff I got her back in September, via Borders where I got a couple of paperbacks for reading on the bus. I am seriously worried about my bank balance at the end of radiotherapy and may need people to come with me just to hold my credit cards.
So first session 6th Feb and all finished on 11th March....
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Peaks and troughs
For everyone who has asked me about my cousin James' progress in climbing the highest mountain in the western hemisphere - here is a link to their blog - which sadly for James (also known as Glass or Glasson - my maiden name) makes many a reference to his diminutive stature and inability to tell the difference between a water bottle and a pee bottle - oh dear - may take some time to live that one down.... Also, I do have to say that while I'm not sure who's writing the blog I do hope that he's better at climbing mountains than he is at spelling.....!
Anyway - here's the link - and keep cheering them on - your generous donations have already raised £3,380 for the wonderful Breast Cancer Haven and there's still time to help him reach his £10k target...
http://www.humanedgetech.com/expedition/amg/
And here's the link to his fundraising page once again...
http://www.justgiving.com/jamesglasson
I'm off to see the oncologist / radiographer (?) tomorrow at 9am for my planning appointment. Not sure what to expect except that it will take about an hour of prodding, poking, measuring and weighing so they can work out the exact location and dosage for the next lot of nuking. I will also be given the first bit of my schedule for the actual treatments which I'm expecting to start some time next week for 25 sessions - every weekday for five weeks. Francois is in France so I am hoping that I will deal with any psychological fallout with my usual serenity.
Feeling pretty good at the moment, still buzzing from the weekend's excitement (despite having spent the early part of this evening explaining to Luc why I cannot just go and buy tickets for the next 20 Arsenal games and that while I have every intention of putting his name down for a season ticket, he'll be lucky if he gets one in my lifetime....) In a stroke of genius I have suggested that he practises catching and throwing every day after school so that he can try out as a ball boy when he's 12!
Emily enjoying her switch from Guides to Scouts - while she was very attached to the Guides, the one remaining leader seemed to find it impossible to organise any camping or outward bound activities. Emily now has three trips planned including a weekend on a canoe and an all day 'incident' hike. Assuming that these 'incidents' do not involve a sofa, a good book and a large bar of fruit and nut, there are times when I cannot believe we are related.
Have finally bitten the passport bullet and filled in the forms today, complete with my Myra mugshot. I was wondering about waiting another month until my hair growth reaches a number one, but decided that with Easter holidays approaching swiftly, this was one high risk strategy I can live without. Serial killer travel documents will now be mine for the next ten years. My friend Steve cheered me up by showing me his passport photo - if we travel together we'll be in serious trouble...
Anyway - here's the link - and keep cheering them on - your generous donations have already raised £3,380 for the wonderful Breast Cancer Haven and there's still time to help him reach his £10k target...
http://www.humanedgetech.com/expedition/amg/
And here's the link to his fundraising page once again...
http://www.justgiving.com/jamesglasson
I'm off to see the oncologist / radiographer (?) tomorrow at 9am for my planning appointment. Not sure what to expect except that it will take about an hour of prodding, poking, measuring and weighing so they can work out the exact location and dosage for the next lot of nuking. I will also be given the first bit of my schedule for the actual treatments which I'm expecting to start some time next week for 25 sessions - every weekday for five weeks. Francois is in France so I am hoping that I will deal with any psychological fallout with my usual serenity.
Feeling pretty good at the moment, still buzzing from the weekend's excitement (despite having spent the early part of this evening explaining to Luc why I cannot just go and buy tickets for the next 20 Arsenal games and that while I have every intention of putting his name down for a season ticket, he'll be lucky if he gets one in my lifetime....) In a stroke of genius I have suggested that he practises catching and throwing every day after school so that he can try out as a ball boy when he's 12!
Emily enjoying her switch from Guides to Scouts - while she was very attached to the Guides, the one remaining leader seemed to find it impossible to organise any camping or outward bound activities. Emily now has three trips planned including a weekend on a canoe and an all day 'incident' hike. Assuming that these 'incidents' do not involve a sofa, a good book and a large bar of fruit and nut, there are times when I cannot believe we are related.
Have finally bitten the passport bullet and filled in the forms today, complete with my Myra mugshot. I was wondering about waiting another month until my hair growth reaches a number one, but decided that with Easter holidays approaching swiftly, this was one high risk strategy I can live without. Serial killer travel documents will now be mine for the next ten years. My friend Steve cheered me up by showing me his passport photo - if we travel together we'll be in serious trouble...
