The other side

End of blog?

2008-06-23T10:18:00.002+01:00

I suppose the time to stop writing this blog is nigh. It will soon be a year since my diagnosis and my life is not interesting enough to fill any more reams of internet space. Tomorrow Francois and I are finally off on a spa holiday - so those months of trawling the internet were not wasted. Mum is coming to look after the kids and I have bought two giant bikinis. Benedicte will be leaving us in a week and so far the search for a new au pair has not been an overwhelming success as we were rejected by the first two proposed by the agent - the second after I interviewed her for half an hour on the phone. My managerial skills do not improve with age.

As I lay in bed last night I thought about everything that's happened over this last year and made a decision to consider myself cured. I know that I may not be, but if I'm tempting fate then bring it on. As of today, the past is history...and the future has yet to happen.

Greta Garbo

2008-06-16T17:05:00.005+01:00

I am only getting up for social functions which sounds much better than it is. Can't shake this damned fatigue. Having put as many sleep and rest credits in the bank as possible over last week, I still went horribly overdrawn on Saturday after a day ferrying kids all over the place followed by the fantastic but predictably late night at Beccy and Karen's summer party. Didn't overdo the drink - I was possibly the only one - but went to bed at around 2.30 and then slept until 4pm Monday when I had to get up to go to a dinner with Francois. Luckily Luc had made him a Father's Day card and Emily cooked her risotto or he'd have had a really bad day.

Anyway I am hoping that my 47 homeopathic remedies will help to combat this leg aching brain fug and I will soon be having my 'lifestyle management' appointment and trip to the dietician - thanks to the amazing Royal London Homeopathic Hospital. Another new find and a complete revelation. I'm also now on the Iscador (mistletoe) treatment as an anti cancer therapy.

I have a sack full of pills and potions - and a fridge door crammed with drops, lotions and probiotics which fall out every time I open it.

If I wasn't so tired I might be able to work out when to take them.

Rest for the wicked

2008-06-05T15:30:00.003+01:00

Old people keep talking to me about death. I am not making this up - but in the last week three separate octogenarians have talked to me candidly and with no prompting, about what it's like being at the other end. I don't know why it hadn't really occurred to me before but of course anyone who is in their late eighties must dwell on this matter quite a lot. It's quite reassuring - suddenly don't feel so alone. (Or Hurrah, we're all going to die!)

The week has perked up enormously since yesterday when I spent a most lovely day in town. First to cancer clinic - where I was told I must rest more and conserve energy and say no to absolutely everything that may be a drain on my internal resources and that resting is the single most important thing to do in the year after treatment - more important even than diet or exercise. What thoroughly good news. Then on to Shoon - the greatest shoe shop in the world for the fat footed - where I bought not one, not two but THREE pairs of shoes (I am still pretending to Francois I only got two and one is at the back of the cupboard) and then on to Trevor Sorbie to spend the voucher I got from my old friend Susanne as a welcome to the world of hair present, where I managed to spend enough money on products to get a free towel (or possibly the world's most expensive towel). The result is a frighteningly high hair/cost ratio given that it is now even shorter than before, but I feel a lot more like a short haired person and a lot less like my history teacher.

I've talked before about my many obsessions relating to cancer - here is a list of them:

All parabens (in almost all creams, lotions and potions)
Deodorants
Underwired bras
Non organic food
Plastic
Organic food wrapped in plastic (this one drives me MAD)
Coffee
Alcohol
Sugar
All dairy produce
Meat
Microwaves
Lap tops (unless sitting on a pillow on lap)
Chemical cleaning products
Exercise

etc etc I'm afraid the list just goes on and on.

Anyway it was interesting last night on my weekly telephone support group run by breast cancer care that we all had some or all of these worries - even adding 'owning dogs' or 'living within 20 miles of a nuclear power station' on their list - but the only one thing we all have in common is breast cancer. One woman, the youngest of 6 girls, spent her life exercising, does not drink alcohol or eat dairy and is the only one of her siblings (all of whom smoke heavily and weigh between 15 and 20 stone) to have cancer. The point to all this I suppose is that it is really not worth beating yourself up.

Taking recent doctor's advice most seriously, I spent this morning having green tea with Tamsin and then enjoyed an excellent lunch at Otto Lenghi whose partner must be up there as one of the luckiest people alive. It's the only restaurant that you come out of feeling healthier than when you went in - despite having a full fat, full dairy apple and vanilla cake for pudding.

Now having a lie down, (with lap top on a cushion of course).

Written on May 20th but not posted

2008-06-03T18:27:00.000+01:00

There is not a minute of every day that I don’t think about having cancer. And wonder whether it will come back. And when. There is nothing I eat or drink or do that doesn’t make we wonder whether it is in that fateful mouthful or gulp that I am sealing my own fate. If I stop thinking about it and give myself a break, I worry that my nonchalance will tempt providence. By holding onto the fear I worry that the anxiety will bring the cancer back. It’s a lose lose situation. I see the world through cancer tinted spectacles. I wonder now when I look at people whether they have had or will have cancer. I don’t assume that everyone other than me is fine, but I wonder why I was the one selected for this journey. Is there such a thing as sheer bad luck or is it something I did, or didn’t do? I analyse what others do – what they eat and drink – how have they got away with it thus far? I have to find a way to live in this next phase – people tell you how they knew someone who ‘didn’t have time for cancer,’ and it went away – or someone who drank broccoli juice four times a day and became a Buddhist – and their cancer disappeared. And so I veer between a rock and a hard place – A vegetable juice for breakfast and a glass of red wine for dinner. The weight of it is exhausting. It hangs around my shoulders like an iron shawl. Too heavy to take off, but much too heavy to wear.

Life goes on

2008-06-03T17:36:00.005+01:00

Tried to blog while away but unfortunately the wonders of modern technology do not seem to have reached L'Ile d'Oleron or indeed Candes St Martin....and as I am too stingy to pay for one of those mobile phone cards I had to give up on the web for two whole weeks. Which, now I think about it, was probably not a bad thing. It forced me to do other things, such as read, stare out of the window and sleep. Arrival at the one horse airport of La Rochelle brought about my worst nightmare as officious passport lady questioned me in great detail about my bizarre change of hairstyle since the Myra pic was taken just after my dx. I was forced to admit that my new curls were not a lifestyle choice but even then she couldn't get her head round the dates - passport renewed in October with photo taken in August. And all this with about forty fellow travellers standing up close and personal. Bitch. Anyway - I was allowed through with a rather dirty look -evidently all terrorist suspects use that obvious ploy of cutting long hair short and going for an oap perm - throws them off the scent every time...

Anyway - Anne's house was a wonderful tonic - bedroom overlooking tranquil lush garden, swimming pool, enough sun to swim, sunbathe and walk along deserted stretches of golden sand. I had a slight meltdown a couple of days in when she commented that I really didn't think or talk about anything other than cancer - and she was right - but it needed saying. I felt as though I was being allowed to let go of it all, at least for a while.

The second week was spent at our house in the Loire - first visit since I found the lump there last summer. Again, a wobbly weekend, but ended up sleeping and sleeping - morning, afternoon and night - which I think was exactly what I needed. I slept so much I started worrying about it, but then as I started to emerge I realised that it was ok, that it will take a while for the energy levels to return and that fighting it wasn't going to help.

Francois spent the entire week working so had absolutely no let up other than a couple of hours on the driving range and mealtimes so the kids were thrilled at the arrival of Geraldine, Tom and family which provided them with some welcome relief from comamum and absentdad. They also brought the sun and I was sad to leave.

Then came the long trek home via Francois' elderly aunt and uncle for a night - with my memory loss once again evident as I found myself completely incapable of remembering our well trodden shortcut from their rural retreat to the motorway. Even holding the map upside down didn't help - it was like looking at a map of China. I don't know how he puts up with me.

