Girls, girls, girls ...

Today I have been left to my own devices as Mr P. and the other lads are spending the day in central London on our good friend Alan’s stag do.

The girls though, did want to play their part – and so Gemma, the bride-to-be, and I (with cameos from our female friends) prepared a little video offering for the boys to watch this morning: a salacious spoof of ‘The Good Wife Guide’ (c. 1955). 

It’s been a few weeks in the making, trying to film and edit around my treatment and recovery days, but it was good fun to do and gave me a little project to work on. And judging from the messages I’ve received, the boys seem to have enjoyed it too! (Indeed, Mr P. said he was 'very proud' ...)

However, the other ladies have been kept in suspense and won’t be seeing it until this evening when we too will be venturing out for a few drinks (although, admittedly, nothing as riotous as our men have got planned!)

I’m looking forward to seeing everyone and having a night out. I have become a bit withdrawn of late and it’ll do me good to socialise. And then tomorrow, Mr P. and I are off to another wedding. Although, what sort of state he’ll be in and when, or if(!), we manage to arrive will be anyone’s guess ...

That’s what friends are for ...

To celebrate being half-way through my chemo, I had a couple of friends over last night to drink a little wine, eat some pizza and generally chew the fat.

It was a fun evening; very low key but I think we’ll keep the big bash for my birthday at the end of June, when chemo will be finished and (hopefully) we’ll be getting ready for surgery.

My friends really are very sweet. We talked about my lack of confidence with the wig etc. and also about how they could help me. Others have telephoned and asked me about this too but the honest answer is that, for now, just knowing that you’re all there for me, willing me on, really does make a difference.

Because, in a practical sense, there’s not much to be done at the moment in that I go to the hospital twice every three weeks and Mr P. likes to come with me.  Further down the line though, we probably will need more hands on support - particularly with the radiotherapy visits, which will be every day for a number of weeks. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it ...

And so we begin to get ready for the second half. I’ve got another week before I see the Oncologist  and get myself measured but I’m hopeful for another good reduction.  I’m also keeping myself busy, with assorted lunches, dinners and nights out planned over the next few days, so the time will go quickly.

Oh, and I’ve managed to re-book onto the Maggie’s Centre workshop that I missed last week. And, fingers crossed, it really will live up to its name and give me the boost I need to ‘Look Good, Feel Better’ ...

It's all about confidence ...

And I seem to have completely lost mine at the moment.

Not in my treatment – that seems to be going very well.  But I’ve definitely lost significant confidence in myself and the way I look, and will look in the coming weeks and months.

Mr P. and I went to a wedding this weekend and I met lots of people that I hadn’t met before. People who may, or may not, have known that I have cancer but probably didn’t realise that I was wearing a wig.

Now, I’ve already said that I’m not ‘wig confident’. Even though it is a good wig, I’m not able to move my head completely naturally, style it in the way I would really like, and I live in permanent fear of it slipping or someone knocking it off.  So being in a room full of (albeit lovely and friendly) people who with increasingly drunken exuberance hugged me, kissed me and generally flailed their arms in my direction on the dance floor, filled me with unmitigated terror!

Obviously with close friends or people who are aware of the situation I could say ‘please don’t touch my hair or put your arms round my shoulders’ but with people I’ve only just met that would have been impossible and churlish.

Consequently, I felt like a massive party pooper in wanting to keep out of the way of the ‘action’. Anyone who knows me well will know that this is completely at odds with my natural behaviour. I’m normally right in the thick of it, at the heart of the chaos – having very likely started it (or egged someone else on!)

I hate feeling like this and subjecting Mr P. to it too. His natural ebullience is legendary, so I then end up feeling guilty because neither of us is able to completely relax and be ourselves.  But I can’t help it. Rightly or wrongly, so much of our self-esteem is determined by how we feel about ourselves and our appearance. 

In honesty, I actually feel much more comfortable in just a scarf or hat because then there’s no pretence.  However, knowing that I’ll probably lose my eyebrows and lovely long eyelashes over the course of the next three treatments also really upsets me.  And yes, I know this is sheer, shallow vanity but at least I admit it!

Better out than in!

It wasn’t only outside that the dark clouds descended this week. I’ve been in a very strange mood. Very unsettled.