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Five Star Football
(Arsenal hats come in very useful for bald chicks)If someone had told me even 2 days ago that I would spend Saturday afternoon in a box at Arsenal Emirates stadium watching them thrash Newcastle (3-0) and Luc have 'the best day of his life', I wouldn't have believed it. Uncertainty works both ways.
The weekend started well with a great Friday night - food, wine, thai curry (no trips to the microwave) and friends - who had to be forcibly removed at 2am... the sign of a good evening. Francois has had to work all weekend (again) so I did the ballet/piano run, fed the kids on the run ((Un)Happy Meal for Luc and Pret a Manger for Emily who won't touch junk food) came home and listened to my meditation cd for half an hour then headed off to pre-match HQ aka the Azzopardi household where I finally worked out what the beer fridge is all about.
Walking that last stretch of Gillespie Road, nostrils filled with the smell of cheap burgers, the street a blaze of red and white, Luc's eyes shining with excitement, and the air thick with anticipation, I wondered how I could have lived this close to it all for so long and never once been caught up in it.
Expecting seats in the stands, we found out at the last minute that due to the extreme kindness and organisation of our friends - you know who you are - thank you so so much - we'd got front row seats in a box behind the goal. The feeling of walking from a carpeted corridor out to a stadium filled with 67,000 people is pretty hard to describe. Suffice to say that all the sporting cliches suddenly made sense - it was pure magic - only equalled by the look on Luc's face for the next 90 minutes....He was so unbelievably cute - ears sticking out from his junior gunners hat, waving my newly purchased red and white scarf at every goal and screaming his little lungs out - all the songs and chants - as if he'd been a thousand times before. Beccy provided an incredibly useful commentary and taught Luc some essential skills such as crossing your fingers for a corner kick and sticking maltezers between your top lip and your teeth - thanks pal!
I can still see him waving at the Newcastle supporters, shouting 'Bye bye, it's a long way home, bye bye, it's a long way home' ...and getting on the phone within seconds of the finish to chant '3 nil, to the Ar..se...nal, 3 nil, to the Ar..se..nal' to anyone he could think of....are boys born with this wired into their hard drive?
And as if that wasn't enough - after the game I was allowed to drink beer and talk bollocks at the Bank of Friendship - the perfect end to a perfect 24 hours...
Just one question...when can I go again?
Friday, January 25, 2008
The Bits Between
It is now impossible to buy a chicken. A decent one that is. I have never in my life bought that factory farmed rubbish but it takes a tv chef to point out the horrors and suddenly us loyal organic, free rangers are left with nothing but value packs of flabby, flavourless plastic chicken. Having set my heart on making a thai green curry I was forced to go to the John Lewis food hall this week in pursuit of skinned thighs - is this really the only shop in London or is it me?
Feeling much better since my midweek moan. For everyone who has phoned, emailed or sent me that year's supply of prozac, I have to admit that the act of writing it all down is its own medicine. So while you are reading my suicidal ramblings, I am actually blending coriander and lemongrass and and feeling pretty good.
Luc has been off school for 2 days with a bad cold and slight temperature - and a certain degree of anxiety. He really does pick up on my mood by osmosis. I never neurose in front of the children, I try my best to behave a normally as possible around them but they cannot be fooled. This morning - a propos of nothing - he wrote me the following questionnaire (all sic)...
1. How many cemo have you had?
1 2 3 4 5 6 Circle the number.
2. How many radiotherapy have you had?
0 1 2 3 4 5 Same
3. When you have drugs do you feel weird in side your tumy?
Yes No tick this time.
I filled it in and he then wrote
Well done. Exelent work. Next time Ill give you more questuns.
He's gone back to telling me he loves me more than I love him about a hundred times a day. When I asked him why, he said it was because he was scared I was going to die. His cold seemed much better so I took him out for a toasted sandwich and reassured him that next year we would be having double, treble fun and that I'd be around to shout at him to do his piano practice for many years to come.
I never imagined that something like this could happen to me. I still can't really believe it. I have always felt so damned lucky - but as someone said on the radio this morning - 'happiness is the bit between the painful episodes'. Perhaps giving my children that inate knowledge at this early stage in their lives will actually improve their experience of it.
So I am back to cooking my organic curry and appreciating the bits between. Luc is happily eating an iced bun in front of Curious George and has practised both hands - twice.
Feeling much better since my midweek moan. For everyone who has phoned, emailed or sent me that year's supply of prozac, I have to admit that the act of writing it all down is its own medicine. So while you are reading my suicidal ramblings, I am actually blending coriander and lemongrass and and feeling pretty good.