Spent much of the time since yesterday trying to get parking permits from Hackney council (slightly more difficult than getting a Green Card), shopping, cooking, attempting to change my mortgage provider (don't go there) and finally lying in a heap on the sofa catching up on Brothers and Sisters - my completely top favourite show. The entire cast of thirtysomething are slowly making appearances as fiftysomethings. A wonderful sense of continuation and purpose - not to mention many uplifting scenes featuring Rob Lowe who I admire in an entirely intellectual capacity.

Life goes on.

Spare tyres

2008-05-16T12:45:00.004+01:00

The blood test I had on Monday while complaining about my frozen fingers has confirmed that I am in full blown menopause. Apparently as the ovaries shut down and oestrogen levels drop, the body frantically tries to compensate by producing high levels of hormones from the pituitary gland which create all these other unpleasant symptoms - including the sluggish metabolism and ability to put on half a stone over a weekend. The brutal loss of womanhood pales into insignificance next to this uncontrollable weight gain. How shallow am I?

In the raw

2008-05-15T11:56:00.006+01:00

I wrote a whole blog entry in my head the other day when I was nowhere near a computer and now I find I have five minutes to spare and can't remember at all what I was going to say. The memory loss is not getting any better. This weekend I planned two separate social events on Saturday before realising that I wasn't actually going to be here at all. I am assured that chemo brain lingers on - along with the burgeoning muffin top. The day after my fab welcome back party I crawled along to the local leisure centre and took out a guilt-inducing Come ten times a month to break even membership which has actually turned out to be not too bad. I can now manage a pathetic 12 lengths of the pool and have suffered the humiliation of two yoga classes, the first of which involved a lot of toppling or lying down for a rest and the second of which pulled a muscle in my neck so now I can only turn my head to the left. I do wonder whether my stomach is just too big for yoga. How is it possible to bend over and touch your toes when there is a lump the size of Mount Everest to negotiate? But I will persevere. The upside has been a definite improvement in my legs' ability to get me where I want to go and a general uplifting of mood - though this could also be down to the brilliantly summery weather (up until today). I sent off to Boden for some large warm weather clothes which arrived today - in the rain.

Feeling unfamiliar lack of medical appointments so booked myself into the GP on Monday to discuss the strange way that my hands seize up in the night and I have to click them back to life in the morning. 'It's not cancer,' he said (ohmygod I hate these post cancer hypochondriacs she's going to be in here every five minutes for the next 15 years) 'It's fluid retention.' Fluid retention? Fantastic - there is a fluid fairy who comes round at night and pumps me up which explains why every time I get on the scales it's moved up a couple of notches. It's not fat...it's fluid! Which led me to my latest rather cliche post cancer phase.; raw food. Have just ordered the definitive 'breaking wind' cookbook full of top tips on making spaghetti from uncooked courgettes (spirolina machine £149 all good kitchen suppliers) and crackers from non wheat gluten free grain (dehydrating machine £239) washed down with wheatgrass juice (long stem juicer £69.99). Unfortunately I will not have any time to work to pay for any of the equipment as I will be far too busy making non dairy gm free vegan cheese and sprouting alfafa to hold down a job. I am in deep denial about the amount of money I have spent since last summer on non medical cancer expenses and plan to stay that way for a bit longer.

In that vein, I am off to France for a week at my old friend Anne's house on the gorgeous L'ile d'Oleron in Brittany followed by a week in the Loire with Francois and the children. It occured to me how much has changed in a year as between the new Marion Keyes in my suitcase I have stashed packets of rare green tea, Kriss Carr's Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips and Dr Haushka chemical free suncream. Plus ca change.

Islands in the storm

2008-05-04T02:23:00.002+01:00

It's nearly 2.30am and I'm so happy to report that the reason for the late night post is not because of prescription drugs, chemotherapy, radiotherapy or abject fear. It's because I'm still buzzing from the most fantastic girl's night organised by my lovely friend Nuala. Not everyone, but a great majority of the people who have nurtured and supported me through these last months gathered together to eat fantastic food, drink far too much wine and spend at least 4 hours shouting along to an inexaustable selection of girly songs. I have survived, I'm still Standing and despite the fact that there is Always Something there to remind Me, I'm going to Let it Be. Thank god for my friends.

Parachute parenting 2

2008-05-02T17:00:00.006+01:00

Well things came to a head in the Domange house last night when the children decided to use one of my most precious fruit bowls (the only thing to have survived 15 years of marriage) as the centrepiece for an indoor scooter ring. Luc was the first to knock it over, cracking it from top to bottom, at which point you'd think that any sensible 12 year old would have moved it to a place of safety. But no, she put it back in exactly the same place before careering into it at speed on her scooter in a copycat accident. And this while I was cooking their favourite dinner.

I of course provided an excellent role model in crisis management by throwing my oven gloves at them and bursting into tears before calling Emily a stupid cow and storming out of the house.

Francois was not particularly impressed by me phoning him in the middle of a client meeting and insisting that he came home, 'before I killed both of his children,' and kept saying annoying things like, 'they're only kids' and 'these things happen'....he redeemed himself later however by setting up a kangaroo court in the sitting room, making them recount the whole sorry tale and then decide on suitable punishments - for Luc no computer (despite new Club Penguin catalogue) and Emily grounded - so no much awaited trip to Angel to see a film etc on Saturday.

I woke up wracked with guilt about the whole incident but it's too late now - we must stand firm.

This end of treatment thing is strange. I know I should feel relieved and happy, perhaps even a bit of that post cancer eurphoria, but I just don't. I feel knackered, utterly and completely too tired to walk exhausted. Everything is an effort.

I had been quite enjoying the Lynette has cancer story in Desperate Housewives - because despite a few completely ridiculous subplots (dressing up as Brandy the cheerleading slut in long red wig between chemo cycles and eating hash cakes to alleviate nausea - perleese) - some of it has been strangely accurate. Today I watched the most recent episode where the oncologist comes round to her house to tell her she has the 'All Clear'. Now anyone who has ever had cancer, or lived with someone who has, can tell you that doctors just do not say this. There are very few cancers that are ever given the 'all clear', or not for many years. The best they can tell you is that you are NAD (No Active Disease). There is no punch the sky moment, there is just carrying on with uncertainty - and hope.

It's about living in the moment, buying bigger clothes and spending all your money on hair straightening products - about not recognising yourself in the mirror - and wanting to tell people you meet that you have had cancer - that you are different, changed, on borrowed time. It's about feeling guilty that you have let everyone down, particularly your children, and that the last memory they may have of you is an oven glove hurtling through the air...

Good News

2008-04-30T13:47:00.003+01:00

The mysterious lump on the other side has completely disappeared - no trace of it on MRI. I am now officially out of treatment. Next appointment in July, then in October and every three months after that for 2 years, then every 6 months for 5 years. After that, annually for another 5 years and then, if I'm still around, they will finally kick me out of the clinic. Hurrah! Or as my oncologist says, 'Watch and wait'....

Party on I say...

Parachute parenting

2008-04-30T13:07:00.003+01:00

Before all this started I sometimes, I admit, used to look at my children and think I wasn't doing too bad a job. 'Polite and friendly' I'd have them repeat before they went to other people's houses. Now I'm lucky, make that very lucky, to get an either or.

The other day I sat and looked at them as the four of us (me, Emily, Luc and the au pair) had dinner and realised that they are slipping out from my hands, out of my control. The boundaries have become so blurred in our new family unit that no one knows what they are supposed to do, or be, any more. Loose cannon Luc deliberately goes out of his way to say things to shock or irritate whoever is closest to him and moody Mimi has a line in back chat that is seriously grating. I just about have the energy to perform basic tasks again - such as getting dressed, and even going to the office to answer the phone and print out wine lists - but have nowhere near the energy required to provide, consistent, 'firm but loving' parenting. Their role models for the last 9 months have been a largely absent father, a horizontal mother, and a 24 year old French student. Consistency has been replaced with whatever provides an instant solution and firm with the 'becauseIsaidsodon'tanswermebackoryou'llbegroundedforaweek' method - neither of which seem to be working for me. I feel as if I'm finally getting back into the game but someone has moved all the goalposts.

