....Where would we be without hope? We all need some. Whether it’s hoping for a good day tomorrow, hoping for happiness, success or health for ourselves, family and friends or hoping we pick the right numbers on the lottery!
Thanks to the hope of others I’ve had a very “easy” day of chemo today. No driving for over an hour to the hospital and another hour back again. No waiting for the inevitable delay in treatment in a large oncology department. Was my treatment handled any less professionally? Certainly wasn’t. I could have shut my eyes and quite easily imagined myself in the usual chemo suite.
The secret of this “easy” day? The secret was that today I had my treatment on a Mobile Chemotherapy Unit supplied by Hope for Tomorrow. A hope transformed into a reality.
The only downside to this option is that it deprives Mr Bad Fairy and myself from some entertainment. The car park of a hospital isn’t a place usually seen as competition to the Comedy Store but on a good day ours is! We must have spent hours over the past nine months sniggering into take-away cups of tea at the shenanigans that take place in the car park. I’m the first to admit that my parking skills are not the greatest, yet I come away feeling quite competent. We’ve had a little old lady getting out of her car to rip verbal shreds off a younger man who had dared to sneak into the space she’d been so carefully measuring up and shuffling to and from for the past fifteen minutes…..he moved! Then there are those who seem to believe that the white line must be perfectly aligned under the centre of their car. The “If I back into a dead end then I can grab your space even though you can’t actually get out of it” brigade. The ones who believe all kerbs are naked unless carefully and deliberately smeared with the bits of rubber you don’t really need to keep on your tyres. And Mr BF’s favourites, the ones who have to open the car door (after umpteen manoeuvres to drive up in a straight line) to reach the ticket machine at the exit barrier! The joys, who said life was dull?
Tuesday 30 March 2010
Sunday 28 March 2010
Why the name "Bad Fairy" .....
.... I suppose I should explain.
My lovely aunt has just emailed to tell me that she's concerned about me branding Mr BF and the junior BFs with my title of Bad Fairy throughout my blog! She quite rightly associates the word "bad" with the cancer.
So, an explanation for anyone wondering the same thing.
A good while ago, after a particularly giggly conversation with a friend, she announced that I must have a bad fairy sat on my shoulder. Her reasons for this were related to the belief that we all have an angel and a devil sat on opposite shoulders, whispering into our ears and acting as our conscience.
Apparently, although I have a slightly naughty streak, it never makes me behave maliciously or vindictively and therefore can't be the voice of a devil, but must simply be a bad fairy encouraging me to say and do the things that get me into trouble!
Henceforth I was known as the Bad Fairy.
Apologies if you've heard this before, but I don't want you all imagining a fairy that's rotting from the inside out .... although with a dose of toxic burps after chemo it's an easy mistake to make!
My lovely aunt has just emailed to tell me that she's concerned about me branding Mr BF and the junior BFs with my title of Bad Fairy throughout my blog! She quite rightly associates the word "bad" with the cancer.
So, an explanation for anyone wondering the same thing.
A good while ago, after a particularly giggly conversation with a friend, she announced that I must have a bad fairy sat on my shoulder. Her reasons for this were related to the belief that we all have an angel and a devil sat on opposite shoulders, whispering into our ears and acting as our conscience.
Apparently, although I have a slightly naughty streak, it never makes me behave maliciously or vindictively and therefore can't be the voice of a devil, but must simply be a bad fairy encouraging me to say and do the things that get me into trouble!
Henceforth I was known as the Bad Fairy.
Apologies if you've heard this before, but I don't want you all imagining a fairy that's rotting from the inside out .... although with a dose of toxic burps after chemo it's an easy mistake to make!
Saturday 27 March 2010
Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been....
…..goes without saying I must smile a lot then!
Although Miss Bad Fairy disagrees, she thinks I could do more smiling apparently and Master BF says in his lovely, sincere and gorgeous tones, “Mum, I don’t want to upset you or anything, but your tummy’s looking really fat!” Now, remind me … Miss BF said what?? In fairness to them their comments did make me laugh, along with causing another impromptu amateur human biology lesson, which only made them laugh when they were shown the accompanying sketches on the back of an envelope!
Some people just seem to have a knack for making others smile and laugh don’t you think? On this new adventure, one which given a choice I’d have probably passed on buying a ticket for but there didn’t appear to be an opt out clause, I’ve found so many who are gifted in this area of facial expression.
Dr. Socks (not his real name), wears snazzy, smiley socks which we have to inspect before each consultation. Despite the serious side of our discussions there is usually a reason to smile before each has finished. Last time it was a story about steak tartare which I won’t repeat for fear of any repercussions and then me referring to the chemo consent form as a last requests form (oops!). His able assistants are just as cheerful, Dr. Tinkerbell (she rustles up the magic and gets things done) and Dr Boy Scout (too young by half and our first conversation started with a tongue in cheek chat about coming to consultations with a “Be Prepared” attitude….sleeping bags, camping stove and picnic!
The oncology nurses, too many to mention by name, although a couple (who have psuedonyms) can be mentioned without me needing extra sticky plasters next week … there’s the singing nurse, she lights up the room with her renditions of various tunes, Winston’s mum, always smiling and keeping me up to date on how many wires Winston has sneakily chewed. Peter Pan Nurse, the first chemo nurse to ever have the dubious pleasure of treating me. I’ll have to work on the names so I can mention a few more… Road Runner is a possibility but we’ll see, depends how the Race for Life goes! All wonderful and invariably smiley. Ignoring the needles, sticky plasters, “kiss me quick” hats/sick bowls and the colourful and toxic concoctions they distribute, they make a visit to the chemo suite quite an entertaining trip.
And finally (drum roll please, Hula dancers enter stage left and strike up the ukuleles), we have the airport lounge …sorry, I mean the reception staff, have you seen the new reception at Cheltenham? Puts Terminal 5 to shame!! They work away like little elves on a miniature paper mountain that resembles Mount Vesuvius (in this paper free society that we have). The computer screens constantly flash and ping and the phones are never left to ring and ring. They put people at ease, give directions, listen to moans and gripes, answer questions, organise replacement blood paperwork that numpty patients forgot to take home with them and realise on Friday afternoon they need first thing on Monday ….ho hum. And still they smile.
One particularly smiler can be mentioned by name (’cos I asked!). I think, going on the twinkle in her eye that she’s also a secret bad fairy. Not related you understand, but made from a similar mould, she’d probably tell you she’s the Mark 2 version with me being the experimental model!