Luc has been off school for 2 days with a bad cold and slight temperature - and a certain degree of anxiety. He really does pick up on my mood by osmosis. I never neurose in front of the children, I try my best to behave a normally as possible around them but they cannot be fooled. This morning - a propos of nothing - he wrote me the following questionnaire (all sic)...
1. How many cemo have you had?
1 2 3 4 5 6 Circle the number.
2. How many radiotherapy have you had?
0 1 2 3 4 5 Same
3. When you have drugs do you feel weird in side your tumy?
Yes No tick this time.
I filled it in and he then wrote
Well done. Exelent work. Next time Ill give you more questuns.
He's gone back to telling me he loves me more than I love him about a hundred times a day. When I asked him why, he said it was because he was scared I was going to die. His cold seemed much better so I took him out for a toasted sandwich and reassured him that next year we would be having double, treble fun and that I'd be around to shout at him to do his piano practice for many years to come.
I never imagined that something like this could happen to me. I still can't really believe it. I have always felt so damned lucky - but as someone said on the radio this morning - 'happiness is the bit between the painful episodes'. Perhaps giving my children that inate knowledge at this early stage in their lives will actually improve their experience of it.
So I am back to cooking my organic curry and appreciating the bits between. Luc is happily eating an iced bun in front of Curious George and has practised both hands - twice.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Midweek moan
The trouble with writing sweeping statements such as 'My cancer has gone' is that it is a) tempting fate and b) possibly not true. Depressing trip to see the oncologist yesterday where among other less important things he expressed his deep concern over the ufo on the other side - the one that I just have to live with until another MRI scan becomes possible in 6 months -though he did say it was highly unusual for a woman of my age to have cancer in both breasts. Well that's a relief.
He was rushed off his feet with several people waiting and clearly did not have the time or the inclination for a heart to heart chat about my situation. I realise intellectually that his attitude means I am becoming generally less interesting to him as his work is largely done - and only the radiotherapy remains - but it is impossible to explain how demoralising a meeting of this kind can be.
Cancer patients hang onto the doctor's every word. They try to read between the lines. They analyse every sentence, every look and every movement, looking for those vital clues that could mean the difference between life or death. Sometimes it takes days or weeks to unravel a 7 minute interview.
In any event, nothing new came of our brief chat - he is satisfied with the impact of the chemo - despite the fact that active cancer cells still remained before surgery - it is indeed good news that the lymph nodes were not affected - but there is always a possibility that it will come back.
He confirmed that I will have 25 sessions of radiotherapy (still to be arranged) every day for 5 weeks after which time I must put it all behind me, 'look after my children and get on with my life'. All good advice but a crystal ball would have been better.
Francois very sweetly offered to take me to John Lewis after the appointment (desperate times) but I didn't have the heart. Just wanted to go home and worry. He then suggested a quick trip to the pub as kids were both out which I initially refused on the basis that 'I can never drink alcohol again or I may get secondaries...' but then realised how pathetic I was being so reneged. There is always a choice - but sometimes it's hard to see it.
We were going to go to the old fashioned, friendly pub on the corner, but while passing Ryan's Bar on Church St Francois spotted friend through the window so we changed plans. While he was catching up on old times, I was left at the bar next to a drunken old Scot who lunged at my headscarf, nearly knocking it sideways, saying 'You in chemo then?'
Having asked me what my prognosis was (I only forgave him because he was drunk as a skunk) he declared that he was an alcoholic (no kidding) which meant that luckily he'd have a fast and painless death from a heart attack or stroke and not a slow painful one from cancer.
Oh my God!
Have ordered a book called 'The certainty of uncertainty' from Amazon and am never leaving the house again.
He was rushed off his feet with several people waiting and clearly did not have the time or the inclination for a heart to heart chat about my situation. I realise intellectually that his attitude means I am becoming generally less interesting to him as his work is largely done - and only the radiotherapy remains - but it is impossible to explain how demoralising a meeting of this kind can be.
Cancer patients hang onto the doctor's every word. They try to read between the lines. They analyse every sentence, every look and every movement, looking for those vital clues that could mean the difference between life or death. Sometimes it takes days or weeks to unravel a 7 minute interview.
In any event, nothing new came of our brief chat - he is satisfied with the impact of the chemo - despite the fact that active cancer cells still remained before surgery - it is indeed good news that the lymph nodes were not affected - but there is always a possibility that it will come back.
He confirmed that I will have 25 sessions of radiotherapy (still to be arranged) every day for 5 weeks after which time I must put it all behind me, 'look after my children and get on with my life'. All good advice but a crystal ball would have been better.