Work has been good - some kind of return to normality - and we are hopeful that our new full timer who starts tomorrow will turn out not to be an existentialist or a psychopath but can make wine move from one place to another without too much bother.

Francois is pressing me to go to France and spend some time with an old friend who lives by the sea on Ile d'Oleron and breathe some iodine (another old French convalescence remedy). This is probably not in the best short term interests of the children, but if I don't get my energy levels up it won't be in their long term interest either - so I think I am going to take him up on it.

Holding off booking anything until I get the results of my MRI which will show me what's happened to the ufo on the right...

Useful books for cancer warriors

2008-04-20T22:40:00.003+01:00

Anything by Pema Chodron

Reading the wise words of this buddhist teacher is like someone stroking your head - A big thank you to Suzanne B for giving me my first Pema Chodron, When things Fall Apart. Good for anyone having a crisis - not just a life threatening one.

It's Not about the Bike by Lance Armstrong

Lovely neighbours Alison and Roger gave me this months ago but I only read it last week. Couldn't face it before - perhaps there's a time for everything - but I wish I'd read it earlier. Top cyclist Armstrong battled the worst form of testicular cancer at age 28, with mets in his brain and lungs, and then went on to win the Tour de France several times. Inspiring just isn't the word. What I like about it is the fact that he takes nothing for granted. He doesn't claim that his positive attitude is responsible for beating the disease - as he says - plenty of positive people die, and plenty of miserable ones live on. I also love the way he describes his return to fitness saying to himself, If I can still move, then I'm still alive....so he kept on moving.

Mirror, mirror

2008-04-19T17:31:00.004+01:00

Meant to say that since coming back from Cheeseland I have endeavoured to stick to an incredibly healthy Gillian Macwhateverhernameis style three fruit and fibre filled meals a day. No alcohol - (the latest link with breast cancer study has taken all the fun out of drinking for me), no dairy, no refined sugars or flour and at least a bit more exercise than before...and yet this morning I weighed two pounds MORE than I did at the beginning of the week. How is this possible? I am completely distaught as now even my new jeans (size Grosse) are feeling a little tighter and the cords which fell off me in January are now refusing to do up. Combined with my thick thatch of tight curls I look like a cross between a prize poodle and shaun the sheep. The cancer curse continues.

Back in business

2008-04-19T17:21:00.002+01:00

Now that the third replacement for Blandine in the office has bitten the dust, I have no choice but to step into the breach and go back to the office - starting on Monday. I can't believe it but until Francois finds a suitable long term replacement it's going to have to be all hands on deck. Have lectured children extensively about their role in this (not fighting, being nice to the au pair, doing their homework before I get home) but fear it is falling on deaf ears. My child tolerance threshold is very very low after two weeks of interminable holiday and I think we shall all breathe a sigh of relief on Monday morning. Except perhaps the au pair who is as yet blissfully unaware that her work schedule is about to double.

Anyway my dreams of entering a state of delicious convalescence - in comfortable yet attractive lounging suit stretched out on the sofa with a good book and a pile of DVDs - have been swiftly replaced with visions of me tearing hair out before Excel spreadsheets and potentially researching divorce lawyers....oh well - at least it will get me away from the kids.

Born Again

2008-04-16T18:57:00.003+01:00

It's hard to know where to start after such a long break from blogging - but as the begging emails are starting to stack up I thought I'd better check in.

Before the ski holiday I was nervous as hell. For some reason I doubted my ability to leave the country - I had a vague feeling that someone would point a finger at me as I went through the security gate and shout 'Go Back, you have cancer...!' completely illogical but until I stepped foot on foreign soil I didn't realise how deeply entrenched the fear was.

The sense of liberation I felt as we drove out of the airport in our squashy car rental took my breath away.

I decided that despite the dodgy legs and complete lack of stamina, I was going to force myself to ski every day, even if only for half an hour. Day one was scary as hell. I clipped the skis on and had to slip down a tiny but steep alley to get to the lift. My legs started to shake and I was sure I was going to fall. I kept worrying about the insurance policy we had and whether it would cover me for repatriation after chemo if I broke my leg. I snowploughed down the slope like a five year old and then had to stop for five minutes to stop my heart from beating so fast.

Poor Francois put paid to all fantasies he may have had about careering over the black runs and acted as my personal 'moniteur' - a complete star - and coaxed me down one blue piste, after which I had to call it a day. The next day was brilliantly sunny (the only one as it turned out) so I knew I had to make it to some of the higher slopes which involved a couple of red runs. Still some serious wobbling and a pathetic topple in the powder as I barely had the strength to lift my skis - but I managed about an hour and so the week continued...through blizzards, fog and pouring rain...until on Friday I managed to ski for a couple of hours straight without a tremor - and realised I was smiling.

The kids had a fantastic time - the children's village was superb and we barely saw them - dropping them off for a three course lunch at 11:45 and only picking them up at 5:30 after a 3 hour lesson and some apres ski activities. My apres ski sadly consisted of eating a plate of pasta in the appartment and collapsing in bed by about 9pm. Francois said I'd be sitting at the table looking quite ok one minute and then suddenly I looked as if I was going to fall over at which point I literally just collapsed into bed, usually before the children. I think I'd have done better if I wasn't also fighting a horrendous head cold (typcial), but I was so chuffed with my skiing and spending some rare quality time together as a family that it didn't matter.

We spent the weekend with friends in Geneva and determined not to lose the muscle strength I'd gained, I walked each day for 2 hours. Have come back completely determined to get in great shape. Now that the chemo, surgery and rads are over it feels as if I've been given a chance to live over again, but this time I'm going to do it right. The doc puts my five year survival rates at between 70% and 80% which would have completely freaked me out only a few months ago, but now they seem like rather good odds, and no reason not to live every day to the full. On Saturday night in Geneva, in a clapped out old bed, I slept for 10 straight hours, for the first time since last July.

Now looking forward to the next holiday, and the one after that. Whatever the MRI on right boob shows up next week, I know that I can handle it.

Ententes Cordiales

2008-03-16T15:36:00.008Z

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.

The abyss

2008-03-13T12:59:00.002Z

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.

A finger on the button

2008-03-06T14:48:00.009Z

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.

No Justice

2008-03-03T20:02:00.001Z

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.

Freefall

2008-03-01T12:20:00.004Z

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.

Vacuum

2008-02-26T14:58:00.004Z

I am blog deficient. Nothing whatsoever has come to mind to write about this week, though it hasn't been a particularly bad one. Rads every day seem to bring about a sort of perfidious malaise - some may call it bog idle. Every day revolves around me going into town, getting nuked and coming home - with an occasional detour around JL. The rest of the day is spent thinking about, shopping for, talking about or preparing FOOD. It is so so boring. Mum is here this week and I have delegated some of the above to her. Yesterday I made two vats of soup - one for us and one Francois-friendly. By 2pm today there was none left. There are now another two vats simmering on the hob as I write. This is all I can think about. Better leave the blog alone.

Spare Change

2008-02-19T12:14:00.003Z

Hurrah - the life belt of flab that has been appearing steadily around my middle since Christmas is not entirely down to overeating. It is the menopause. The breast care nurse has confirmed that the chemotherapy has sprung me into it without a backward glance. That would also explain my sudden urge to get naked during the second act of The History Boys at the Wyndham, and may even go some way to explaining why, having been bald as a baby's butt for months, I now have a furry face. There is no justice. For everyone who looks on menopause as a great relief from the tyranny of the menstrual cycle - I am suprised to find that there is something deeply shocking about having all that taken away overnight.

A familiar marking of the passage of time that despite our complaints, provides a rythmn, a logic, a normality to our everyday lives that is comfortable and reassuring. I expect I will get over this feeling of being somehow cheated out of another 10 years of womanhood - or young womanhood - and will be only too grateful to have another 10 years of any life at all - but today it is another reminder that I am not the woman I once was.

