Walk on the wild side

Well, it’s been an exciting couple of days.

On Sunday, a nineteen-strong ‘Team Martin’ (comprised mainly of friends and supporters from Beaufort Players) set off through the meadows at Syon Park for the 5km Wildflower Walk in aid of Cancer Research UK.

It turned out to be an absolutely gorgeous day and on our way we variously inspected flowers, fed geese and ate delicious cake. (Thank you, Craig!) I had been concerned that my chemo-weakened legs would cause me a problem but thankfully the effects seemed to have completely subsided by Sunday. So it was all good.

Collectively, we have also managed to raise a substantial amount for Cancer Research UK and their excellent work. Thank you to everyone who has donated and, for anyone who would still like to, I understand that the Just Giving page will stay open until August.

'Team Martin' set off ... and our completion certificate.

Sadly though, come Monday, the sunshine had disappeared as Mr P. and I set off to the somewhat inappropriately named (in such drizzly weather) ‘Paradise Park’ in Hertfordshire.

Mr P. had been given a 'Meet the Meerkat' experience as a gift and I intended to take on the role of photographer. However, when we arrived it transpired that I could also get up-close-and-personal with some furry friends so, of course, I jumped at the chance!

They were absolutely adorable and I loved every minute of it: feeding them grapes, stroking their fur and watching them burrow into Mr P's coat. Brilliant.

"You looking at me?!"

And lastly, today. We were back at Charing Cross Hospital for the penultimate measurement and, yet again, it was great news. My tumour has continued to shrink to the point that it is now actually very difficult to measure. A generous estimate puts it at 1.2cm x 1.2cm, which is down 55% in the last three weeks and 87% on its original size. And we've still got two treatments to go!

So tomorrow, I'll have my last-but-one dose of Docetaxel and prepare myself for the inevitable muscle and joint pains etc. However, at least I now know what to expect and know that they will get better in due course.

And I actually have four weeks to recover from this treatment, rather than three. It turns out that, because of the Jubilee celebrations - i.e. extra Bank Holiday etc - my final session will be a full week later than planned on Wednesday 13th June. (Boo! Pesky Queen!)

This is only three weeks before my scheduled operation date but hopefully that's still OK. Don't really want to have to move it. On the plus side though, as Mr P. pointed out, it does mean that I get two 'good weeks' this session. So every cloud ... !

The infamous Mr P

I’m afraid to say it but I think I’ve created a monster.

Mr P.'s even said it himself. Apparently by telling the world how supportive he’s been, I've caused his head to swell (even more) and he’s started to believe his own hype.

In honesty though, he has been brilliant and I can’t imagine having done all this without him. However can I also say, for all his old friends who think he’s either turned over a new leaf or had a personality transplant, he does still have his irascible and naughty moments.

Indeed, taking him to the hospital often feels like taking a child to the supermarket; I have to keep a constant eye on him and check who he’s talking to or what he’s touching.

Like the day he started a row with the old lady volunteering in the League of Friends cafe over its ‘medieval’ payment facilities (they didn’t accept cards), or he found a kindred argumentative spirit in the Macmillan lady with whom he ranted at length about extortionate hospital parking charges. (To be fair, they are outrageous!)

Then there's the opportunistic touching of me each time I put on a hospital gown (and that's quite a lot) and the rifling through unattended medical trolleys to see what he can 'find'.

So please rest assured, he’s still the provocative, out-spoken attention-seeker that you all remember. But that’s why we love him ...

Always in my thoughts

It was seven years ago today that my Dad passed away.

I’ve talked a lot about my Dad on this blog. He was bloody-minded and stubborn and always liked to do things his way.  I think I might take after him ... ;-)

And, like me, he was a perpetual fidget. He couldn’t sit still and relax and always had to be ‘doing’ something, however mundane. Right up until the end he was drafting plans for household improvements, designing theatre sets, directing plays ... I was, and am, incredibly proud of him.

Ultimately, when they finally managed to drag him away from his computer or out of his workshop, he spent his last few days at St Giles’ Hospice.  Many of those reading this from the Lichfield area will be familiar with St Giles and its work and probably know someone who has been a patient there.

As an independent charity, they need to raise funds and this month have created a ‘Starflower Garden’ of Remembrance in which personalised Starflower Pegs will bear the name of friends and loved ones who are no longer with us.

And so I have sponsored one. I thought it would be a nice gesture, particularly as I am going up to see my Mum in a few weeks for her birthday and will be able drop by and see it for myself.

The same goes for anyone else who happens to find themselves in Whittington; please pop in and take a look.  And if you do spot ‘Brian Martin’, please be sure to give him my best ... x

The countdown begins ...

Eight weeks today and my tumour will be history.

It’s good to finally be able to plan for the operation and know when I will or won’t be able to do things. Obviously there is always the risk of infection and/or complications but, assuming all goes well, I’m hoping the radiotherapy could also be done and dusted by around the end of August.