This has been my ‘bad’ week. I was really very unwell on Monday and Tuesday and sadly had to cancel my appointment to go to the Maggie’s Centre as I couldn’t face leaving the house, let alone brave the tube into Hammersmith for a two-hour workshop.  (Although I will try to get a place on the next one)

And so I stayed at home and felt sorry for myself. I couldn’t even sit and read or watch a film; the pain behind my eyes (like a migraine) and the constant feeling of nausea was so completely distracting that the only thing to try and do was sleep. Out of sheer, bloody, boredom. 

However, one TV programme that I did manage to watch was BBC2’s Horizon documentary on The Royal Marsden: ‘Defeating Cancer’. It was really very good. It profiled all the new technologies that they are piloting: robotic surgery, laser radiotherapy and targeted new drugs for people for whom all other options have been exhausted. The guys at the ‘Marsden, (and the Institute of Cancer Research), clearly know their onions and it was interesting to see where I will be going in May.

Fortunately I woke up on Wednesday feeling a bit better and even felt sociable enough for a friend to pop round for a cup of tea and a chat. I also had a little look on some of the various cancer research/support websites to see if there was anything that I, or any of my friends, could get involved in to help raise money.

Clearly I won’t be doing any sponsored runs anytime soon(!) but I did spot the 5km Wild Flower Walk in Syon Park in Isleworth, which is really very close by. You don’t have to get sponsorship (unless you want to), just donate and take part – so I’m trying to encourage a few of my friends to consider coming along.

Strangely – or not, really, when you think about it – the documentary, websites etc. must have triggered something in me and yesterday evening I just completely lost it. My mood had already made the evening a bit tense but I just started crying and couldn’t stop. It was a proper, full-on, sob-fest.

Poor Mr. P didn’t know what to do. He thought it was something he’d said or done and, of course, it was neither.  Just the sheer enormity of “everything” had got on top of me: seeing myself every day with no hair and knowing that in just a few weeks my eyebrows and lashes will be gone too; not having the full use of my arm because of the damage to my veins; planning my life around treatment dates and recovery cycles and not being able to take part in things that I really love and enjoy.  Never mind physically, it can spiritually and emotionally break you.

As I said to Mr P, I’ve been so busy just getting on with it, that I’ve not really had a chance to consider how I feel about it.  “And how do you feel about it?” he said. And so I was honest:  

- I want to go back to before Christmas
- I want it to all go away
- I don’t want to have cancer ...

So that’s that. I guess it’s good to get these things off your chest ... pardon the pun.

Anyway, the fact is that we are where we are. So I do need to man-up and get on with it. I found an excellent blog today by a Baptist Minister in Scotland. For any atheists or non-Christians reading, please don’t worry, it’s not a religious or spiritual blog but a really frank and useful account of her neoadjuvant (i.e. pre-surgery) FEC-T chemotherapy treatment.

In particular, she talks about phlebitis (inflamed veins) and says that she was told to use her arm as much as possible to avoid permanent damage, like when you have a sprain. She also talks about the ‘heightened senses’ on FEC - when even just to watch TV is too much sensory input and normal smells and tastes, particularly sharp or citrus ones – (like cigarette smoke or aftershave, in my case – sorry, Mr.P!) - can drive you to distraction.

It’s also given me an insight of what to expect next from the Docetaxel (or Taxotere). It certainly doesn’t sound like it will be a walk in the park, far from it, but forewarned is forearmed as they say. So I’ll put down the tissues and put my metaphorical tin-hat back on.  I’ve still got a fight on my hands and while I can allow myself a moment of weakness, I really don’t have time to wallow!

Rain, rain, go away!

OK, what happened to the sunshine?  Only last week I was having new fences put up in my garden and now I’m putting the central heating on. It’s all pretty cheerless.

That said, I suppose it is typical UK Bank Holiday weather. Grey and drizzly. The sort of afternoon when you just want to snuggle up on the sofa with a digestive biscuit and a ‘Carry On’ film.

Sadly though, the Easter TV schedule has been somewhat lacking. I truly felt let down this morning to discover that, despite the Bank Holiday, the BBC thought I might still want to catch a mid-morning episode of  ‘Cash in the [bloody] attic’.  Seriously?!