Breast is best

2008-02-18T18:42:00.005Z

Got chatting to a woman only a little older than me at the cancer clinic this morning. She was there with her husband who was being treated for pancreatic cancer. Three teenage children and a very poor prognosis. It was the one of those rare moments when I felt lucky to have breast cancer. Despite the relentless health scares in the press telling us to eat more veg, smoke less, drink less, take more exercise and so on and on - it seems to me that cancer does not read the papers. Cancer does not care if you eat brocolli every day of your life or spend hours hunting down organic free range chicken. Cancer is arbitrary. The club that no one wants to join - yet only offers lifetime membership - a striking contrast to my newly arrived official Arsenal waiting list certificate, where I may wait a lifetime and never become a member - at a mere 44,723rd from the top.

Route 73

2008-02-15T17:21:00.005Z

The radiotherapy fatigue seems to be kicking in - not helped by having a couple of late afternoon appointments which means the whole day seems to be spent on the wretched 73 bus. The morning crowd are bearable in their collective misery but the same cannot be said for the afternoon brigade - who, despite all my recent buddhist reading, invariably reduce me to considering acts of extreme violence.

Things that annoy me most

1. People who listen to music on their mobile phone - without headphones - so that the fifty people crammed in around them have to experience the endless earsplitting tinny beat from the phone's micro speaker. Hell on earth - particularly when two or more mobile dictators set up in competition with each other.

2. People who spend the entire journey talking on their mobile phone. 'Shuu-uuup Man, naaaahhh you shuuu-uuuup, wassat? Naah man, shuuu-uuup yar maaafff man'. Forty five minutes without a consonant from the gorgeous Turkish girl standing so close I could feel her breath on my right ear. I also now know exactly where and when the blonde in front of me will be holding her birthday drinks party and that the young man who got off at Clissold Crescent has someone bringing him 3 valium. Bloody Hell - should have got off with him.

3. People who sit next to you and eat Kentucky fried chicken from a box with their fingers. This requires no elaboration.

Is it just me or do these people really consider themselves to be of such supreme importance that the physical comfort of others is completely irrelevant? My father says it is better than in his day when they had to put signs up asking people not to spit on the bus.

The weekend has been quiet and I've been able to catch up on a bit of much needed rest. The bus kicked us all off at Euston on Friday so I walked the rest of the way to the hospital arriving puffed out, late, out of breath and out of sorts. Sat there looking at all the old men with prostate cancer and the old women wearing wigs and wondering how the hell I got into this predicament. Francois must have had some kind of sixth sense because he phoned just as I was having a minor breakdown in the loo and helped me to pull myself together. I was warned that one of the side effects of radio is emotional instability so I have to remind myself that this too will pass.

The kids are now wending their way to Shropshire with my father and the au pair - so silence reigns until Friday. The thrill of not having to produce 15 meals a day is starting to sink in and I have been able to lie in bed reading about Heather Mills as seen through the eyes of her manicurist without a single interruption.

My lovely heavily pregnant cousin Jane and I have been swapping crises and comfort recipes and I made her version of a Lancashire hotpot yesterday which ticked all the boxes. Cheap, copious, easy and quick (if you don't count the 4 hours it spends in the oven.) I think when all this is over there might be a cookbook in it.

X ray visions

2008-02-13T16:40:00.004Z

The long silence is not due to anything sinister - rather that my life has suddenly become rather full. Full of going into town for radiotherapy, doing things with children and cooking and having my sister and family to stay etc. The treatment is so much better than I'd imagined and a week has already passed since the first - so a fifth of the way there - or 20% - whichever is shorter - or longer? I usually take the 73 to Euston Square and walk the last 15 minutes and as the weather has been glorious and the route takes in plenty of little coffee shops and delis - it is the sort of rambling I enjoy. On the way back I often find myself in JL having a mooch, or coffee, or lunch.

Radiotherapy is no more than lying on a bed in the same position every day (the lasers are matched up to my tattoos) while they shoot a high dose x ray at my boob - first from top right - then the machine rotates and shoots it from bottom left. The whole thing takes about 5 minutes - and leaves the skin looking a little sunburned - but that's about it. They say that the side effects will start to kick in after about 3 weeks - but for now I am pretty well and active with just the odd bout of fatigue. My legs have good days (like yesterday - when I managed a whole day's shopping with Helen) and less good (like today - when I have had to spend all afternoon in bed) - but I am so grateful for the good days and the bad ones seem to be getting less frequent.

I took both the children with me to the hospital separately and the staff were fantastic - letting them play with all the buttons, lie on the bed and watch me on the camera. After Luc asked me last week if you could die from radiotherapy I decided that demystifying the whole process could only be a good thing. Their different reactions to the whole thing were interesting - Emily - as usual - fairly sang froid - apparently able to read the x ray they showed her at first glance but decide that the whole thing was a lot less interesting than the planned trip to JL to meet my cousin Jane and choose baby items. Luc worried about the fact that everyone had to leave the room during the treatment, asking why it was safe for me to still be in there. He also insisted on the obligatory JL visit (I have taught them well) but for nothing as frivolous as baby browsing. He was desperate for me to buy him a diary which he now writes in religiously and secretly every evening at his big desk using his box of sharp red Luc Domange pencils.

Half term approaches and I have somehow ended up with 9am appointments every day while the kids are in Shropshire and I have no need to get up at 7am - but it means I then have the whole day to do other important things - such as watch back to back DVDs of Lost series 3 which my lovely neighbours are kindly passing to me one by one. Improbable though the whole thing is - there is something compelling to me about a group of people whose lives explode and they find themselves in an entirely new world, lost, afraid and disorientated. After a period of time facing all sorts of demons and reflecting on their past, they come to a clearer understanding of who they are, and adapt to their new surroundings....no surprises there then....

My hair is coming back with enthusiasm - I noticed on the bus as the sun hit my face at a certain angle that even the lone goatee hair on my right cheek had made a comeback. I had hoped it might feel it not worth the effort. The hair on my head is so thick you can no longer see my scalp shining through and I was chuffed when someone asked me how many weeks it had taken to grow so long! (Yes, it was at the cancer clinic - but I was grateful nonetheless.)

I forget that in the outside world I still look as if I've just been discovered having an affair with a German soldier so when I took my hat off in the stifling tube today had to put up with some not very discreet staring - but its a small price to pay.

Summit to summit

2008-02-04T19:04:00.000Z

He's done it! Anyone who's been reading their blog will know how bloody hard it's been - but finally - after a final 8 hour misery stretch with barely enough oxygen to blow up a balloon, James (Glass) and his mates have made it to the top of Aconagua. Thanks to everyone who has already donated to his super worthy cause - he already has £3,500 to give to The Haven - and counting.

James is third from right in red - small but efficient. Well bloody done cousin!

While some of us are climbing mountains, others are having trouble climbing the stairs. The idea of walking uphill for 8 hours a day just fills me with horror. I have been reassured (sort of) that pains in the leg muscles and joints is par for the course after chemo - particularly the one I've been given - but living in a tall thin house like this one is driving me nuts. I long to live in an appartment where every room is on the same level, and I don't have to spend an hour weighing up the pros and cons of getting a glass of water. I imagine this is what it feels like to be old. I'm sure that all the lying around hasn't helped, and as my newly arrived booklet 'Coping with Fatigue' suggests a walk every day I've been trying to put that into practice. Yesterday once around Clissold Park with Geraldine, today twice round with Helen - and amazingly my legs do seem to be loosening up a little.

Another good weekend - kicked off by a trip to the opera to see La Traviata with Pippa and Nick. Thoroughly enjoyed every minute despite its uncanny parallels with my own life. Could feel everyone holding their breath uneasily throughout Act III as they suddenly remembered how long and drawn out Violetta's death scene actually is - but they needn't have worried - I found it all strangely cathartic. Have made a mental note to stock up on long frilly white nightdresses next time I'm in JL.

