Well a very exciting weekend all in all. Started on Friday with the tinkling of a silver edged invite landing on the mat from Monsieur le President Nicolas Sarkozy and Madame Sarkozy (aka the lovely Carla Bruni) inviting Monsieur and Madame Francois Domange to their reception at the French Ambassador's residence in London on March 27th. The very same day that we had planned to spend a romantic work/pleasure day in Brighton. The opportunity to gawp at the gorgeous Carla close up is one I didn't initially feel I could pass up - though Francois is adamant that he will not cancel a pleasant day out (not to mention a business opportunity) to stand in a crowd of overdressed French expats in order to meet the most insufferable president of recent times. He is also incensed that the accompanying list of instructions require us to arrive over an hour before Monsieur Le President - ostensibly for security reasons - but clearly more to do with the national propensity to arrive everywhere (fashionably) late. Our friend Gerry kindly offered to go in Francois' place but the second instruction on the list requires us to bring our passports with us - so this is just not a plan that has legs, or wings, or any other means of transport - unless Gerry suddenly starts speaking fluent French and wearing V-neck jumpers...
I love the idea of swanning around the Holland Park Residence sipping bargain Champagne and eating canapes - but I guess not going will save me the humiliation of being the largest woman there, with the least hair, and the only one actually eating the canapes. I also have absolutely nothing to wear to such an event - well I have things to wear but unfortunately can't do any of them up which is not a good look for me.
Thanks to the unbelievable generosity and kindness of Joe H, I took Luc to the Arsenal again on Saturday to watch them drawing with Middlesborough. Before they finally scored he had his head in my lap wailing that he wanted to go home - I found myself saying things like 'It's not over till the final whistle blows,' and other even more unlikely remarks. He was consoled by the fact they did at least score once - and more so by the extremely healthy organic, locally reared, hand made burger from the stand outside the ground (ha ha...).
I have to say though that I have come to adore the thrill of the game - there is nothing like sitting surrounded by 60,000 supporters cheering (or swearing uncontrollably as on Sat) at your team. Despite feeling incredibly exhausted ever since I finished radiotherapy, I foolishly made a night of it going to the pub and for a meal afterwards - great fun, but possibly not to be recommended a mere 4 days after finishing 5 weeks of radiotherapy.
I probably would have come through it far more unscathed if it wasn't for the fact that on Sunday we had an endurance test worthy of a Japanese game show which involved sitting at the Hackney Empire through four hours of authentic Turkish folk dancing and singing (I use the word 'singing' in its broadest possible sense), largely performed by people under the age of 10 or over the age of 75, waiting for Luc and his friend Harry to perform their 3 minute modern dance slot. Don't ask. Francois commented at one point that at least we'd saved the several thousand pounds we could have spent on a Turkish package holiday to experience the same delights. Lucky really that Harry's dad videotaped large chunks of the show to play to his unsuspecting wife who'd managed to escape the evening with some cannily-timed prior arrangement.....you're in for a treat Pippa - or possibly a divorce.
The boys were delighted with their performance which we all agreed was the highlight of the evening. We still haven't worked out why it was in the middle of an Eastern European cultural festival - but Luc had to be almost physically dragged off the stage as he bounced back on for a final 'jump' and cannot wait for next year....ohmygod.
Sadly I've been paying the price for my high octane weekend and have had to cancel everything else this week - including my much awaited visit to meet Stanley Tiger - cousin Jane's new baby. The fatigue is absolutely unbelievable - really unlike anything I've experienced so far. Any hope of losing the stone in weight I've managed to put on since January is but a distant dream as my craving for sugar and carbs becomes worthy of an 'intervention' and the only exercise I'm capable of at the moment is moving my hand to my mouth.
We are off to Shropshire for the Easter weekend and I cannot even imagine how I'm going to pack a suitcase as things stand - but am hoping that a couple of days in bed will help and the weekend of fresh air and good food may help to recharge these old batteries.