Francois very sweetly offered to take me to John Lewis after the appointment (desperate times) but I didn't have the heart. Just wanted to go home and worry. He then suggested a quick trip to the pub as kids were both out which I initially refused on the basis that 'I can never drink alcohol again or I may get secondaries...' but then realised how pathetic I was being so reneged. There is always a choice - but sometimes it's hard to see it.
We were going to go to the old fashioned, friendly pub on the corner, but while passing Ryan's Bar on Church St Francois spotted friend through the window so we changed plans. While he was catching up on old times, I was left at the bar next to a drunken old Scot who lunged at my headscarf, nearly knocking it sideways, saying 'You in chemo then?'
Having asked me what my prognosis was (I only forgave him because he was drunk as a skunk) he declared that he was an alcoholic (no kidding) which meant that luckily he'd have a fast and painless death from a heart attack or stroke and not a slow painful one from cancer.
Oh my God!
Have ordered a book called 'The certainty of uncertainty' from Amazon and am never leaving the house again.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Spend spend spend
What happens to a girl who's been deprived of shopping for 6 months? I'm sure I do not need to spell it out. One long brown 'coatigan', one deliciously soft knitted dress, several presents for the kids and a North Face ski jacket later I am in self imposed house arrest.
I must be feeling better as my little barometer boy has reverted to type and spent half an hour before bedtime shouting that he hated me because I wouldn't let him play on the computer and Emily burst into tears this morning when I said she couldn't go to youth club tonight as she is too tired. Isn't life wonderful.
Great time with my sister Helen - it is a shame that it takes a life crisis for us to realise how much the ordinary, everyday pleasures mean to us. I vow to spend far more time doing things I enjoy and far less time trying to please everyone around me. I seem to have been given a new set of priorities which I always knew existed, but didn't have the motivation to enforce. So much of what I did until this point in my life was based on fear - fear of failing, fear of being judged etc. I wouldn't say that I am now not afraid of anything, but the list is pretty damned short.
I was asking a fellow sufferer yesterday about the impact of radiotherapy, and she said it was fine but left her incredibly tired. Not sick, ill, terror tired - just normal tired - the kind of tired where you're asleep before your head touches the pillow......I can't wait.
And Francois has insisted that we spend a week in the mountains in April - an old French remedy for all things convalescent, Snow or no snow - I will be more than content to walk around breathing fresh fresh air and wearing my lovely new jacket...
I must be feeling better as my little barometer boy has reverted to type and spent half an hour before bedtime shouting that he hated me because I wouldn't let him play on the computer and Emily burst into tears this morning when I said she couldn't go to youth club tonight as she is too tired. Isn't life wonderful.
Great time with my sister Helen - it is a shame that it takes a life crisis for us to realise how much the ordinary, everyday pleasures mean to us. I vow to spend far more time doing things I enjoy and far less time trying to please everyone around me. I seem to have been given a new set of priorities which I always knew existed, but didn't have the motivation to enforce. So much of what I did until this point in my life was based on fear - fear of failing, fear of being judged etc. I wouldn't say that I am now not afraid of anything, but the list is pretty damned short.
I was asking a fellow sufferer yesterday about the impact of radiotherapy, and she said it was fine but left her incredibly tired. Not sick, ill, terror tired - just normal tired - the kind of tired where you're asleep before your head touches the pillow......I can't wait.
And Francois has insisted that we spend a week in the mountains in April - an old French remedy for all things convalescent, Snow or no snow - I will be more than content to walk around breathing fresh fresh air and wearing my lovely new jacket...
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
The small hours
You’d think I’d have conked out like a light after today which is now yesterday. But no. The sleep switch is still set to wide awake as it always is these days. Have crept downstairs again to think about things and wonder whether I can really allow myself the luxury of not worrying. The oncologist will give me my risk factors and talk about ‘the bigger picture’ when I see him on Tuesday but despite having the best possible news I can’t quite let go of the nagging doubts. This is a strange feeling. As if I’ve come to the end of a journey I’m still in the middle of. I fear it may not be wise to let down my guard completely, because even in best case scenarios there is always the possibility that the cancer will come back, even though there is a good probability that it will not. Uncertainty is still the only certainty - even if the odds are getting better.
The children, and Luc in particular, is like a little barometer of me. Tonight I told them that the good news and we opened some Champagne and had a toast to which he raised his glass and danced around shouting 'No more cancer!' I still feel as if I'm in a film where nothing is real and I can see myself from the outside looking in.