Saturday was filled with kids activities and on Sunday I made lunch for Geraldine, Tom and children which was lovely and normal.

There's been some discussion here about my head. Or rather my hair. Having now relegated wigs, scarves and the like to the back of the wardrobe, making do with a new cordouroy cap to brave the elements, the kids are not happy. Not at all happy. They are thrilled to be having friends round on Wednesday for a belated pancake day - sorry - best I could do - but starting to neurose about what I will be wearing (or not) on my head. Luc is afraid that people will laugh at me and therefore laugh at him (a fate worse than death) and Emily is still pretending that none of this is happening - so both have a vested interest in getting me wigged up for Wed. The au pair said she thought they were both being incredibly selfish and that they should support me, whatever I looked like - and that it isn't all that bad anyway - but I could see it both ways. I don't want to embarrass them, but nor do I want to walk around my own home feeling hot and uncomfortable - and if I'm really honest - I'm quite proud of my new super soft crop. What the kids don't realise is that children don't really care about other people's parents - only their own - but I guess that's enough.

I can't believe that I only have one more day of this relative freedom before I will once again be a slave to the treatment. I remember at the beginning of chemo, counting each one off and trying to constantly juggle the numbers in my head - 2 down, a third of the way etc. Five weeks every day just seems insurmountable at this moment, although of course I know it isn't. Just another mountain to climb.

Treatment Part Three

2008-01-29T14:01:00.000Z

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....

Peaks and troughs

2008-01-28T18:08:00.000Z

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...

Five Star Football

2008-01-27T13:26:00.000Z

(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?

The Bits Between

2008-01-25T15:10:00.000Z

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.

Midweek moan

2008-01-23T20:49:00.000Z

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.

Spend spend spend

2008-01-18T09:52:00.000Z

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...

The small hours

2008-01-16T01:39:00.000Z

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.

Life is sweet

2008-01-15T17:35:00.000Z

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!

New Year's resolutions

2008-01-13T18:41:00.000Z

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

Onwards and upwards

2008-01-11T14:42:00.000Z

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...

Moment of truth

2008-01-07T16:59:00.000Z

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.

Happy New Year!

2008-01-03T20:49:00.001Z

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

Lego for grownups

2007-12-31T13:52:00.000Z

The children have gone to Shropshire for a week and I am bereft. They have taken both Nintendo DS lite consoles with them. I have been forced to send off to Amazon for two point and click pc games to entertain me now that I will not have the joy of getting Super Mario to World 4 or lowering my brain age below 35. I have considered buying my own set - but as the pre christmas rush on stock has added £50 to their price, the sheer extravagance of it is too much even for me.

Now that the chemo drugs are working their way out of my system I am starting to remember what it feels like to be normal - but suffered a severe setback this weekend after agreeing to spend half of it in Ikea buying Luc a new wardrobe...Hoping not to go back ever again, we somehow came back with not one but two enormous cupboards which have transformed his room into something resembling the Pax catalogue. What were we thinking?

Having moved all of his stuff (and there is a lot of it) into Emily's room, I now realise that the rest of the week will be spent trying to filter and chuck, rather than enjoying plenty of r&r as I had imagined. The other problem is that while the giant wardrobes are almost finished (thanks to the efforts of Francois, Mark A, a couple of screwdrivers and a lot of swearing), there were unfortunately no shelves in stock to go in them so I can't even start putting things away. Why or why does Ikea exist if not to torture us?

Perhaps its a good thing there is no Nintendo here after all...

Aint no mountain high enough

2007-12-29T19:12:00.000Z

My cousin James (of no previous climbing experience) has decided to risk life and limb and climb one of the highest and most unforgiving mountains in the world - Aconcagua in Argentina. He will be doing this in aid of one of my favourite charities, the Breast Cancer Haven, which you will know has provided me with invaluable support, information and help over these last months - and I have many more sessions planned after my treatment. I can think of no better recipient as currently there are only two Haven's in the UK, with a third planned for Leeds next year. It costs £1000 to put one woman through the programme but we are not asked to pay a penny for access to wonderful therapists, nurses and counsellors. It is a real life line for hundreds, if not thousands of women, but as it depends entirely on charitable donations and receives no official funding, every penny raised is put to immediate use and the effect is felt immediately.

James has been busting a gut even over Xmas, training day in and day out by walking for 8 hours at a time carrying 20kg rucksack on his back - as you will see from the pic on his website. He is aiming to raise £10,000 in total but any sum, however large or small, would be very gratefully received.....

To sponsor James and support the Breast Cancer Haven, please click on the link below

http://www.justgiving.com/jamesglasson

All donations are secure and sent electronically to Breast Cancer Haven. If you are a UK taxpayer, Justgiving will automatically reclaim 28% Gift Aid on your behalf, so your donation is worth even more. Please join us in supporting Breast Cancer Haven and a fabulous cause.

Happy New Year and GOOD LUCK JAMES!!!!

Happy Christmas

2007-12-28T17:54:00.000Z

Just as those terrified soldiers in the first world war trenches found the inspiration to carve little works of art out of wood while the world was falling apart around them - so I have found that in the midst of my personal battle, this Christmas has turned out to be one of great peace and joy.

Perhaps a little melodramatic in terms of analogy - but letting go of all expectations has meant that I have appreciated every minute in a way I haven't before and after a slightly shaky start I found that I felt very glad to be me and exactly where I am, despite everything.

On Saturday night I put on my hair and a sparkly frock for Nick and Pippa's party and managed to transform myself into something resembling my old self. The au pair did an enormous double take when she saw me coming down the stairs and kept looking at me incredulously while muttering things like 'Incroyable' and 'c'est magnifique!'. I remain eternally grateful to the Look Good Feel Better crew for that wonderful session where I learnt to colour myself in - it felt really good to be wearing something other than my cosy Gap joggers and a floppy top.

I spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening trying to sing Xmas carols over those who had been at the Arsenal victory match against Tottenham that same afternoon - you know who you are!!! - and chatting to lots of people I know well and I couple I don't know at all - which was wonderfully liberating as they had no idea that everything they were looking at was fake and the conversation did not hinge around my health and wellbeing. I even forgot about it for a while which is always a relief. In true cinderella style I left before midnight and changed back into a slug.

My poor parents arrived on Sunday laden with food after reading my last blog and evidently prepared for a siege - and Francois took both kids to Harrods for essentials such as foie gras and macaroons from La Duree.

Mass on Xmas Eve was so beautiful and I only cried once which I thought was quite impressive really. The wobble came on the way out as I watched everyone making their way home to their families and I was overcome with jealousy and self pity that they were all going home to a cancer free Christmas and I was not - but after a stern talking to from myself and my very sensible husband, I pulled myself together and had that much anticipated glass of champagne along with some incredibly good smoked salmon and a little slice of foie gras - and the moment was gone.

My sister and I both share the ridiculous habit of waking up hours before the children on Christmas day and waiting for them to get up - so I was watching TV and drinking tea from about 6am when I heard them stir at around 8.30. I had to charge back to bed so they wouldn't suspect it was me eating the mince pie and the carrot. Such a baby...

They were, of course, utterly and completely spoilt - more so this year than usual - largely due to my inept internet shopping which went into chair leg mode as I kept forgetting what I'd got and then trying to even up presents so one didn't have more than the other. They loved everything and Luc kept running around declaring that he 'loved his life' - how easily his affections can be bought!

I cooked probably the simplest Xmas lunch I have ever made but one of the most delicious - - and my galley slaves obediently did all the clearing up while I had a two hour sleep in the afternoon and the kids watched a DVD. The glass of wine at lunchtime completely finished me off after these months of abstinence.

On Boxing Day, Francois' sister, her husband, her three grown up kids, and the wife of the eldest, plus her parents arrived so we had 14 for lunch. Instead of panicking and running round trying to make sure everything was perfect I did little more than to put the leftovers on the table accompanied by a couple of salads and some super simple puddings I'd made at the weekend. Everyone was on good form, no one fell out, no plates were thrown, no adult burst into tears and apart from getting locked into Clissold Park and having to climb over the fence to get out, the whole day went without a hitch.