She was the first person I met at Cheltenham hospital, by virtue of the fact she was sat at the reception desk where I had to check in. What a welcome to this strange new world. She smiled. Without saying a word she let me know that it was ok to be me and not put on my “library” face. What a weight that was lifted off my shoulders. Pippa hasn’t had a lot to smile about herself lately and yet she still manages it. She gives smiles away for free. When I’m no longer visiting the hospital, Pippa will be one of those memories that will reassure Mr BF and, in particular, the junior bad fairies that there are some wonderful people in this world who made what could be a depressing time, quite cheerful and full of those all important smiles. Thank you Pippa. I’ll raise a glass of Cheeky Vimto to you and suffer the consequences for the next week … but you’re worth it!!
“A Smile costs nothing, but gives much
It enriches those who receive, without making poorer those who give
It takes but a moment, but the memory of it sometimes lasts forever
None is so rich or mighty that he can get along without it,
and none is so poor, but that he can be made rich by it
A Smile creates happiness in the home, fosters good will in business,
and is the countersign of friendship
It brings rest to the weary, cheer to the discouraged, sunshine to the sad,
and it is nature’s best antidote for trouble.
Yet it cannot be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen,
for it is something that is of no value to anyone, until it is given away
Some people are too tired to give you a smile;
Give them one of yours, as none needs a smile so much as he who has no more to give.”
Now….how many smiler recruits can I rustle up today?
Although Miss Bad Fairy disagrees, she thinks I could do more smiling apparently and Master BF says in his lovely, sincere and gorgeous tones, “Mum, I don’t want to upset you or anything, but your tummy’s looking really fat!” Now, remind me … Miss BF said what?? In fairness to them their comments did make me laugh, along with causing another impromptu amateur human biology lesson, which only made them laugh when they were shown the accompanying sketches on the back of an envelope!
Some people just seem to have a knack for making others smile and laugh don’t you think? On this new adventure, one which given a choice I’d have probably passed on buying a ticket for but there didn’t appear to be an opt out clause, I’ve found so many who are gifted in this area of facial expression.
Dr. Socks (not his real name), wears snazzy, smiley socks which we have to inspect before each consultation. Despite the serious side of our discussions there is usually a reason to smile before each has finished. Last time it was a story about steak tartare which I won’t repeat for fear of any repercussions and then me referring to the chemo consent form as a last requests form (oops!). His able assistants are just as cheerful, Dr. Tinkerbell (she rustles up the magic and gets things done) and Dr Boy Scout (too young by half and our first conversation started with a tongue in cheek chat about coming to consultations with a “Be Prepared” attitude….sleeping bags, camping stove and picnic!
The oncology nurses, too many to mention by name, although a couple (who have psuedonyms) can be mentioned without me needing extra sticky plasters next week … there’s the singing nurse, she lights up the room with her renditions of various tunes, Winston’s mum, always smiling and keeping me up to date on how many wires Winston has sneakily chewed. Peter Pan Nurse, the first chemo nurse to ever have the dubious pleasure of treating me. I’ll have to work on the names so I can mention a few more… Road Runner is a possibility but we’ll see, depends how the Race for Life goes! All wonderful and invariably smiley. Ignoring the needles, sticky plasters, “kiss me quick” hats/sick bowls and the colourful and toxic concoctions they distribute, they make a visit to the chemo suite quite an entertaining trip.
And finally (drum roll please, Hula dancers enter stage left and strike up the ukuleles), we have the airport lounge …sorry, I mean the reception staff, have you seen the new reception at Cheltenham? Puts Terminal 5 to shame!! They work away like little elves on a miniature paper mountain that resembles Mount Vesuvius (in this paper free society that we have). The computer screens constantly flash and ping and the phones are never left to ring and ring. They put people at ease, give directions, listen to moans and gripes, answer questions, organise replacement blood paperwork that numpty patients forgot to take home with them and realise on Friday afternoon they need first thing on Monday ….ho hum. And still they smile.
One particularly smiler can be mentioned by name (’cos I asked!). I think, going on the twinkle in her eye that she’s also a secret bad fairy. Not related you understand, but made from a similar mould, she’d probably tell you she’s the Mark 2 version with me being the experimental model!
She was the first person I met at Cheltenham hospital, by virtue of the fact she was sat at the reception desk where I had to check in. What a welcome to this strange new world. She smiled. Without saying a word she let me know that it was ok to be me and not put on my “library” face. What a weight that was lifted off my shoulders. Pippa hasn’t had a lot to smile about herself lately and yet she still manages it. She gives smiles away for free. When I’m no longer visiting the hospital, Pippa will be one of those memories that will reassure Mr BF and, in particular, the junior bad fairies that there are some wonderful people in this world who made what could be a depressing time, quite cheerful and full of those all important smiles. Thank you Pippa. I’ll raise a glass of Cheeky Vimto to you and suffer the consequences for the next week … but you’re worth it!!
“A Smile costs nothing, but gives much
It enriches those who receive, without making poorer those who give
It takes but a moment, but the memory of it sometimes lasts forever
None is so rich or mighty that he can get along without it,
and none is so poor, but that he can be made rich by it
A Smile creates happiness in the home, fosters good will in business,
and is the countersign of friendship
It brings rest to the weary, cheer to the discouraged, sunshine to the sad,
and it is nature’s best antidote for trouble.
Yet it cannot be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen,
for it is something that is of no value to anyone, until it is given away
Some people are too tired to give you a smile;
Give them one of yours, as none needs a smile so much as he who has no more to give.”
Now….how many smiler recruits can I rustle up today?
"Red Devil" unleashed ....
…..and a new red bucket list toy!
Miniscule red devils are marauding through my veins doing battle as I type. Hopefully they’re tackling those nasty, sneaky cancer cells that have invaded the rather essential Bad Fairy liver. Only time will tell, so I’m doing my bit by cheerleading from the outside willing the little devils along and dropping hints that if they’d like to avoid some of the good Bad Fairy bits it’d be much appreciated!
My marbles haven’t completely left me (although some might argue differently), “red devil” is a nickname for Adriamycin/Doxorubicin, the chemo drug of the week … and next week and a few more weeks after that.
The red devils were unleashed for the first round on Thursday. A relatively non-event, thankfully! So far so good, no sickness thanks to the copious amounts of anti-emetics. The only downside is heartburn and lots of acid, probably from the steroids. I do have some stuff (technical term!) to wipe out stomach acid but am thinking about possibly risking reducing the steroids next week to see if that helps. One hint of sickness and I’ll change my mind!!