As the Sarkozy/Bruni reception approaches I feel more inclined to agree with Francois - that just getting the invite is enough.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The abyss
I shouldn't be surprised really because it was the same when I finished chemo. A grand sense of anticlimax and total exhaustion. You think you are going to feel so elated that another chapter has passed, but it's only when it comes to an end you realise how tightly you've been holding on.
I finished radiotherapy on Tuesday and went out that night to meet some of the year 7 Mums in the pub - most of whom I'd never seen before in my life. It was weird introducing myself to strangers who know nothing about my life over the last few months, one of whom I've actually met twice but didn't recognise me at all. That sense of disassociation - as if I'm on the outside looking in - barely left me. I am not the same person I was and it will take time for me to work out who I am now, how to represent myself in the world. Soon my hair will be back and from the outside I will pass as normal; the same as all the others with their everyday anxieties and ultimately carefree existence. But I am not the same. I cannot go back to being carefree - I now have to manage each day, being careful not to tread on the cracks, trying to make sense of what has happened and what might happen again. There are times right now when I feel almost euphoric at the realisation that each day is a blessing, and that I am alive, and others when the loss of my old self seems too much to bear. The night in the pub made me want to run back to the comfort of my bed with its new white pillows and soft feather duvet and lie there forever. Which is basically where I've been ever since. Just me, my painfully burnt boob, and Super Mario.
I finished radiotherapy on Tuesday and went out that night to meet some of the year 7 Mums in the pub - most of whom I'd never seen before in my life. It was weird introducing myself to strangers who know nothing about my life over the last few months, one of whom I've actually met twice but didn't recognise me at all. That sense of disassociation - as if I'm on the outside looking in - barely left me. I am not the same person I was and it will take time for me to work out who I am now, how to represent myself in the world. Soon my hair will be back and from the outside I will pass as normal; the same as all the others with their everyday anxieties and ultimately carefree existence. But I am not the same. I cannot go back to being carefree - I now have to manage each day, being careful not to tread on the cracks, trying to make sense of what has happened and what might happen again. There are times right now when I feel almost euphoric at the realisation that each day is a blessing, and that I am alive, and others when the loss of my old self seems too much to bear. The night in the pub made me want to run back to the comfort of my bed with its new white pillows and soft feather duvet and lie there forever. Which is basically where I've been ever since. Just me, my painfully burnt boob, and Super Mario.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
A finger on the button
Still a bit blogged out with nothing much to report. The daily radio grind is starting to get to me and exhaustion is creeping in. My skin has started to get very sore and my left boob looks and feels as if it's been hung out in the midday sun.
It's been a busy week that got off to a good start at the weekend with Mother's day. I was thrilled to be given my very own Nintendo DS Lite (white) and the intensely challenging game of New Super Mario Bros. Brilliant. At last my children understand me. Goodbye scented candles, hello RSI.
It certainly has helped the days fly by as Luc and I compete to get through the levels and the most gold coins. I am of course hopelessly behind - much to his satisfaction. If only he could dedicate as much time and enthusiasm to his piano practice, he'd be a child prodigy by now. Surely all the same motor skills are involved?
I have backed his plan to dress up as Horrid Henry for Book Day at school tomorrow which I think was a particularly brilliant move on my part as it will involve no actual costume - just a scruffing up of his school uniform and a bit of hair gel. Genius.
Other highlights of this week include the birth of my cousin Jane's little boy Stanley Tiger who I can't wait to meet, catching up on series 4 of Lost with Alison and Roger from next door and eating most of Emily's delicious Rocky Road bars. My weight is careering out of control and ever since the BC nurse told me that I am likely to put on about a stone and a half that will not disappear when treatment is over 'without having to work very hard at it', I feel there is no point in denying myself anything. This is obviously a standpoint fraught with long term danger but radio ends next Tuesday and I will allow my head to stay in the sand until then.