Francois is pleased that we have not a shred of turkey left and only one slice of ham remains.

This Christmas has taught me that living in the moment is far more worthwhile than dwelling on a past I cannot change or a future that hasn't happened.

Tis the season to be jolly

2007-12-21T22:42:00.000Z

My sense of time has abandoned me. The other day I wrote July 07 on a cheque - and it occurred to me that that is the moment when my clock stopped. And yet here I am looking at another Christmas tree and handing out Vitamin C. If the doctor is right, I had breast cancer last Christmas and the one before that but those were normal Christmases where my biggest worry was whether I'd get it all done in time. This year I know that it doesn't really matter. Christmas will happen anyway - but knowing now what I didn't know then changes the shape of it.

Just as I start to emerge from the fog and the cold and various other ailments too revolting to relate, I find myself nursing a boy who stuck his Nintendo pen in his ear and a husband who has collapsed in a heap with the flu after a gruelling few weeks. Even the au pair is ill. I have made no Xmas pudding, no Xmas Cake and haven't been near a supermarket in weeks. Luckily parents are arriving on Sunday with a food parcel or we may well end up eating more of the pasta from the bottomless 5kg bag I mistakenly bought on the internet.

My loathing of supermarkets and general inability to get all the way round the big Sainsbury's is turning me into a whizz at storecupboard cookery and the children have learned not to comment on sardine pasta with black olives or tinned pears with walnuts. They are positively thrilled with my Fridge dregs curry or tuna 'surprise' and if nothing else this is turning them into even more adventurous eaters - though Emily says she will never eat brocolli again and Luc won't touch a frozen pea.

Francois is moaning as usual about having Turkey for Christmas dinner - saying how boring it is and how we'll have to eat it for a week - which of course in my view just adds to its attraction.

A strange thing happened the other day. I was in Woolworth's and saw someone I knew. She pretended she hadn't seen me and as I approached she turned the other way. I hesitated for a minute, wondering whether I should just bite the bullet and say hello. She obviously felt incredibly awkward and didn't know what to say to me and my instinct to put her at her ease suddenly felt as if it would waste more energy than I could afford to spend. I wonder whether she would have done the same if I had a more acceptable illness or operation - and I wonder whether I might have done the same if I found myself in her position.

In fact I'm no better at handling these things either really. Walking around Stoke Newington poses continual problems as I know so many people here to say hello to - but if I don't want to get to the 'how are you?' part I have to develop avoidance strategies. Sometimes it's because I really don't feel I know them well enough to explain why I am wearing a flowery headscarf in December and sometimes it's because it seems so unfair to tell them the truth and watch them struggle to find a response.

It's a lesson in vulnerability on so many levels. I think the worst thing is knowing that people feel sorry for me - seeing the pity in their eyes makes me feel so useless - and caterpults me into upbeat overdrive assuring them I am fine - assuring myself I am fine. And of course I know this is unreasonable of me - that I would do exactly the same - but somehow it serves to accentuate the great divide - the one in which I am on the other side.

But as fluff starts to appear on top of my head (hurrah!!) and the nausea subsides (hurrah hurrah!) I realise that I will soon have no time to dwell on these things - and about bloody time too.

In any event - I will definitely be raising that glass of Champagne I've been on about for 6 months to you and wishing all my fantastic friends and family a very merry Christmas and a happy and healthy new year. I couldn't have got through 2007 without you. Thank you.

Gunner heaven

2007-12-18T16:46:00.000Z

After yesterday, I if you cut Luc in half you would find red and white stripes. Fantastic time watching the players train before meeting the whole of the first team. He now has an autograph book filled with their signatures and two disposable cameras full of photos - although I suspect most of them will turn out to be of Gunnersaurus or the floor. He was thrilled that Fabregast (spelling ??) asked him how old he was and assured me that 'Theo is really good looking.' My boy - on first name terms with Arsenal players. Francois gutted that he didn't speak to any of the Frenchies but his nerves got the better of him. Maybe next time.....

Best Laid Plans

2007-12-17T14:20:00.001Z

I've been busy as anything getting ready for Xmas - taking Emily shopping and both kids to Wagamama and the cinema - not to mention wrapping up (almost) everything in time for op tomorrow - which has now been cancelled due to my bad cold! Provisional date now 8th Jan...

The road to uncertainty continues...but I am philosophical. The panic of last week has subsided and I am reassured that waiting another 2 or 3 weeks will not change my prognosis and that my surgeon will be fitter and more rested after his Xmas break...

Luc completely chuffed to have won an invite to the Arsenal Junior Gunners Xmas party today - had to drop him off at 10 - and will pick him up at 5 - where he will apparently watch the first team train and then get to meet them all and get their autographs. He was up and dressed in his specially decorated t-shirt at dawn, Arsenal back pack filled with disposable cameras, pens and his precious membership card. After queuing for 50 minutes in the freezing cold (I was early) he ran in without a backwards glance while I ran back to a parking ticket on the car....

Emily happy with her new pink mobile phone which matches her new pink braces - and have secretly given her an extra top up as she spent the first lot in three days. Her birthday (seems like ages ago) went without a hitch and she was thoroughly spoiled. Phone in one hand, Sylvanian Family nursery in the other - the exact divide between childhood and adolescence.

She has made a great group of friends at the new school and at her Xmas concert last week the display of sheer comraderie and enthusiasm was uplifting. Stoke Newington is not school as we know it - but it has a dynamism and joy that I wished I'd had - not to mention a bevvy of beautiful male teachers - the au pair was positively drooling - until Emily told us that the one she had her eye on was actually 'gay - so deal with it' . Needless to say he is top of the popularity list.

Talking of hot teachers, Luc's nativity was absolutely beautiful - only marred by Luc himself - in the front row - once again doing his impression of an escaped lunatic. Why oh why do I have to spend every one of his concerts with my hands over my face. Still the back view of Mr Bobb provided some welcome Xmas cheer - and I noticed I was not alone in this thought.

Luc's piano recital at the Vortex jazz club yesterday was far less embarrassing - I was completely impressed by his enthusiasm and rythmn - his rendition of Jingle Bells accompanied by the guitar and the double bass took as all by surprise - we only hope that next year he may finally learn to play with two hands....

Slice and Dice

2007-12-11T17:15:00.001Z

Well after a weekend holed up with the kids I ventured out today for (as you will now not be surprised to hear) a trip to the doctor's, an ultrasound and a flit around John Lewis. The ultrasound failed to turn up anything of interest as the mysterious 3mm lump is too small to see except with an mri - and the consultant was adamant that he knew all about it but wanted to wait and see what the second mri showed up as they have a tendency to show up everything - even when it is not relevant. In any event - my options are now limited and I have agreed to wait 3 months for another mri, and to assess the situation then. In the meantime, he assures me I am not in any immediate danger. Could have done with not having this hanging over me - but uncertainty is now a feature of my life so I am not on unfamiliar territory.

The good news is that I am to have surgery next Tuesday 18th December to remove what's left of my cancer, along with a sentinel node biopsy to ascertain which lymph nodes drain the tumour - which will then be removed. If all is clear that will be the end of that - but if tumour cells are found I will need a second operation under the arm to remove more lymph nodes. I could have had this at the same time - but it is a much bigger operation and carries a risk of lymphodoema which is a pain in the butt (well the arm to be precise) - so I opted to take it in stages in case it proves not to be necessary. The surgery will also mean I will get the full pathology of this little bugger - but to receive it I have to go to Wimbledon at 2.30pm on Friday afternoon 21st December!!!! I can only imagine the horror of my 26 hour round trip on the Friday before Xmas - probably won't get back till xmas eve - and all that 3 days after surgery. Oh well - I did insist on being sliced and diced before xmas so can't complain....