I do wonder sometimes, I have breast cancer yet my breast tumour is rarely discussed. All discussions and concern centre around my liver. I understand completely that being a vital organ if it stops working there is no more Bad Fairy, something the breast tumour alone is unlikely to cause, or at least not in the very near future. Yet it frustrates me! Mr BF is under strict instructions that when I keel over and am no more he MUST make sure that everyone is aware that it is breast cancer that started all of this. The probability is that liver failure will take me, but labelling me as a liver failure death would be wrong and detract from the essential awareness of breast cancer research and the importance of early detection, particularly in young women in which it is harder to detect. Does that make sense or am I stamping my fairy foot for nothing?
Rant over ... soapbox returned to the corner!
And now …the new red bucket list toy. It was my 41st birthday in February and an opportunity to strike something off the bucket list couldn’t be missed.
When Mr BF and I met, I was driving around in an old tatty mini. My pride and joy and the only car I’ve ever owned that I felt really attached to. (Cars to me are usually a metal box which gets me from A to B and I was quite happy not to feel any emotions about them!)
This little mini had a pet name which was used by everyone who knew her, friends, family, mechanics, even at petrol stations. She was well loved. Anyway, Mr BF and I moved on and the first Master BF arrived. Now I’m not sure how many of you would have tried to put a rear facing baby seat into an old style mini, not an easy task I can tell you! Particularly not when four months later Miss BF had been created!! So the beloved little mini had to go for something more grown up and practical (groan!).
Since then, a new mini was put on the retirement list, for when the children were off and not requiring a taxi service on a regular basis!
But events dictate that the retirement list needed bringing forward and morphed into a bucket list.
This being a red week, I am now the proud owner of a bright red convertible Mini Cooper S ….and to top it all, Mr BF surprised me with a personalised plate which names her officially with the Fairy household pet name for my minis!
Now I just need sunshine …!!!
Miniscule red devils are marauding through my veins doing battle as I type. Hopefully they’re tackling those nasty, sneaky cancer cells that have invaded the rather essential Bad Fairy liver. Only time will tell, so I’m doing my bit by cheerleading from the outside willing the little devils along and dropping hints that if they’d like to avoid some of the good Bad Fairy bits it’d be much appreciated!
My marbles haven’t completely left me (although some might argue differently), “red devil” is a nickname for Adriamycin/Doxorubicin, the chemo drug of the week … and next week and a few more weeks after that.
The red devils were unleashed for the first round on Thursday. A relatively non-event, thankfully! So far so good, no sickness thanks to the copious amounts of anti-emetics. The only downside is heartburn and lots of acid, probably from the steroids. I do have some stuff (technical term!) to wipe out stomach acid but am thinking about possibly risking reducing the steroids next week to see if that helps. One hint of sickness and I’ll change my mind!!
I do wonder sometimes, I have breast cancer yet my breast tumour is rarely discussed. All discussions and concern centre around my liver. I understand completely that being a vital organ if it stops working there is no more Bad Fairy, something the breast tumour alone is unlikely to cause, or at least not in the very near future. Yet it frustrates me! Mr BF is under strict instructions that when I keel over and am no more he MUST make sure that everyone is aware that it is breast cancer that started all of this. The probability is that liver failure will take me, but labelling me as a liver failure death would be wrong and detract from the essential awareness of breast cancer research and the importance of early detection, particularly in young women in which it is harder to detect. Does that make sense or am I stamping my fairy foot for nothing?
Rant over ... soapbox returned to the corner!
And now …the new red bucket list toy. It was my 41st birthday in February and an opportunity to strike something off the bucket list couldn’t be missed.
When Mr BF and I met, I was driving around in an old tatty mini. My pride and joy and the only car I’ve ever owned that I felt really attached to. (Cars to me are usually a metal box which gets me from A to B and I was quite happy not to feel any emotions about them!)
This little mini had a pet name which was used by everyone who knew her, friends, family, mechanics, even at petrol stations. She was well loved. Anyway, Mr BF and I moved on and the first Master BF arrived. Now I’m not sure how many of you would have tried to put a rear facing baby seat into an old style mini, not an easy task I can tell you! Particularly not when four months later Miss BF had been created!! So the beloved little mini had to go for something more grown up and practical (groan!).
Since then, a new mini was put on the retirement list, for when the children were off and not requiring a taxi service on a regular basis!
But events dictate that the retirement list needed bringing forward and morphed into a bucket list.
This being a red week, I am now the proud owner of a bright red convertible Mini Cooper S ….and to top it all, Mr BF surprised me with a personalised plate which names her officially with the Fairy household pet name for my minis!
Now I just need sunshine …!!!
An update....
... on the medical front.
For those who have risked looking in for the first time, a brief summary of my treatment so far. Weekly Taxol chemo from July to November last year which did a wonderful job of shrinking the tumours. December to February this year I've been on Arimidex (hormone therapy). A CT scan at the end of February showed that the Arimidex had done nothing and the time spent on it has allowed the tumours to progress again.
So next week it's back on to weekly chemo for me but this time on Doxorubicin as fairy dust is out of stock!
On the plus side, the Doxorubicin is bright red (my favourite colour) .... ok clutching at straws on the plus side but every little helps!
For those who have risked looking in for the first time, a brief summary of my treatment so far. Weekly Taxol chemo from July to November last year which did a wonderful job of shrinking the tumours. December to February this year I've been on Arimidex (hormone therapy). A CT scan at the end of February showed that the Arimidex had done nothing and the time spent on it has allowed the tumours to progress again.
So next week it's back on to weekly chemo for me but this time on Doxorubicin as fairy dust is out of stock!
On the plus side, the Doxorubicin is bright red (my favourite colour) .... ok clutching at straws on the plus side but every little helps!
A woman's prerogative...
.... to change her mind!
Hrmph ... well, the last blog about first impressions was dated 2nd of the month and today is the 21st. That'll be nineteen days later, or two weeks and five days depending on how you want to look at it.
No, I haven't become obsessed with my calendar, nor am I conducting a countdown to some forthcoming extravagant event. I'm simply counting the days until my new found friend, or advocate as she likes to be thought of, the BCN (star of the previous blog) makes the return phone call she promised. It was due on the 3rd.