Francois is up in the Lake District visiting clients, so Nicky came down from Oxford for the day and night for a bit of girl time which we spent wandering around Marylebone looking for the perfect pair of silver wedges (for her) and the most expensive organic shampoo in the world (for me). The excitement I felt at washing my hair in the shower this morning is probably completely disproportionate but I find there is a tremendous amount of pleasure to be had from everyday activities.
Now I'm off to try and unlock World 3.
It's been a busy week that got off to a good start at the weekend with Mother's day. I was thrilled to be given my very own Nintendo DS Lite (white) and the intensely challenging game of New Super Mario Bros. Brilliant. At last my children understand me. Goodbye scented candles, hello RSI.
It certainly has helped the days fly by as Luc and I compete to get through the levels and the most gold coins. I am of course hopelessly behind - much to his satisfaction. If only he could dedicate as much time and enthusiasm to his piano practice, he'd be a child prodigy by now. Surely all the same motor skills are involved?
I have backed his plan to dress up as Horrid Henry for Book Day at school tomorrow which I think was a particularly brilliant move on my part as it will involve no actual costume - just a scruffing up of his school uniform and a bit of hair gel. Genius.
Other highlights of this week include the birth of my cousin Jane's little boy Stanley Tiger who I can't wait to meet, catching up on series 4 of Lost with Alison and Roger from next door and eating most of Emily's delicious Rocky Road bars. My weight is careering out of control and ever since the BC nurse told me that I am likely to put on about a stone and a half that will not disappear when treatment is over 'without having to work very hard at it', I feel there is no point in denying myself anything. This is obviously a standpoint fraught with long term danger but radio ends next Tuesday and I will allow my head to stay in the sand until then.
Francois is up in the Lake District visiting clients, so Nicky came down from Oxford for the day and night for a bit of girl time which we spent wandering around Marylebone looking for the perfect pair of silver wedges (for her) and the most expensive organic shampoo in the world (for me). The excitement I felt at washing my hair in the shower this morning is probably completely disproportionate but I find there is a tremendous amount of pleasure to be had from everyday activities.
Now I'm off to try and unlock World 3.
Monday, March 3, 2008
No Justice
Apparently my full blown menopausal symptoms may only last a year. Then my periods will be back....before the next 'natural' menopause. I had to laugh.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Freefall
Not much to report from radioworld - except that it is just that. Still hard to plan anything much around the daily visits to the machines. I'm pleased to report that I have not experienced too much 'sunburn' and the skin is holding up well with the help of a vat of Aloe Vera gel alongside the acqeous cream they give you at the hospital.
Mum has been staying this week and I don't know how she stuck it out so long as I have not been on my best behaviour. Rather the opposite. I don't know where in the symptom manual they mention that radiotherapy puts you in a very bad mood - but that seems to be the effect it has on me. She left this morning and I am wracked with guilt. I have sent her a Mother's Day card that says 'Sorry I can't be with you on Mother's Day, but the washing is done and I don't need any cash'. It should also have said - the freezer is full, there are flowers on the table and the beds are made. It's crap being an invalid, but it's worse being around one.
There is blossom on the newly planted trees in our street and I remember that when I started this journey there was no blossom - and no trees. Life, the seasons and time has marched on and still I am in treatment. It felt strange at Luc's Mother's Day assembly yesterday seeing women who are suddenly 7 months pregnant - as if their babies have come from nowhere - not to mention the hoards of new parents I don't recognise at all. It's difficult being in crowds. Everyone now seems to know what's been happening to me and I don't know what to say. 'How are you?' That's a tough question. 'Fine'. There is no other response. And I am fine really but it just doesn't cover everything. I still find hardest the people I barely know who won't take 'fine' for an answer and look searchingly into my eyes hoping to find something more satisfying. I think there is a certain pleasure - or reassurance - in being faced with someone who you believe to be worse off than yourself. I cannot deny feeling that way myself at times. But being the object of it is disturbing.
The highlight of the morning for me was when Luc begrudgingly mumbled into the microphone, 'My Mummy is as beautiful as a butterfly'. My moment of maternal glory was shortlived however, as he later admitted that he'd been forced to step in and say the line for a child who was absent. It was good while it lasted...