Why is it I never feel as I think I'm going to? At every step of this journey I need to regroup, re-evaluate and reconsider. It is exhausting. I know that tomorrow and the next day and hopefully for many days after I will feel real and profound joy at doing simple things that have been so difficult since July. I can't wait to watch a TV programme all the way through, to read a good book and to cook again - and maybe one day I will put my head on the pillow and fall asleep for 8 straight hours. For now I wish there were no nights, only days.
The children, and Luc in particular, is like a little barometer of me. Tonight I told them that the good news and we opened some Champagne and had a toast to which he raised his glass and danced around shouting 'No more cancer!' I still feel as if I'm in a film where nothing is real and I can see myself from the outside looking in.
Why is it I never feel as I think I'm going to? At every step of this journey I need to regroup, re-evaluate and reconsider. It is exhausting. I know that tomorrow and the next day and hopefully for many days after I will feel real and profound joy at doing simple things that have been so difficult since July. I can't wait to watch a TV programme all the way through, to read a good book and to cook again - and maybe one day I will put my head on the pillow and fall asleep for 8 straight hours. For now I wish there were no nights, only days.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Life is sweet
I soon will have nothing left to write about, or even talk about for that matter. Today Mr Carpenter who shall now be known as the lovely Dr Rob, gave me the best news ever. My cancer has gone. None of the lymph nodes he removed were affected (even the ones that went blue - showing that the tumour was draining into them) and my margins are completely clear. This means that it is unlikely to have spread. We had another chat about his wonderful needlework and I'm all set for a precautionary 5 weeks of radiotherapy. Will talk to the oncologist about that next week.
I'm not sure that this would have happened without the support of so many amazing people over the last few months who have kept me together in mind, body and spirit and to whom I am truly thankful.
In true pre cancer style, I celebrated immediately with some extensive sale shopping in Marylebone High Street and a fab fishy lunch washed down with two glasses of Champagne with my sister (who needed sustenance after blubbing all the way from Dr Rob's office to the restaurant...) Have come home with oysters from Fishworks and two boxes of cakes from Patisserie Valerie...
Yippee!
I'm not sure that this would have happened without the support of so many amazing people over the last few months who have kept me together in mind, body and spirit and to whom I am truly thankful.
In true pre cancer style, I celebrated immediately with some extensive sale shopping in Marylebone High Street and a fab fishy lunch washed down with two glasses of Champagne with my sister (who needed sustenance after blubbing all the way from Dr Rob's office to the restaurant...) Have come home with oysters from Fishworks and two boxes of cakes from Patisserie Valerie...
Yippee!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
New Year's resolutions
I don't know whether it's post op euphoria but I can honestly say I haven't felt this happy in years....I once asked the counsellor at The Haven if she thought it were possible to ever feel happiness again after a cancer diagnosis and she assured me that not only was it possible but that the quality of the happiness would be better and more profound than before. Hard to grasp when you're in the middle of chemo and feel as if your life is over. Having got the biggest part of the treatment over, every single moment of the day seems to have something to recommend it.
Matt and Suzanne came for impromptu supper last night which was when I realised I'd forgotton how to cook. They very bravely sat through cold, congealed, overcooked pasta with clumpy mushroom sauce followed by leftover Xmas sweets and lychees for pudding. And to be quite honest I couldn't care a less. It was so lovely to share food and trips to the microwave with them that the quality of the food seemed irrelevant. They may not agree....I did, however, spend a good part of this afternoon reading a Bill Granger recipe book - realise I will have to get back in the game at some point.
I am also so excited about the return of hair to my head (nowhere else yet - nose still drips without warning) that I have all but abandoned head coverings unless in very public (or very cold) places. I know I look like a straight cross between a tennis ball and a welcome mat (a soft and fluffy one) but again, I don't really care. Is it something about getting the unidentified object out of my body at long last? Probably.
My sister is coming up tomorrow for a couple of days to accompany me to the consultant for my path results on Tuesday and thankfully to cook for us all so I promise to look and learn...
Spent some time in hospital thinking about my New Year's resolutions which have boiled down to this:
Learn to play the guitar
The lovely and talented Steve Stanley has already agreed to give me some lessons and a new set of strings for the doggy old guitar that's been cluttering up the sitting room for 14 years...
Say yes to everything I want to do
Invited to a 50th birthday party in Spain in May where I don't know anyone except the birthday boy and as yet have no childcare but have said yes.
Get incredibly fit
Have booked cheap ski holiday in Avoriaz for 5th April - just a couple of weeks after radiotherapy finishes. Have no idea how much skiing I'll be capable of but I promise to at least walk around in the snow, go up and down in the lift and drink plenty of vin chaud - ok ok - I haven't had a complete personality change...