All I can say is it's a good job I knew not to rely on her and have the wherewithall to go out, ask questions and demand answers for myself.
Hrmph ... well, the last blog about first impressions was dated 2nd of the month and today is the 21st. That'll be nineteen days later, or two weeks and five days depending on how you want to look at it.
No, I haven't become obsessed with my calendar, nor am I conducting a countdown to some forthcoming extravagant event. I'm simply counting the days until my new found friend, or advocate as she likes to be thought of, the BCN (star of the previous blog) makes the return phone call she promised. It was due on the 3rd.
All I can say is it's a good job I knew not to rely on her and have the wherewithall to go out, ask questions and demand answers for myself.
First impressions count....
…. but aren’t always right!
Hands up … who amongst us judges others on their first impression of them? If we’re honest I think we all do to some extent.
I should know not to really, considering I have great fun changing the impressions people make of me!
Roll back the clock to diagnosis day. Everything happened backwards anyway, secondaries were diagnosed first, the next day the primary was confirmed and then in to the office of the last person to be introduced, the Breast Care Nurse (BCN).
For the past six months I’ve wondered if I was just unlucky. Everyone has raved about the BCN allocated to them. How helpful they are, understanding, always on the end of the phone. That first day, Mr BF and I sat opposite a specialist nurse, there to help us process and deal with the horrendous diagnosis and prognosis that had just landed in our laps and she had tears in her eyes when there were none in ours! The “helpful” literature presented to us was useless and only served to reinforce the message that I had bypassed the hoped for intervening “healthy” years between primary and secondary diagnosis. Didn’t this nurse understand what a secondary diagnosis meant? I guess she did, why else were the tears there? Surely this wasn’t how every new patient was received?
Shove the clock forward again to last week and there’s me, sat at the kitchen table with a friend, enjoying a cup of tea and a fair bit of chattering! It just so happens that this friend is a doctor. For whatever reason the conversation turned to nurses, specialist nurses in particular and how Dr. M thought that they were quite useful people particularly when things needed doing and questions needed answering. The story was told of the teary eyed BCN. Now Dr M is a straight talker if ever I saw one and a very competent doctor. She’s also a wife and mum and an incredibly caring person. She asked how I feel when her eyes fill up. Well that’s ok isn’t it? She’s a friend first and foremost, she knows me well and knows my family. I can accept and understand if her eyes fill up! Then she added that on occasion she has shed a tear for a patient, touched by their story or situation. No different to reading a book, watching a film or listening to music ….we can all find ourselves filling up at unexpected moments.
Now I feel guilty. I’ve judged this nurse because she is human. What right do I have to decide that because the nurse had shown her emotions that she was somehow less able to do her job? How do I know what has happened in her life that may have affected her that day?
With Dr M’s words swimming about in my head, I buried my first impressions and telephoned the nurse. After apologising profusely about possibly giving her the impression that her help and advice weren’t welcome we started again.
I now understand the role she is willing and able to play in my life. She now knows that my acceptance of my situation and fate is genuine and not a state of hysteric denial.
We will work together from here on in. As she said, she is officially my advocate and will do all she can to assist me. I suppose that makes me officially her patient …. I hope she isn’t expecting a model one!!
First impressions do count but there’s no shame in changing your opinion!
Hands up … who amongst us judges others on their first impression of them? If we’re honest I think we all do to some extent.
I should know not to really, considering I have great fun changing the impressions people make of me!
Roll back the clock to diagnosis day. Everything happened backwards anyway, secondaries were diagnosed first, the next day the primary was confirmed and then in to the office of the last person to be introduced, the Breast Care Nurse (BCN).
For the past six months I’ve wondered if I was just unlucky. Everyone has raved about the BCN allocated to them. How helpful they are, understanding, always on the end of the phone. That first day, Mr BF and I sat opposite a specialist nurse, there to help us process and deal with the horrendous diagnosis and prognosis that had just landed in our laps and she had tears in her eyes when there were none in ours! The “helpful” literature presented to us was useless and only served to reinforce the message that I had bypassed the hoped for intervening “healthy” years between primary and secondary diagnosis. Didn’t this nurse understand what a secondary diagnosis meant? I guess she did, why else were the tears there? Surely this wasn’t how every new patient was received?
Shove the clock forward again to last week and there’s me, sat at the kitchen table with a friend, enjoying a cup of tea and a fair bit of chattering! It just so happens that this friend is a doctor. For whatever reason the conversation turned to nurses, specialist nurses in particular and how Dr. M thought that they were quite useful people particularly when things needed doing and questions needed answering. The story was told of the teary eyed BCN. Now Dr M is a straight talker if ever I saw one and a very competent doctor. She’s also a wife and mum and an incredibly caring person. She asked how I feel when her eyes fill up. Well that’s ok isn’t it? She’s a friend first and foremost, she knows me well and knows my family. I can accept and understand if her eyes fill up! Then she added that on occasion she has shed a tear for a patient, touched by their story or situation. No different to reading a book, watching a film or listening to music ….we can all find ourselves filling up at unexpected moments.
Now I feel guilty. I’ve judged this nurse because she is human. What right do I have to decide that because the nurse had shown her emotions that she was somehow less able to do her job? How do I know what has happened in her life that may have affected her that day?
With Dr M’s words swimming about in my head, I buried my first impressions and telephoned the nurse. After apologising profusely about possibly giving her the impression that her help and advice weren’t welcome we started again.
I now understand the role she is willing and able to play in my life. She now knows that my acceptance of my situation and fate is genuine and not a state of hysteric denial.
We will work together from here on in. As she said, she is officially my advocate and will do all she can to assist me. I suppose that makes me officially her patient …. I hope she isn’t expecting a model one!!
First impressions do count but there’s no shame in changing your opinion!
Alternative suggestions for ....
…… stress relief!
We’ve all read about it, all no doubt thought about it and now we’re going to deal with it. Stress. It’s perfectly natural to be stressed at various points in life and no doubt, in small doses, stress can be quite healthy. In bigger doses most of us would agree that it’s unhealthy. What I want to know is how to relieve stress when it builds up to volcanic levels, any ideas?
I can do the meditation stuff, focus on my breathing and all that but you do get some strange looks if you plonk yourself down in the middle of the freezer aisle in the supermarket after suffering the latest episode of inconsiderate trolley driving to focus on your breathing.