Emily is thrilled as on Wednesday, the lovely Lisa cut her a fringe. Emily is delighted and can't stop glancing at herself in mirrors and shop windows. She looks odd. Not like my Emily. I keep asking her to lift it up so I can see her face - but she is enchanted with her new look. She had a great time at scout camp last weekend and a blast with the choir at the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans - Mu-um...) awareness day at Hackney Town Hall, from which she came back with a free rape alarm...much to my mother's surprise.
I finally managed to prise Francois' credit card from him and get him to agree to a wonderful week away for us both in June - so while long suffering Mum comes up once again, we will be at a Cretan hotel spa. It is not just me who is in desperate need of a break. Poor Francois is more tired than a person should be having had barely a day off in months and I am thrilled that I have managed to persuade him to take a break.
Despite the grumpiness, I feel as if I have reached another level of acceptance with this cancer thing. As I said to Catherine yesterday when she commented that she would never jump out of a plane, I wouldn't rule it out. I'm not going to start saving for a parachute jump - not quite there yet - but it is starting to really hit home that the only time is now. I can feel a little glimmer of excitement that the days will soon be mine again, and that I have no time to waste.
Mum has been staying this week and I don't know how she stuck it out so long as I have not been on my best behaviour. Rather the opposite. I don't know where in the symptom manual they mention that radiotherapy puts you in a very bad mood - but that seems to be the effect it has on me. She left this morning and I am wracked with guilt. I have sent her a Mother's Day card that says 'Sorry I can't be with you on Mother's Day, but the washing is done and I don't need any cash'. It should also have said - the freezer is full, there are flowers on the table and the beds are made. It's crap being an invalid, but it's worse being around one.
There is blossom on the newly planted trees in our street and I remember that when I started this journey there was no blossom - and no trees. Life, the seasons and time has marched on and still I am in treatment. It felt strange at Luc's Mother's Day assembly yesterday seeing women who are suddenly 7 months pregnant - as if their babies have come from nowhere - not to mention the hoards of new parents I don't recognise at all. It's difficult being in crowds. Everyone now seems to know what's been happening to me and I don't know what to say. 'How are you?' That's a tough question. 'Fine'. There is no other response. And I am fine really but it just doesn't cover everything. I still find hardest the people I barely know who won't take 'fine' for an answer and look searchingly into my eyes hoping to find something more satisfying. I think there is a certain pleasure - or reassurance - in being faced with someone who you believe to be worse off than yourself. I cannot deny feeling that way myself at times. But being the object of it is disturbing.
The highlight of the morning for me was when Luc begrudgingly mumbled into the microphone, 'My Mummy is as beautiful as a butterfly'. My moment of maternal glory was shortlived however, as he later admitted that he'd been forced to step in and say the line for a child who was absent. It was good while it lasted...
Emily is thrilled as on Wednesday, the lovely Lisa cut her a fringe. Emily is delighted and can't stop glancing at herself in mirrors and shop windows. She looks odd. Not like my Emily. I keep asking her to lift it up so I can see her face - but she is enchanted with her new look. She had a great time at scout camp last weekend and a blast with the choir at the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans - Mu-um...) awareness day at Hackney Town Hall, from which she came back with a free rape alarm...much to my mother's surprise.
I finally managed to prise Francois' credit card from him and get him to agree to a wonderful week away for us both in June - so while long suffering Mum comes up once again, we will be at a Cretan hotel spa. It is not just me who is in desperate need of a break. Poor Francois is more tired than a person should be having had barely a day off in months and I am thrilled that I have managed to persuade him to take a break.
Despite the grumpiness, I feel as if I have reached another level of acceptance with this cancer thing. As I said to Catherine yesterday when she commented that she would never jump out of a plane, I wouldn't rule it out. I'm not going to start saving for a parachute jump - not quite there yet - but it is starting to really hit home that the only time is now. I can feel a little glimmer of excitement that the days will soon be mine again, and that I have no time to waste.
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