We had some preliminary warm-up celebrations at the weekend. My sister travelled down from Hereford and we variously drank, danced, ate and pub-quizzed with another fifteen of my friends. It was really great fun. My sister is already planning her return trips for June and July!

So for now, I’m on a ‘good’ week. I’m still quite tired but I think that’s to be expected after such a busy weekend. I do have a few nice nights out planned with Mr P. but during the day, apart from some general pottering, there really is no imperative for me to get anything in particular done.

It’s a hard life ...

May the fourth be with you!

What an absolutely brilliant day! I am now formally registered as a patient at The Royal Marsden Hospital where I will undertake the remainder of my (post chemo) treatment.

We've waited a long time for this to happen but I’m so glad that I persevered and got myself transferred from Ealing Hospital. The facilities at the 'Marsden are second to none and I have absolute confidence and faith that I will get the best and most appropriate treatment according to my need.

And ... I've also got an operation date! My tumour (and the old lymph nodes) will be removed on Tuesday 3rd July. All things being equal, this looks like being a day procedure (under general anaesthetic), but this will be confirmed later in June. However, the date is fixed. Hurrah!

I'd always been keen to mark the end of chemo by doing something fun to celebrate my birthday at the end of June and now this can double-up as a massive 'Goodbye, Good Riddance!' party for our uninvited guest. I fully intend to see the little f*cker off in style!

I'm so happy, I can't stop smiling.

'Ave it!

Onwards and upwards

I thought I’d better write a little post today because sometimes, if I don’t, people get worried and think that I must be very unwell.

Often that is the case. However, in this instance it’s more that I have nothing much to report. The muscle spasms and pain are subsiding. It’s not gone but it’s more general weakness in the limbs. I stood at the sink for 10 minutes earlier but then had to sit down because my legs were too tired to finish the washing up. That’s my excuse, anyway ...

It’s not as debilitating as the last three treatments though and I have managed to see people this week. On Monday night I managed to drive and had a hilarious dinner with some friends and yesterday Lorna came round to see me.

I’ve known Lorna since about 1985 and bizarrely, despite growing up in Staffordshire and over 10 years of us not being in touch, we now live round the corner from each other in Ealing. Lorna’s had her own cancer journey, having survived ovarian cancer (10 years all clear) and losing her Dad a year after I lost mine. Her Mum has survived breast cancer too – twice!

In fact, it’s through our parents that we know each other. That and the legendary Lichfield Youth Theatre; children of the local am-dram fraternity thrust together to pen sketches, perform musicals and generally lark about every Wednesday and Sunday at Lichfield Arts Centre. Golden halcyon days.

We’re hoping to recapture some of that youthful exuberance this weekend. My sister is coming from Hereford and another of our number, the infamous ‘Quinny’, will be travelling from south London, for a one-night-only Ealing performance. I’m really looking forward to seeing them.

Fortunately Mr P. is quite a formidable force in his own right otherwise this could have been a daunting prospect for him. However, he has already been thoroughly vetted and awarded ‘honorary LYT girl’ status. And that’s quite an achievement, let me tell you ...

Living the high life!

Oh yes, I’ve plumbed new depths of dullness this morning and at 10.30am found myself – alone – in Tesco’s cafe with a cup of tea and a piece of shortbread.  My life really is that exciting these days.

This solitary caffeine and sugar-fix however, was very much needed.  If I let myself get dehydrated, or hungry, then the nausea starts to kick in.  So it was just me, nursing my brew, and a few (very) random pensioners eating fry-ups.

I’d set out early to drop Mr P. at the station and then run a few errands to try and get things done before the fatigue kicks in or the pain gets too much.

It really is excruciating: like every tiny bone in my body is shrieking at me. My feet and ankles are particularly bad but, to be fair, I can’t think of a bit of me that doesn’t hurt right now. Oh, apart from my head ... I don’t have a headache!  Hurrah!

I had been taking warm mineral baths to try and alleviate things but now I think they make it worse. Last night was particularly upsetting. We’d had a lovely evening with our friend Amy, who came round to see us, and then I decided to have a soak before bed.   Anyway, to cut a long story short, I’d only been in the warm water about five minutes and the pain in my feet and the back of my ankles became so extreme that I couldn’t move. I certainly couldn’t stand to get out of the bath, so the situation just got worse.

In the end, poor Mr P. had to lift me out like a little bald baby covered in bubbles – then swaddle me in towels to stop me shaking uncontrollably from the cold and shock. It really was distressing for both of us. There really is no room left for pride or dignity with some of these treatments!

And that’s why I want to just say again, how completely and utterly grateful I am to have someone like Mr P. to love and support me. People often forget what an enormous emotional and physical burden is carried day-to-day by our loved ones. In fact, many carers end up feeling guilty and think that their feelings are inconsequential in comparison to the patient’s – but that’s simply not true, you’re all incredibly important and special.

In the case of my lovely Mr. P, I can’t think of many 31-year old guys who would have embraced the challenge of this situation so strongly and readily.  I know he’s found it extremely hard at times but I really couldn’t have wished for a better travelling companion on this journey ...