Driving I used to find quite a focussing and enjoyable stress reliever. Due to having numb toes and crunchy joints this has been pushed down the list. I need to concentrate like a learner on the pedals these days and cheerfully remind the children how much it would cost for a similar ride experience at a theme park!
Meaningful debates …. nope … off the list too. When you’re regularly beaten in an exchange of words by a quick witted seven year old you have to accept that the chemo fog hasn’t quite lifted yet.
A gentle stroll through the field with the dogs, that fell of the list ages ago … probably around the time of Labrador Jnr’s arrival. He just isn’t designed for stress relief no matter how much I squint and hop on one leg when trying to convince myself that he is that cute loo roll puppy.
I need some new ideas, preferably enjoyable stress relievers, if a giggle can be raised then that’s even better. So far my “To Try” list is limited so all suggestions are welcome, serious and amusing.
Top of the list at this point is a bit of Greek dancing ….. the sort accompanied by lots of plate smashing!
We’ve all read about it, all no doubt thought about it and now we’re going to deal with it. Stress. It’s perfectly natural to be stressed at various points in life and no doubt, in small doses, stress can be quite healthy. In bigger doses most of us would agree that it’s unhealthy. What I want to know is how to relieve stress when it builds up to volcanic levels, any ideas?
I can do the meditation stuff, focus on my breathing and all that but you do get some strange looks if you plonk yourself down in the middle of the freezer aisle in the supermarket after suffering the latest episode of inconsiderate trolley driving to focus on your breathing.
Driving I used to find quite a focussing and enjoyable stress reliever. Due to having numb toes and crunchy joints this has been pushed down the list. I need to concentrate like a learner on the pedals these days and cheerfully remind the children how much it would cost for a similar ride experience at a theme park!
Meaningful debates …. nope … off the list too. When you’re regularly beaten in an exchange of words by a quick witted seven year old you have to accept that the chemo fog hasn’t quite lifted yet.
A gentle stroll through the field with the dogs, that fell of the list ages ago … probably around the time of Labrador Jnr’s arrival. He just isn’t designed for stress relief no matter how much I squint and hop on one leg when trying to convince myself that he is that cute loo roll puppy.
I need some new ideas, preferably enjoyable stress relievers, if a giggle can be raised then that’s even better. So far my “To Try” list is limited so all suggestions are welcome, serious and amusing.
Top of the list at this point is a bit of Greek dancing ….. the sort accompanied by lots of plate smashing!
All I want is ....
... is my bubble back!
It's gone. Don't know where but I wish it would come back. Maybe it hasn't gone completely and is just deflated and sulking under the sofa or something. But I want it back please.
It's a very useful bubble. Some days it's a bouncy hopper type bubble and we just bound through life together. Other days it becomes lots of little bubbles that fizz around and keep me laughing. Occasionally my bubble acts as a cushion and takes the edge of the not so nice stuff that happens.
The one I like the most is the gentle bubble bit. Not over the top and not always noticeable to others, the little bubbly bits that are me and are just accepted as me. The ones that help me chatter cheerfully, that make me chuckle about silly things. The bubble that stops me sitting in a corner with a blanket over my head wishing this merry-go-round would stop and I could get off.
So if you see a stray bubble with my name on, please return it. In the mean time I've added a bubble to my wish list in the hope that someone might have a new one for me ..... failing that a puncture repair kit would do just in case it is sulking under the sofa after a run in with the resident house cat!
It's gone. Don't know where but I wish it would come back. Maybe it hasn't gone completely and is just deflated and sulking under the sofa or something. But I want it back please.
It's a very useful bubble. Some days it's a bouncy hopper type bubble and we just bound through life together. Other days it becomes lots of little bubbles that fizz around and keep me laughing. Occasionally my bubble acts as a cushion and takes the edge of the not so nice stuff that happens.
The one I like the most is the gentle bubble bit. Not over the top and not always noticeable to others, the little bubbly bits that are me and are just accepted as me. The ones that help me chatter cheerfully, that make me chuckle about silly things. The bubble that stops me sitting in a corner with a blanket over my head wishing this merry-go-round would stop and I could get off.
So if you see a stray bubble with my name on, please return it. In the mean time I've added a bubble to my wish list in the hope that someone might have a new one for me ..... failing that a puncture repair kit would do just in case it is sulking under the sofa after a run in with the resident house cat!
I like my teeth ....
...... and I wasn't ready to part company with them!
No, I wasn't about to join the local rugby team, not even the ladies one! This is the story of the hospital's one and only attempt to perform an endoscopy on me. Somehow I don't think they'll bother trying again!!
It has to be said the hospital porter was lovely, very chatty and cheerful as we whizzed along the corridors. On arrival in the sparkling new endoscopy suite the welcoming committee were nice and cheerful too. Lots of reassurances and "over in a flash" type comments. Then the consultant arrived and quick introductions made. That's when it all started going wrong.
I was originally referred to this consultant but as I needed seeing urgently and he was on two weeks holiday I was referred to another consultant. Not a problem in itself but why was he here now and about to stick a camera down my throat when he should be on holiday? So I asked. Maybe it came out as gobbledegook but my question went unanswered and I was wheeled into his lair.
Standing there was a miniature nurse, ok she wasn't miniature but she was little! She wasn't much taller than me and I was lying on a hospital bed. Nice calm words about the sedative going in and blah blah blah ...........then miniature nurse tried to do some unexpected dental work on my gnashers.
Now I'm quite fond of my gnashers, we've been through a lot together, like the day when I was seven and tried to knock all of them out on the playground. (My mum cried. Interestingly she didn't cry when I came home from the park with a gaping hole in my scalp!) I'm now the proud owner of some long standing crowns and a number of character defining chips and cracks. In my hazy, sedated mind miniature nurse was trying to push my prized and superglued front teeth down my throat with great force aided by a piece of black plastic. Well I wasn't having that, so in good Bad Fairy fashion I put up a fight and tried to move the black plastic weapon away. I'm sure I tried politely and calmly to indicate that I'd prefer her not to ram the offending bit of plastic quite so hard against my teeth but it seems that the message didn't come across like that. Mr Consultant didn't want to risk his expensive camera ending up a mangled mess so called a halt to the proceedings.....miniature nurse agreed (well she would wouldn't she?)
As revenge they left me as "nil by mouth" for the next 24 hours .......grrrrrrr!!!!
For anyone who hasn't had the pleasure of an endoscopy, they put a plastic guard in your mouth. It has a lip at the front which stays on the outside of your teeth and the rest lies inside your mouth to guide the camera down whilst protecting the camera from any inadvertent bites!