You’ll note that I’m a bit grumpy. I woke up today feeling pretty crap and, right at this moment, I’m having to listen to my neighbour’s grandchildren scream their heads off downstairs.  Either they’ve eaten too much chocolate or not enough, but I’d be willing to muffle their shrill little cries with a box or two of mini-eggs right now.

I have also been consuming chocolate. Mr P. arrived yesterday armed with a generous selection of treats which we scoffed in front of ‘Team America’  - (“F*ck, yeah!”) – followed by ‘Jurassic Park’.  It was a really lovely laid-back, if sugar-loaded, evening.

Today though, I had a bit of a relapse. Once I stop taking the steroids my body really starts to notice how bad the chemo has made it feel. It’s basically like a hangover: headache, nausea, dehydration ... which will probably last for a day or two. I was hoping to see some friends today but I really need to stay home and rest. And, fingers crossed, I’ll still make it to my workshop at the Maggie’s Centre tomorrow.

Fortunately though, for Mr P., he has gone out this afternoon and doesn’t have to suffer my mithering.  His good friend (and fellow cider enthusiast), Rob, is getting married on Saturday and they’re picking up their suits. (I believe there might also be a curry in the offing and I’m a little bit jealous ...)

Anyway, the good news is that it means that I’ve got another five days to get myself well for the celebrations. And who knows, by then the sun might decide to pop back and see us too?

Be true to yourself

The Easter holiday always makes me think of my Dad’s Mum, Daisy.

Mr P. and I were walking through WH Smiths the other day and there, on the stationery display, was a small selection of Easter cards. Every year without fail, my Nan would send me one: a quaint tradition that even for the most dedicated of Christians had long since lapsed.

Aside from her strong faith, which I know she had, I always admired her strong practical resolve to do her own thing.  She was so independent-minded.  Even aged well into her eighties, she would still walk down to Littlehampton sea-front and do a couple of shifts a week at the Windmill Theatre – either manning the box-office or, more hilariously, acting as usher in the cinema.

The thought of that used to really make me laugh. She was a tiny little thing with tight white curls and watery blue eyes. I remember going to stay with her and listening to her complain about the ‘trendy’ outfit they were making her wear - (it really wasn’t ... it was nylon and floral) – and how much she’d enjoyed the Jean-Claude Van Damme film that she’d seen three times that week.  She really was a character.

Anyway, my convoluted point is that we all approach life and its challenges in our own unique way. People have been very complimentary in saying how positive I’m being in my approach to my treatment but I guess, with feisty role models like my Nan and my Dad, I’m not sure I could really be any different!

And I wouldn’t want to be either.  After all, to steal an adage from a childhood poster I once had: “To dream of the person you would like to be, is to waste the person you are ... ”

Happy Easter!

Easter Greetings

This is probably the first time in several years that I’ve spent the Easter break in London.

Normally, I’d take advantage of the long weekend and take a trip up to Staffordshire and see my Mum.  However, I really can’t travel that far so soon after treatment. I haven’t been that unwell but I feel very unsettled. It’s hard to describe. I think it’s the steroids – they make you feel very edgy and jittery.

I am getting better at dealing with the side effects though. I’m drinking plenty of water to avoid dehydration and headaches, as well as staving off the nausea, thanks to lots of apricot and ginger cordial. It’s been a real god-send. On the downside though, I’m constantly on the loo ... but at least, now I’ve also got myself some sleeping tablets (to offset the effect of the steroids) I only wake up once or twice a night!

The other thing that people don’t really talk about is just how badly chemotherapy affects your digestion.  Maybe not everyone suffers from it but the poor, long-suffering Mr P. has had to endure quite a lot from his bald, flatulent girlfriend these last few days. :-0

But still he treats me like a Princess, bless him. Home-cooked dinners, breakfast in bed ... constantly checking that I’m OK and telling me I’m pretty even though I have less hair on my wispy head than a baby orang-utan.

Today though, he is relieved of care duties. I have returned to my own flat and he has ventured out on a little expedition: to watch the ‘Boat Race’. Not that he has any interest in rowing – not many people who bother going down to the River actually do – but he does have a very active interest in drinking cider with his friends.

So, I shall see him tomorrow - at some point.  And hopefully, with the aid of a few chocolate eggs, take care of him as well as he has been taking care of me.