Say no to everything I don't want to do
Work in progress
Stop biting my nails
Dream on
Matt and Suzanne came for impromptu supper last night which was when I realised I'd forgotton how to cook. They very bravely sat through cold, congealed, overcooked pasta with clumpy mushroom sauce followed by leftover Xmas sweets and lychees for pudding. And to be quite honest I couldn't care a less. It was so lovely to share food and trips to the microwave with them that the quality of the food seemed irrelevant. They may not agree....I did, however, spend a good part of this afternoon reading a Bill Granger recipe book - realise I will have to get back in the game at some point.
I am also so excited about the return of hair to my head (nowhere else yet - nose still drips without warning) that I have all but abandoned head coverings unless in very public (or very cold) places. I know I look like a straight cross between a tennis ball and a welcome mat (a soft and fluffy one) but again, I don't really care. Is it something about getting the unidentified object out of my body at long last? Probably.
My sister is coming up tomorrow for a couple of days to accompany me to the consultant for my path results on Tuesday and thankfully to cook for us all so I promise to look and learn...
Spent some time in hospital thinking about my New Year's resolutions which have boiled down to this:
Learn to play the guitar
The lovely and talented Steve Stanley has already agreed to give me some lessons and a new set of strings for the doggy old guitar that's been cluttering up the sitting room for 14 years...
Say yes to everything I want to do
Invited to a 50th birthday party in Spain in May where I don't know anyone except the birthday boy and as yet have no childcare but have said yes.
Get incredibly fit
Have booked cheap ski holiday in Avoriaz for 5th April - just a couple of weeks after radiotherapy finishes. Have no idea how much skiing I'll be capable of but I promise to at least walk around in the snow, go up and down in the lift and drink plenty of vin chaud - ok ok - I haven't had a complete personality change...
Say no to everything I don't want to do
Work in progress
Stop biting my nails
Dream on
Friday, January 11, 2008
Onwards and upwards
Just to let you know that I am back from surgery - and on fighting form. I cannot believe how relieved I am that another step of the journey is over, and that it appears to have gone well. I am not cracking open the Champagne as I will not get the all important pathology report until Tuesday, but certainly from an aesthetic p.o.v. Mr Carpenter has excelled himself. My left boob intact with nothing but a couple of neat scars which will probably fade to nothing. I wonder if he would consider making me some curtains...
Having been in a state of utmost anxiety the day and night before the op, the recovery itself was really quite pleasant - thank you BUPA for letting me go to the London Clinic where toiletries are from Molton Brown and the food on a par with a reasonable gastropub. The nurses were angels and I was completely and utterly spoiled for the duration. If it wasn't for the fact I was very keen to see the kids and empty the sky plus box they'd have had a hard job prising me out of bed this morning.
I was also very excited to meet a real live breast care nurse who was able to answer many of my unanswered questions and whose phone number I now have tattooed on my forehead. Thanks so much by the way Anna Liebowitz!!! How long has it been since I have seen you???!! I will most definitely contact one of your guys next time I am lying awake having a cancer angst moment - I had forgotton about that though I was given the number at the beginning of this journey....
Having information and someone to talk to is so vital in maintaining a positive attitude - something which is now thankfully restored to La Domange....
I was also incredibly touched to receive a lovely card from Clare Campbell and all the staff and kids at St J of A - containing - and I know many of you will be deeply jealous - a headteacher's silver sticker award!!! I am not only the first person in this house to receive one but apparently the first parent to be awarded such an honour. It is sitting safely in the flap of my diary to be framed and treasured - and brought out to annoy the children....
Can't type any more now as left arm still a bit wobbly and I've just replied to nearly all of my 64 emails (thanks everyone) but will keep you updated on this girl's progress...
Having been in a state of utmost anxiety the day and night before the op, the recovery itself was really quite pleasant - thank you BUPA for letting me go to the London Clinic where toiletries are from Molton Brown and the food on a par with a reasonable gastropub. The nurses were angels and I was completely and utterly spoiled for the duration. If it wasn't for the fact I was very keen to see the kids and empty the sky plus box they'd have had a hard job prising me out of bed this morning.
I was also very excited to meet a real live breast care nurse who was able to answer many of my unanswered questions and whose phone number I now have tattooed on my forehead. Thanks so much by the way Anna Liebowitz!!! How long has it been since I have seen you???!! I will most definitely contact one of your guys next time I am lying awake having a cancer angst moment - I had forgotton about that though I was given the number at the beginning of this journey....