No, I wasn't about to join the local rugby team, not even the ladies one! This is the story of the hospital's one and only attempt to perform an endoscopy on me. Somehow I don't think they'll bother trying again!!
It has to be said the hospital porter was lovely, very chatty and cheerful as we whizzed along the corridors. On arrival in the sparkling new endoscopy suite the welcoming committee were nice and cheerful too. Lots of reassurances and "over in a flash" type comments. Then the consultant arrived and quick introductions made. That's when it all started going wrong.
I was originally referred to this consultant but as I needed seeing urgently and he was on two weeks holiday I was referred to another consultant. Not a problem in itself but why was he here now and about to stick a camera down my throat when he should be on holiday? So I asked. Maybe it came out as gobbledegook but my question went unanswered and I was wheeled into his lair.
Standing there was a miniature nurse, ok she wasn't miniature but she was little! She wasn't much taller than me and I was lying on a hospital bed. Nice calm words about the sedative going in and blah blah blah ...........then miniature nurse tried to do some unexpected dental work on my gnashers.
Now I'm quite fond of my gnashers, we've been through a lot together, like the day when I was seven and tried to knock all of them out on the playground. (My mum cried. Interestingly she didn't cry when I came home from the park with a gaping hole in my scalp!) I'm now the proud owner of some long standing crowns and a number of character defining chips and cracks. In my hazy, sedated mind miniature nurse was trying to push my prized and superglued front teeth down my throat with great force aided by a piece of black plastic. Well I wasn't having that, so in good Bad Fairy fashion I put up a fight and tried to move the black plastic weapon away. I'm sure I tried politely and calmly to indicate that I'd prefer her not to ram the offending bit of plastic quite so hard against my teeth but it seems that the message didn't come across like that. Mr Consultant didn't want to risk his expensive camera ending up a mangled mess so called a halt to the proceedings.....miniature nurse agreed (well she would wouldn't she?)
As revenge they left me as "nil by mouth" for the next 24 hours .......grrrrrrr!!!!
For anyone who hasn't had the pleasure of an endoscopy, they put a plastic guard in your mouth. It has a lip at the front which stays on the outside of your teeth and the rest lies inside your mouth to guide the camera down whilst protecting the camera from any inadvertent bites!
Talking to children ...
….about cancer.
How do we do it? It’s hard enough sometimes talking to adults and explaining things but children are a completely different kettle of fish.
This isn’t a text book way of talking to children when a parent has cancer, this is just our experience.
Master and Miss Bad Fairy are eight and seven. We started off explaining that things had gone wrong in my liver, as that was the obvious bit, what with me being all yellow. Children are little sponges and before long we were having discussions about anatomy and human biology around the breakfast table. Then things got confusing! How did the bad bits get there? What will the chemo do? Will it go away again? It’s so easy to forget, particularly when they ask intelligent questions, just how old they are.
In the midst of all this, Master Bad Fairy mentioned laser guns (he’s a Star Wars fanatic) and there the story began which enabled them to “see” what was happening in a way which they felt comfortable with.
The bad bits were made from little black lego bricks which kept building walls. The chemo put some “goodies” into me (think lego versions of Luke Skywalker) and the “goodies” charged around inside my body blasting the bad bits with their laser guns! They get gentle reminders that the bad bits will be here forever and that the laser guns will run out of power and we’ll have to try new ones. For the time being they’re happy with that.
We’ve also taken them with us to the hospital so they can see where I get treated. They’ve met a couple of the chemo nurses, been a big hit with the receptionist, had a very close inspection of blood being taken (I’d offered them the chance to sit outside … but no, they wanted to see!) and a tour of the ct scanner. With the amazing powers of imagination that children have the fear of the unknown can be immense. Now they don’t worry when I have to go to the hospital because they know where I’ll be and who I’ll see.
The one thing we’ve promised them is that we will tell them whenever we’re told anything new. The most important thing, I think, is that they know they can ask anything at anytime and we will always have the time to sit and listen to their thoughts and fears.
How do we do it? It’s hard enough sometimes talking to adults and explaining things but children are a completely different kettle of fish.
This isn’t a text book way of talking to children when a parent has cancer, this is just our experience.
Master and Miss Bad Fairy are eight and seven. We started off explaining that things had gone wrong in my liver, as that was the obvious bit, what with me being all yellow. Children are little sponges and before long we were having discussions about anatomy and human biology around the breakfast table. Then things got confusing! How did the bad bits get there? What will the chemo do? Will it go away again? It’s so easy to forget, particularly when they ask intelligent questions, just how old they are.
In the midst of all this, Master Bad Fairy mentioned laser guns (he’s a Star Wars fanatic) and there the story began which enabled them to “see” what was happening in a way which they felt comfortable with.
The bad bits were made from little black lego bricks which kept building walls. The chemo put some “goodies” into me (think lego versions of Luke Skywalker) and the “goodies” charged around inside my body blasting the bad bits with their laser guns! They get gentle reminders that the bad bits will be here forever and that the laser guns will run out of power and we’ll have to try new ones. For the time being they’re happy with that.
We’ve also taken them with us to the hospital so they can see where I get treated. They’ve met a couple of the chemo nurses, been a big hit with the receptionist, had a very close inspection of blood being taken (I’d offered them the chance to sit outside … but no, they wanted to see!) and a tour of the ct scanner. With the amazing powers of imagination that children have the fear of the unknown can be immense. Now they don’t worry when I have to go to the hospital because they know where I’ll be and who I’ll see.
The one thing we’ve promised them is that we will tell them whenever we’re told anything new. The most important thing, I think, is that they know they can ask anything at anytime and we will always have the time to sit and listen to their thoughts and fears.
It just fell off .....
..... and I didn't touch it, honest!
It would never have won any prizes or been held up as an example of perfection but I was rather attached to it. Maybe I should have paid it more attention. Lavished some time and effort to lift its self esteem. To be honest it did always look a bit like the poor cousin and never as grand or imposing as its near neighbours.
Anyway it's gone now, superglue and bodge tape won't make any difference. Yes, today I said goodbye to my little toe nail. It's a good few weeks since my last chemo (Taxol) but it held out for as long as possible.