I already feel as if a weight has been lifted and that I will at least have the worst behind me before the festivities. And it appears that that is not the only thing to be lifted as the consultant assured me that he will reconstruct me so well that I'll end up with a beautiful left boob - better perhaps than the current model - and that he is happy to do the same to the right at some later date. Eat your heart out Pammie..

So just a few clear days now to finish my Xmas shopping and start the wrapping so I'll have nothing to do except eat turkey and drink Champagne....

I should be so Lucky

2007-12-07T20:16:00.000Z

Difficult to write anything at the moment after another rollercoaster week.

Monday and Tuesday were blissful at The Haven in Fulham. Thanks so much Rita and Nuala for their excellent chauffeuring/chatting service - it added to my enjoyment enormously! More about that another day.

Wednesday started brilliantly when I discovered over coffee that my lovely friends had an ulterior motive in inviting me to the cafe and handed me a sheet of paper covered with fab pictures of Kylie in Showgirl costume, on the back of which was written that I am to receive 2 tickets to her sellout concert at the 02 centre next July - exactly one year after my diagnosis. It was one of the few moments in my life when I can say I was speechless...as those around that table will confirm. I am already practising my disco diva dance moves... So a big thank you to the Kylie Consortium...

Wednesday finished well too with a trip to the ballet with Emily and Pippa and her daughter Alice to see Jewels at the ROH - very sparkly with divine costumes. In the theatre I can forget myself for a while - it offers a tangible release from the everyday pressure - and it was great to see Emily enjoying herself so much. Have resolved to do more of that.

On Thursday an ultrasound scan revealed that my tumour has not shrunk at all since the last scan (three chemos ago) but after my initial disappointment I decided to focus on the fact that at least it is half its original size. Not the result I was hoping for but perhaps not the end of the world.

On Friday I went for my MRI - this time listening to the three tenors singing 'My Way'. I have told them that they really have to improve their CD collection. My chat with the radiologist started well when he confirmed that my first MRI showed my tumour at 25mm x 25mm (smaller than I thought) and the fact that it is now only 12mm x 14mm is overall good news. He then said 'And the 8mm lump in the other breast is now only 3mm'. I don't know who was more suprised - me - because this is the first I've heard of another lump - or him that I didn't know. Apparently he wrote in his report to my consultant back in August that he recommended an ultrasound to determine what kind of lump it is. So here I am again - left in the dark until Tuesday when said consultant can explain to me what the hell is going on. I seriously suspect that he failed to read that bit of the report - but I will reserve judgement until then.

Anyway I don't suppose this news would have changed anything about my treatment - it will just be more difficult now to identify what kind of lump this new one is - although the fact that it appears to have responded to chemotherapy does not, in my view, bode well. Lop 'em both off is my current feeling but perhaps I will soften in time.

Wipe out

2007-11-28T16:32:00.000Z

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

2007-11-20T20:18:00.000Z

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

2007-11-16T21:54:00.000Z

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?

2007-11-13T11:03:00.000Z

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

2007-11-12T10:09:00.000Z

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

2007-11-11T20:09:00.000Z

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

2007-11-09T09:36:00.001Z

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

2007-11-07T09:42:00.000Z

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

2007-11-03T11:40:00.000Z

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?

2007-11-01T06:54:00.000Z

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?

Your life in your hands

2007-10-16T15:16:00.000+01:00

Things have really taken a turn for the worse. Not only have I given up dairy - more of that later - but I have replaced it with cross stitch. Some strange urge came over me in haberdashery at JL and I found my way sidling over to the cash desk with a tiny package and a scary number of lavender threads - all of which I later discovered had to be divided into 6 individual strands. This was about the same time I discovered there was no printed picture on the scarily blank white cloth and I actually had to fully concentrate on counting endless identical squares containing druid colour symbols in order to replicate the 'Charming Victorian picture panel'.

But I have to say - it saw me through some bad post chemo hours - the very effort of it all has had a strangely calming effect on my usual frantic state - and I find myself thinking about bringing a halogen light into the bedroom or even moving the furniture to get a better light...Will my life ever be the same again?

Also spent a large part of today reading my new bible - 'Your Life in your Hands' by Professor Jane Plant. A scientist and long term breast cancer survivor - she has conducted a huge amount of seriously compelling evidence showing a link between eating milk, cheese, yoghurt and all things dairy - and the growing incidence of both breast and prostate cancers in western society. I for one am convinced that I will be doing myself a huge favour in forgoing these things - and giving my diet a complete overhaul. I know that I am also forgoing dinner invitations for the rest of my life and that my entire French family will now look at me with even more polite forebearance - but I can live with that.

Fourth time lucky?

2007-10-12T20:43:00.001+01:00

Back from chemo four and not too bad so far. Have changed some of the medication to hopefully help with sickness and post steroid crashing. Am so full of vitamins, veg juice and green tea that I'm hoping the good guys will fight back. Mum arriving tomorrow and Francois promising to take rare weekend off work but not holding my breath. Had a good chat with the oncologist who assures me I will get a full recap and explanation of exactly what is going on in my body when all the chemos are finished. I think that this is the person I should be talking to for the inside story. Assuming surgery goes ahead on 11th December I will then have a break until after Xmas and then 5 weeks of radiotherapy - every day except Sat and Sun. May have written this before but a bit bleary eyed tonight and can't really remember. Thanks to everyone who has written me emails and new comments on the blog over the last couple of days - it has kept me busy on the laptop for the last few hours - reading and replying - as well as fitting in a bit of birthday and xmas shopping - I can't believe that I have to do 2 birthdays between now and Xmas - as well as two more chemos and an operation - not forgetting Halloween - couldn't have picked a better time!

I am off to Shropshire on Friday am for the half term - cadging lift with my Mum which means I won't have to make the late night drive myself - probably not up to it anyway - back on the Sunday before school starts back again. Really looking forward to a change of scene and plan a trip to the Hereford Breast Cancer Haven as well as some quality time with Emily who is in desperate need. Hope to come back refreshed and ready for the next onslaught.

Thanks also to Beccy and Nuala for picking me up from the hospital today - and buying me a dosser box(?) - a brilliant device for organising the 4000 drugs I have to take at various times of day and for Hayley for coming again yesterday and making me laugh and planning our yoga holiday for next year.....

Still dairy free and actually getting used to the fish tank tea - oncologist said there was a lot of research going on about this at the moment and it is worth trying -

Now starting to flag - next few days may be a bit rough but at least I know what to expect...Luc is lying in bed next to me and has just called me 'wild and sexy'. Aren't boys wonderful...

Two thirds tomorrow

2007-10-11T00:12:00.000+01:00

Just a real quickie before chemo number four tomorrow...

Had a really good day - felt well, got some work done, had reflexology and delicious Otto Lenghi takeaway with lovely friend Kathy and then went to the ballet with Pippa, Claire and Lucy. Fantastic. Forgotten there was a world out there. Will definitely be doing more of that!

Feeling really happy tonight and not at all anxious about tomorrow - will lie around with visions of La Bayadere and its glorious costumes and beautiful choreography floating in my head. Thanks for inviting my Pippa - you are a star.

I'm planning on hitting this one running and hopefully the 47 supplements I am now taking combined with the 94 litres of beetroot juice I have consumed in the last two days and my entirely worthy dairy free lifestyle will have me back in the land of the living in no time...

Watch this space...

Cancer Bore

2007-10-09T22:43:00.000+01:00

I am the absolutely last person on earth I thought would ever say this - but I thought I'd better come clean now rather than have this leak out slowly - or worse - to have to admit this over and over again publicly - but I am now well and truly a member of The Other Side. This week, after much internet blogging and research, I have decided to give up all dairy produce. And worse is to come...I have bought a carton of soya milk. This has led to the inevitable - I can no longer drink tea or coffee as soya milk and Taylors of Harrowgate just do not work.

It's official. I am turning into a Cancer Bore.

But the path to dairy free righteousness has not been easy...