Having information and someone to talk to is so vital in maintaining a positive attitude - something which is now thankfully restored to La Domange....
I was also incredibly touched to receive a lovely card from Clare Campbell and all the staff and kids at St J of A - containing - and I know many of you will be deeply jealous - a headteacher's silver sticker award!!! I am not only the first person in this house to receive one but apparently the first parent to be awarded such an honour. It is sitting safely in the flap of my diary to be framed and treasured - and brought out to annoy the children....
Can't type any more now as left arm still a bit wobbly and I've just replied to nearly all of my 64 emails (thanks everyone) but will keep you updated on this girl's progress...
Monday, January 7, 2008
Moment of truth
Finally had surgery confirmed for tomorrow. No food or drink after 12 - hospital at 3pm - and surgery at around 6pm. I haven't been at all worried about this until the reality set in and now, of course, I'm wondering whether to leave notes for everyone in case I never wake up. There is also the realisation that whatever has been lurking deep within me for two and a half years, is about to be unmasked, unrobed and laid bare. A prognosis in the offing.
At each new twist in the road it feels a bit like being diagnosed all over again. I know now though that resistance is futile and the best thing to do is to let the shock waves ride over you until you come out the other side.
My high jinks at new year were followed by two days in bed, aching from head to toe - which I believe from talking to fellow sufferers on my website is par for the course after chemo. That and a left leg that just goes dead from time to time and has permanent pins and needles. One of the frustrating things about this is the fact that there isn't anyone who is accessible on a day to day basis to tell you whether what you are experiencing is normal and to guide you through symptom management. Apparently in France there is a team of doctors you can talk to but here, apart from having a blurry 3.5 minutes with a consultant every 3 months or so, you are pretty much left to fend for yourself.
Took Emily shopping for black boots today and got a fab pair in the sale at Russell & Bromley - almost a reasonable price - along with some teen lingerie (say no more). She seems to have grown in the last week. I felt tired and grumpy and snapped all day at her and long suffering mum instead of enjoying the quality time. Everything seems to have so much more significance than it used to. I always used to be grumpy but it didn't matter. Now everything matters.
Luc went to bed feeling ill again as he always does the night before I go to hospital. I forget sometimes that if this seems interminably long for me, it is forever and a day for him. He came back from Shropshire so buoyant and thrilled with his new room and I have knocked the stuffing out of him. I know that once I am up and about again he will be fine but I know that this will change the course of my childrens' lives in a way I never imagined when they were born. It's a hefty responsibility.
The house is back to its pre Christmas chaos with all beds taken and no personal space at all. It's like living in a commune. And yet every person is here because of me so I can't complain. Though of course I do.
The au pair came back from her holiday laden with gifts including - and I think this wins her the coveted top au pair award - a fresh truffle - which is nestling in a little jar in the door of my fridge to be lovingly grated onto fresh pasta with mushrooms for my final meal tonight. I wonder if anyone would mind if I ate it alone, in bed? Given my current mood they will probably rejoice.
At each new twist in the road it feels a bit like being diagnosed all over again. I know now though that resistance is futile and the best thing to do is to let the shock waves ride over you until you come out the other side.
My high jinks at new year were followed by two days in bed, aching from head to toe - which I believe from talking to fellow sufferers on my website is par for the course after chemo. That and a left leg that just goes dead from time to time and has permanent pins and needles. One of the frustrating things about this is the fact that there isn't anyone who is accessible on a day to day basis to tell you whether what you are experiencing is normal and to guide you through symptom management. Apparently in France there is a team of doctors you can talk to but here, apart from having a blurry 3.5 minutes with a consultant every 3 months or so, you are pretty much left to fend for yourself.
Took Emily shopping for black boots today and got a fab pair in the sale at Russell & Bromley - almost a reasonable price - along with some teen lingerie (say no more). She seems to have grown in the last week. I felt tired and grumpy and snapped all day at her and long suffering mum instead of enjoying the quality time. Everything seems to have so much more significance than it used to. I always used to be grumpy but it didn't matter. Now everything matters.
Luc went to bed feeling ill again as he always does the night before I go to hospital. I forget sometimes that if this seems interminably long for me, it is forever and a day for him. He came back from Shropshire so buoyant and thrilled with his new room and I have knocked the stuffing out of him. I know that once I am up and about again he will be fine but I know that this will change the course of my childrens' lives in a way I never imagined when they were born. It's a hefty responsibility.
The house is back to its pre Christmas chaos with all beds taken and no personal space at all. It's like living in a commune. And yet every person is here because of me so I can't complain. Though of course I do.