It was attached to the only bone I've ever broken. Miss Bad Fairy and I had a skipping incident a couple of years ago. (Is skipping covered by 'elf n safety? If not then it should be!) My little toe was the only casualty. It was strapped up very elegantly and spent a good couple of weeks fixing itself admirably until one of my dogs lolloped in and promptly sat on it. Have you ever seen a GP rolling on the floor laughing?
It would never have won any prizes or been held up as an example of perfection but I was rather attached to it. Maybe I should have paid it more attention. Lavished some time and effort to lift its self esteem. To be honest it did always look a bit like the poor cousin and never as grand or imposing as its near neighbours.
Anyway it's gone now, superglue and bodge tape won't make any difference. Yes, today I said goodbye to my little toe nail. It's a good few weeks since my last chemo (Taxol) but it held out for as long as possible.
It was attached to the only bone I've ever broken. Miss Bad Fairy and I had a skipping incident a couple of years ago. (Is skipping covered by 'elf n safety? If not then it should be!) My little toe was the only casualty. It was strapped up very elegantly and spent a good couple of weeks fixing itself admirably until one of my dogs lolloped in and promptly sat on it. Have you ever seen a GP rolling on the floor laughing?
I feel lucky .....
.... lucky to have been diagnosed with secondary cancer?
We are forever reminded of the uncertainty of life and the fact that life can end unexpectedly at any age. I've had an advanced warning. That advanced warning has prompted me to look at my life and appreciate all of the good things in it, something I may not have had the opportunity to do had I plodded on assuming that I'd live for a long time. So I am lucky!
Lucky to have a wonderful and gorgeous husband. The fact he leaves his socks on the bathroom floor is no longer something I nag about. It's not important. I love spending time with him, just being in the same room makes me feel contented and happy.
Lucky to have two amazing and beautiful children. They make me smile when I least feel like it. They fascinate me with their observations and thoughts. The world is an enchanting place when seen through the eyes of a child!
Lucky to have such brilliant friends and family.
The list could go on but I'll stop there. I'm lucky, despite and because of the cancer. All of these things were there before but now I look at them and appreciate every last little bit of them. More importantly, I feel, I have the opportunity to let these important people know how lucky I feel to have them as part of my life.
We are forever reminded of the uncertainty of life and the fact that life can end unexpectedly at any age. I've had an advanced warning. That advanced warning has prompted me to look at my life and appreciate all of the good things in it, something I may not have had the opportunity to do had I plodded on assuming that I'd live for a long time. So I am lucky!
Lucky to have a wonderful and gorgeous husband. The fact he leaves his socks on the bathroom floor is no longer something I nag about. It's not important. I love spending time with him, just being in the same room makes me feel contented and happy.
Lucky to have two amazing and beautiful children. They make me smile when I least feel like it. They fascinate me with their observations and thoughts. The world is an enchanting place when seen through the eyes of a child!
Lucky to have such brilliant friends and family.
The list could go on but I'll stop there. I'm lucky, despite and because of the cancer. All of these things were there before but now I look at them and appreciate every last little bit of them. More importantly, I feel, I have the opportunity to let these important people know how lucky I feel to have them as part of my life.
Friday 26 March 2010
Hair loss, the positives....
.... always look for the positives!
It seems I've taught my children well. When my long, thick and curly (some would say unruly) dark brown hair started parting company with my head we took control. Can you imagine the twinkle in the eyes of a pair of primary age children being told they can cut Mum's hair? Typical children they soon got bored but then I did say it was thick and it was hard work! Mr Bad Fairy came to the rescue when it was suitably shorn with his hair clippers and razor. Definitely not a job for children if I wanted to keep my eyebrows for as long as possible! So now for the positive side of having no hair ....
1. Save on hair products.
2. No need to unblock the shower every day.
3. Save on hair dye. Contribution courtesy of 7 year old Miss Bad Fairy. This one made me realise that over the years I must have spent over £1500 colouring my hair!! (I haven't told Mr Bad Fairy that yet!!)
3. No need to drag a nit comb through it on a regular basis. Kindly thought of by 8 year old Master Bad Fairy. I did point out that if he and his sister would refrain from rubbing heads with their school friends I wouldn't need to own a nit comb never mind use it!!
4. I would now have an understanding of Mr Bad Fairy's life. This being the latest contribution from Mr Bad Fairy after I moaned about how painful it was being hailed on with a bald head!
So there are positives afterall. ;-)
It seems I've taught my children well. When my long, thick and curly (some would say unruly) dark brown hair started parting company with my head we took control. Can you imagine the twinkle in the eyes of a pair of primary age children being told they can cut Mum's hair? Typical children they soon got bored but then I did say it was thick and it was hard work! Mr Bad Fairy came to the rescue when it was suitably shorn with his hair clippers and razor. Definitely not a job for children if I wanted to keep my eyebrows for as long as possible! So now for the positive side of having no hair ....
1. Save on hair products.
2. No need to unblock the shower every day.
3. Save on hair dye. Contribution courtesy of 7 year old Miss Bad Fairy. This one made me realise that over the years I must have spent over £1500 colouring my hair!! (I haven't told Mr Bad Fairy that yet!!)
3. No need to drag a nit comb through it on a regular basis. Kindly thought of by 8 year old Master Bad Fairy. I did point out that if he and his sister would refrain from rubbing heads with their school friends I wouldn't need to own a nit comb never mind use it!!
4. I would now have an understanding of Mr Bad Fairy's life. This being the latest contribution from Mr Bad Fairy after I moaned about how painful it was being hailed on with a bald head!
So there are positives afterall. ;-)
Thrown in the deep end....
... without a snorkel or so it felt!
After such a quick diagnosis there was no time to worry or do any scary internet research. Looking back this was probably a good thing. Mr Bad Fairy and I shed a few tears and had no choice but to move on and deal with this new life that had been forced on us. Life goes on doesn't it? Being optimists we were determined to seek out, no matter how deeply they were buried, any tiny little positive moments along with any hint of something which might raise a giggle at a later date. (See? Positive thoughts .... there will be a later date!)
So there we were meeting the oncologist for the first time on a Monday. On Wednesday I was hooked up to an IV pump having the first of ten weekly doses of Taxol. What a strange new world!
Daft as it sounds I was quite pleased to be starting this journey with my vivid yellowness. Logic says that if the chemo started to work then the tumours would shrink and the yellowness would fade. It worked! Family and friends could slowly see a difference on the outside which reflected the changes on the inside.
Nine weeks later and I was flat on my back in the CT scanner to check on progress. Yeah hey! On average an 80% reduction in tumour sizes. It was working!