Yesterday

7am Woke up and made cup of 'Especially Rare (expensive) Chinese Green Tea (indistinguishable from drinking directly out of fish tank)

10am Freshly squeezed beetroot, celery and cucumber juice. No I am not joking.

1pm Lunch - had to go to Fresh and Wild as had nothing suitable in house.

(While there stocked up on interesting low fat meat alternatives and more hideously expensive dairy free stuff)

7pm Supper -Quorn mince with wholeweat pasta. Yuck yuck yuck

10pm Delicous cup of Fennel Tea

Today

7am - More fish tank tea. Meusli made with soya milk (yuck yuck yuck) made bearable by addition of a ton of nuts and dried fruit.

11am - Cup of Barley NO CAFF with soya milk - hot, wet and tasteless

1pm - Thank God for John Lewis - very tasty lentil salad with hummous, roast artichokes and tomato soup.

7pm - Chicken curry made without yoghurt - weird.

Clearly I will have to live in John Lewis. I always knew it would come to this.

Not so bad

2007-10-09T16:40:00.000+01:00

Feeling very guilty now about my miserable blog but that's the way it is on this side - up and down - but overall more up than down. Heard an excellent Woman's Hour this am about the shock of diagnosis and it summed it all up really - the reality of it comes in waves. Happy denial fuelled by distraction only goes so far. Anyway - two good nights of sleep have done wonders for my energy levels and I fairly shot around JL today - not only changed the red towels - for more red towels - hopefully not shedders - but also managed a bit of Xmas shopping - In October! Un heard of. Paid a visit to the new 'food hall' which is a rather disappointing cross between Waitrose and Selfridges. Rows of ordinary Waitrose food laid out so you can't find it. The only noticeable difference was the posh patisserie counter and the cheese room (a la fromagerie). It was also completely packed with queues everywhere.

Kids meant to do swimming and ballet tonight but both too tired to move. Luc said we were all exhausted, 'because we're tired of you being ill'. Perhaps my bad week is rubbing off on them.

So while technaupair is upstairs skyping her boyfriend on the webcam - we are chilling out and watching Ugly Betty. Much better than swimming....

Bad Week

2007-10-08T14:42:00.000+01:00

Apologies for long silence - but since Tuesday morale has been low on the Other Side. A nurse told me at the beginning of this that after the third chemo people often felt rubbish - combination of fatigue and the shock of diagnosis. I should have planned a few more 'treats' or to see people as that always helps but just didn't have the energy really. Anyway - forced myself out of the malaise at the weekend and had dinner with kids at Karen and Tim's which was really nice - particularly as France won the rugby - Luc now decided he is in fact half French.

On Sunday we had a walk around Regents Park - beautiful Autumnal day - which was good for morale but rubbish for legs which actually started trembling after about half an hour. Have resolved to walk for about an hour a day whenever I can to get some muscle strength back. Totally pathetic. Tomorrow my walk will be around John Lewis as I sadly have to take my gorgeous red towels back as they are shedding all over the house and the au pair. On Wed I have yoga followed by reflexology so that should also get the circulation going - and then - can you believe it - chemo number 4 on Thursday.

Apart from forcing myself out of the house - the other spirit lifting thing I have done is become a member of a fantastic site called Cancer Buddies Network (Thanks Tam) where you can drone on to people in a similar situation instead of offloading on long suffering spouse.

I will be sending emails instead of Xmas cards this year and donating the money saved to them as they charge nothing and are a complete life saver at times like these. I will also be holding a coffee morning at some point next year as a fundraiser so watch this space! If anyone is looking for a new charity to support this year - please bear this one in mind... You can find them at www.cancerbuddiesnetwork.org.

Other than the big C - life goes on pretty much as normal for everyone else. Emily won't stop banging on about having a mobile phone - and I made the stupid mistake of suggesting she did a straw poll to see how many of her friends actually had one. Yup - all of them. She is, in fact, the only child in her wide circle of friends not to have a bloody phone. What is the point? All I can see looming ahead is years of arguing on it and about it. It's not as if she has to travel anywhere on public transport. Francois was even more vehement on this than me but on Sat night I saw distinct cracks in his resolve when telling Karen and Tim about the 'very nice pink one' he had seen while taking Emily to the orthodontist...

Luc thrilled to receive giant package from Joe H filled with Arsenal goodies - including signed pics of Walcott and Fabregas. I could see him thinking that this cancer thing is not all bad...
Other than that he has stopped tormenting the aupair - and turned down the rantometer. Major emotional blow up last week seems to have cleared the air. It's not easy for me but it's probably harder for everyone else.

Francois busy as ever at work with new boy starting today and wine show looming - but England Vs France this weekend might (or might not) help...

Reflexology contact

2007-10-03T11:09:00.000+01:00

For those people who have asked me how to get in touch with the fantastic Tony Porter - reflexologist extraordinaire and all round fantastic person - his phone number is 07768 077414 and his email address is artreflex@btinternet.com. He currently practices in Muswell Hill - so pretty easy journey - and you can park outside. Highly recommended for everything - not just what I've got!

A cup half full...

2007-10-02T12:40:00.000+01:00

Saw consultant today and the plan is to have three more chemotherapies - and surgery provisionally booked for 11th December. Radiotherapy after Xmas will complete the treatment. I will then see him every 3 months for 2 years, every 6 months for 5 years and then once a year forever....

He said that I will not need any continuing drug treatment as my cancer is not hormone receptive - which makes it more aggressive - but one which responds extremely well to chemotherapy. I was momentarily flummoxed, having persuaded myself that I would definitely be on 'miracle' pills for the next 5 years, and took the liberty of asking him some questions - inspired by reading those damn articles / books etc.

He commented that I was obviously a negative person who saw my glass half empty. (And that I should be thrilled that there is a light at the end of the treatment tunnel - rather than questionning my prognosis.)

I am currently fuming about that - but will get over it.

I realise that no one can say whether or not the cancer will come back - and that I have to find a way of living with this uncertainty - but wanting to ask everything you can think of in the 7 minutes you have with the doctor seems to me to be one of the keys in managing a fragile state of mind.

Anyway - fuming aside - the only thing I can do to maximise my chances that it will not come back is to stay healthy, exercise, eat well and maintain a positive mental attitude - so watch out world - and in particular Jane and Taidgh - I might be swimming Lake Geneva after all.....!

Chocolate Awareness Month

2007-09-30T19:34:00.000+01:00

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...

A reading list (part 1)

2007-09-29T14:25:00.000+01:00

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.

Ultra ultra sound

2007-09-28T22:34:00.000+01:00

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....

Third Time Lucky

2007-09-27T20:26:00.000+01:00

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....

Pre chemo quickie

2007-09-19T22:08:00.000+01:00

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.

So much to do, so little time

2007-09-17T15:25:00.000+01:00

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.

Therapy

2007-09-10T19:58:00.000+01:00

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.

On Bravery

2007-09-09T09:01:00.000+01:00

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.....!

Yoga for beginners

2007-09-08T16:18:00.000+01:00

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...

Hair today...

2007-09-07T10:17:00.000+01:00

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?

One hell of a summer

2007-09-04T17:21:00.000+01:00

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.

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!

At home I managed to get in to see a really great consultant called Robert Carpenter who is head of dept at Barts, and thanks to being married to a French hypochondriac, have never stopped paying the BUPA payments which allowed everything that followed to happen at lightening speed and in the most comfortable of settings. To cut a long story short - 2 days and 2 painful biopsies later I was told I had an aggressive grade 3 tumour which was too big to cut out without having a complete mastectomy and that the best course of action would be to start chemotherapy as soon as possible to try to shrink the tumour, making it a bit more scalpel friendly, and then to have surgery at a later date. All I could really hear were words that didn't seem to apply to me - mastectomy, chemotherapy, body image??? What the hell was he talking about? It felt as if I was in a film starring me. I remember staring at him blankly before saying, 'Oh my God, I hope no one expects me to climb a bloody mountain?' I imagine this is a common response. The next few days are a blur of bone scans, liver scans, chest x-rays and mris.

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.