The au pair came back from her holiday laden with gifts including - and I think this wins her the coveted top au pair award - a fresh truffle - which is nestling in a little jar in the door of my fridge to be lovingly grated onto fresh pasta with mushrooms for my final meal tonight. I wonder if anyone would mind if I ate it alone, in bed? Given my current mood they will probably rejoice.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Happy New Year!
The exclamation mark in the title is there for my great and gorgeous friend Nicky with whom I spent a brilliant day yesterday. Bought fab furry lined brown boots in the Brent Cross sale - completely thrilled that I could actually do them up. It was only when I got to the till I realised that they were labelled Gabor 'Comfort' which evidently translates as big girl boots. Still I have searched high and low for such a useful item to add to my meagre wardrobe so am very happy. Also stocked up on clothes for the kids having spent an hour fighting with Luc on boxing day about his outfit and realising that he only had one (dirty) pair of trousers and one (ankle flapping) pair of tracky bottoms to choose from. All his tops had short sleeves and had become navel grazers over the autumn. Emily has turned into a child who no longer wears socks so I tried to get her a few items to keep her top half warm. She seems to think that the ideal outfit for sub zero temperatures is a pair of shorts over leggings worn with canvas pumps and a skimpy t-shirt.
My week of rest and relaxation has gone by in a flash. New Year's Eve was fantastic - and I can honestly say one of my best ever. Ate, danced, drank and sung until 3am - and survived - a bit like the old days - maybe better. Seeing Nicky was lovely - with no kids (her four farmed out to various kind friends) we came back home, ate yummy thai curry (cooked by Nicky) and watched Little Miss Sunshine (so funny) and chatted until the small hours. Again - a bit like old times.
Apart from a quick blood test this morning to ascertain whether my bloods are good enough for surgery on Tuesday - spent the rest of the day sorting out heaps of toys and junk from Luc's room and putting them neatly back into his new wardrobes which look fantastic. Francois commented that if Ikea sold these things ready made they would not be enjoying the same success. He is in the Ikea afterglow right now having built something with his bare hands -clearly a crucial part of their marketing plan.
Kids are having a great week in Shropshire - entertained largely by my sister Helen and brother in law Mark who've been carting them around the countryside - including a trip to Wolverhampton to see Dick Whittington starring the Crankys and Dirty Den (sorry guys - would loved to have joined you for that...) Emily stayed up for New Year's Eve for the first time and told me that all the adults were drunk and started jiving - some things are the same everywhere.
So just a few more days of freedom before next week when hopefully my op will go ahead as planned - it will be hard to get back into the treatment reality - but the break has been more than welcome.
Happy and healthy new year to you all - and thanks so much for everyone who has sponsored James so far. The Haven are thrilled! (Just one more for you Nic...)
In case you missed out on December's blog - here's James' web page link again - please do have a look at what he will be doing in 2 weeks...http://www.justgiving.com/jamesglasson
My week of rest and relaxation has gone by in a flash. New Year's Eve was fantastic - and I can honestly say one of my best ever. Ate, danced, drank and sung until 3am - and survived - a bit like the old days - maybe better. Seeing Nicky was lovely - with no kids (her four farmed out to various kind friends) we came back home, ate yummy thai curry (cooked by Nicky) and watched Little Miss Sunshine (so funny) and chatted until the small hours. Again - a bit like old times.
Apart from a quick blood test this morning to ascertain whether my bloods are good enough for surgery on Tuesday - spent the rest of the day sorting out heaps of toys and junk from Luc's room and putting them neatly back into his new wardrobes which look fantastic. Francois commented that if Ikea sold these things ready made they would not be enjoying the same success. He is in the Ikea afterglow right now having built something with his bare hands -clearly a crucial part of their marketing plan.
Kids are having a great week in Shropshire - entertained largely by my sister Helen and brother in law Mark who've been carting them around the countryside - including a trip to Wolverhampton to see Dick Whittington starring the Crankys and Dirty Den (sorry guys - would loved to have joined you for that...) Emily stayed up for New Year's Eve for the first time and told me that all the adults were drunk and started jiving - some things are the same everywhere.
So just a few more days of freedom before next week when hopefully my op will go ahead as planned - it will be hard to get back into the treatment reality - but the break has been more than welcome.
Happy and healthy new year to you all - and thanks so much for everyone who has sponsored James so far. The Haven are thrilled! (Just one more for you Nic...)
In case you missed out on December's blog - here's James' web page link again - please do have a look at what he will be doing in 2 weeks...http://www.justgiving.com/jamesglasson
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