The plan was to have three more doses on a three weekly cycle. The last one was cancelled and I'm now on Arimidex tablets and Zoladex implant/jabs whilst waiting for an appointment to discuss having my ovaries removed.
Another CT scan (last week) showed that things had remained unchanged except for on my bones .... bones? No one had mentioned bones before. It seems that on the previous scan there were a couple of spots on my spin but as it was a CT scan and not a bone scan it wasn't obvious what these "spots" were so they didn't tell me. Seems that on the latest scan there has been a noticeable change which could be new bone growth resulting from the effects of the chemo. This new revelation now means a three weekly trip to the chemo unit for IV Zometa to strengthen my bones.
So there you go, that's where I am (medically) today only five months into this journey! Mr Bad Fairy keeps reminding me that I never did like being predictable and that I've always been impulsive rather than taking things at a leisurely pace!!
After such a quick diagnosis there was no time to worry or do any scary internet research. Looking back this was probably a good thing. Mr Bad Fairy and I shed a few tears and had no choice but to move on and deal with this new life that had been forced on us. Life goes on doesn't it? Being optimists we were determined to seek out, no matter how deeply they were buried, any tiny little positive moments along with any hint of something which might raise a giggle at a later date. (See? Positive thoughts .... there will be a later date!)
So there we were meeting the oncologist for the first time on a Monday. On Wednesday I was hooked up to an IV pump having the first of ten weekly doses of Taxol. What a strange new world!
Daft as it sounds I was quite pleased to be starting this journey with my vivid yellowness. Logic says that if the chemo started to work then the tumours would shrink and the yellowness would fade. It worked! Family and friends could slowly see a difference on the outside which reflected the changes on the inside.
Nine weeks later and I was flat on my back in the CT scanner to check on progress. Yeah hey! On average an 80% reduction in tumour sizes. It was working!
The plan was to have three more doses on a three weekly cycle. The last one was cancelled and I'm now on Arimidex tablets and Zoladex implant/jabs whilst waiting for an appointment to discuss having my ovaries removed.
Another CT scan (last week) showed that things had remained unchanged except for on my bones .... bones? No one had mentioned bones before. It seems that on the previous scan there were a couple of spots on my spin but as it was a CT scan and not a bone scan it wasn't obvious what these "spots" were so they didn't tell me. Seems that on the latest scan there has been a noticeable change which could be new bone growth resulting from the effects of the chemo. This new revelation now means a three weekly trip to the chemo unit for IV Zometa to strengthen my bones.
So there you go, that's where I am (medically) today only five months into this journey! Mr Bad Fairy keeps reminding me that I never did like being predictable and that I've always been impulsive rather than taking things at a leisurely pace!!
The story begins ......
... towards the end of June 2009.
As happens frequently at primary schools the dreaded lergy was doing the rounds. My two children seemed to have avoided it along with myself and my husband. That was until I got up on the Monday and felt a bit queasy. Needless to say I was a bit miffed to still be feeling a bit "off" by the end of the week, usually bouncing back from these things quite quickly ... and was quite unnerved to discover a tinge of yellow in my eyes the next Monday morning. By the following Monday I looked like I was doing a very bad impression of a canary and had grown a hard lump at the top of my breast. I know the lump wasn't there the week before because I'd checked just before I noticed the yellow tinge in my eyes.
Off to the GPs I went .... after checking exactly where the surgery was being such an infrequent visitor! Little did I realise what lay ahead. I'd convinced myself that my canary yellow appearance was due to nothing more alarming than a wedged gallstone (not that I'd ever had them!) and the breast lump would be just one of those things that would go away as quickly as it appeared. Luckily for me my GP wasn't happy to leave me yellow for any length of time and arranged for an ultrasound within days and a two week referral to the breast clinic.
The ultrasound caused concern and I was admitted to the local hospital the next Monday (why is it always a Monday?) for a CT scan and an endoscopy booked for the Tuesday. The endoscopy didn't happen but that's another story for another day. The CT scan was enough and on the Thursday the liver chap mumbled, very apologetically, that it wasn't a stray gallstone it was cancer. Secondary breast cancer to be exact ... "Oh and there are a couple of bits on your lungs". Friday, a rushed appointment with the breast specialist, quick biopsy taken just to confirm they were (officially) right and then a bizarre conversation with a Breast Care Nurse (yet another story for another day!) and an appointment with an oncologist arranged for the Monday.
Where did that come from?? I'm 40, never been ill ... still don't feel ill, maybe a bit less energetic than normal but nothing to worry about and now here I am an official cancer patient who is "manageable" but not curable......
As happens frequently at primary schools the dreaded lergy was doing the rounds. My two children seemed to have avoided it along with myself and my husband. That was until I got up on the Monday and felt a bit queasy. Needless to say I was a bit miffed to still be feeling a bit "off" by the end of the week, usually bouncing back from these things quite quickly ... and was quite unnerved to discover a tinge of yellow in my eyes the next Monday morning. By the following Monday I looked like I was doing a very bad impression of a canary and had grown a hard lump at the top of my breast. I know the lump wasn't there the week before because I'd checked just before I noticed the yellow tinge in my eyes.
Off to the GPs I went .... after checking exactly where the surgery was being such an infrequent visitor! Little did I realise what lay ahead. I'd convinced myself that my canary yellow appearance was due to nothing more alarming than a wedged gallstone (not that I'd ever had them!) and the breast lump would be just one of those things that would go away as quickly as it appeared. Luckily for me my GP wasn't happy to leave me yellow for any length of time and arranged for an ultrasound within days and a two week referral to the breast clinic.
The ultrasound caused concern and I was admitted to the local hospital the next Monday (why is it always a Monday?) for a CT scan and an endoscopy booked for the Tuesday. The endoscopy didn't happen but that's another story for another day. The CT scan was enough and on the Thursday the liver chap mumbled, very apologetically, that it wasn't a stray gallstone it was cancer. Secondary breast cancer to be exact ... "Oh and there are a couple of bits on your lungs". Friday, a rushed appointment with the breast specialist, quick biopsy taken just to confirm they were (officially) right and then a bizarre conversation with a Breast Care Nurse (yet another story for another day!) and an appointment with an oncologist arranged for the Monday.
Where did that come from?? I'm 40, never been ill ... still don't feel ill, maybe a bit less energetic than normal but nothing to worry about and now here I am an official cancer patient who is "manageable" but not curable......
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