It's not about me

What a week. I went to my BNI meeting on Wednesday and after being unmercifully ragged about the YOU magazine article, one of the members blurted out privately to me that a friend of his had died that week of ovarian cancer - in one week! And just before her wedding.
I almost threw up in his lap. He was sitting next to me. Fortunately I didn't but it was a close call. My skin went cold - horrible. It was 7.00 in the morning! It turns out that the woman in question had had ovarian cancer 4 years back, and been in chemo ever since. Her story is here. It's tragic. But I was relieved when I read it - sad to say but I felt better knowing she hadn't been killed by this in only a week -  that would have been too much...

Other friends in the OC facebook group are going through hell. Rising CA 125's, CT scans...random things that are scary to say the least. They are my friends. It's hard to read their messages and not want to jump or a plane or train and go and see them...sadly, it's not possible. And it's hard to deal with. I just want them all to be well. Or at the very least, to achieve remission for some time.

And that's the worst thing - some women never get into remission. That so sucks!! And that's why I am so concerned with raising funds for research!

I get the impression that some people have the idea that I am 'self aggrandising' with all this 'Awareness' stuff [radio, TV, newspaper etc] - just for them/you to know; I would rather have never ever been heard of by anyone than have had cancer.

But as I HAVE had it, and as it may kill me eventually, I WILL take every opportunity to raise awareness, and I WILL try to get it out there as much as I can. Think what you want - as long as there's a chance of even ONE woman being saved/warned/woken up - I will be there.
This is not about 'me' - this is about what I can do to help by being out there. And I am simply trying my best to do just that. Things like live TV terrify me - but I will do it, because an ordinary person like me could just make someone think that 'one' thought that may save her life. 
I hope to help women like me - women who have no IDEA about this insidious disease. Women who could survive a diagnosis if they get diagnosed early enough.

So, no, it's not about me - it's about being AWARE!!

inclines

Ok good I've had a haircut so I look MUCH better. Not so much like a Weetabix. I have no idea what happens to my hair – the sun gets on it, viola, I am blonde. ER – yuck! So off I went [eventually] and had the lot chopped off.

And I feel better too – I am quite seriously considering a grade 2 for Kenya. I am beginning to wonder if hair is over rated.

And I have been cycling here and there [sometimes with my helmet on!] – this Sunday we did a hill near us that last year I would have been crying at the mere thought of it. Yay. Made it to the top no problem. Hills. Horrible. Only good thing about them is IF one eventually gets to the top, there's a downhill!

One person whom I always think about when I am really struggling is Sam. She cycles. But she also rock climbs – see her here. Amazing. She's an ovarian cancer survivor. In the true sense of the word. She is a Vice President of HERA, she is constantly challenging herself – and she has a great sense of humour. She does inspire me.

And the check-up went well – my CA 125 is at 9 again. A rise, but well within the norms of 0>35, so I am chuffed to bits. I kept thinking something would stop me from doing this Cycle Kenya. All the worries with my stomach. But the onc did a good check and she says everything seems good to go. What a relief!!
Now to get through the insurance palaver…grr.

What amazes me is how far I've come. This is during chemo, 2008 – note horrible wig and steroidy face. And I was always so cold.

This is in 2011, just about to do 57 miles for Force  – who'd have thought? Not me, that's for sure. I still have fat knees mind you...and now I am always hot! What a life eh? ;) In August we are doing the Great Shakespeare Ride – 100km.
Let's hope I can do the hills!

thinking too much?

I posted this earlier. On the Facebook group. Then I thought about it. And decided to post it here too.

Just a thought for everyone who is still in chemo. Or has recurrence. or is still struggling at all. A new diagnosis – crap right?  Definitely worse than someone buying you jeans from Sainsbury’s…and that is BAD.

I have just been wandering through my old photos. Aren't pictures emotive? I had Stage 3B cancer here – and had no idea…I still can’t believe it.

The 2008 ones, when I still had cancer, are quite an emotional roller coaster for me. I don't usually look through them. But I did this evening. There are pictures of me with Grace [my grand daughter] just after I had my hair cut off, ready for losing it via chemo. I recall how I thought then that Grace might never see me again. Or I might never see her again. I remember thinking quite coldly and clearly about how I would organise the girls [my lovely step daughters] to look after the FH. And how I would get Mum and Dad to do this that and the other. I remember Grace asking me over and over if I would be ''all right''. And me telling her that of course I would be. And wondering all the time if I was lying.

There is a photo of me with my brother – and I remember thinking that I didn’t want him to leave. He came all the way from Brighton. I was so chuffed. I just wanted him to stay for a while – but life gets in the way. Doesn’t it. I just didn’t think I’d ever see him again either.

Get that horrific wig!

It just struck me that no matter whether it is a first dx or a recurrence...we feel the same fear. The same regrets. The same sense of loneliness.  The same sense of ‘WTF’???

And I just wanted to say - sometimes I am frivolous on here. Maybe the things I say aren't quite what you need to hear. BUT. I do feel that fright. I do feel how you feel. Never doubt it. But I can’t be serious all the time. And I don’t feel I should be actually. I can’t do downer posts because I am not that person – but saying that, I am so bloody lucky. And very very grateful for that – I can’t believe it some days. Remission – get it on!! And now, astoundingly, I have days when I don’t think about recurrence at all. But they are a rarity I must admit.

I wish good health for everyone - I wish cancer would simply fuck right off. This evening I am just thinking of you all - and it brings me to tears. I wish we could all just get together – all the women [the fighters!!] I have met through this blog, through Facebook - just once. I think that has to be my next fundraiser girls!

lots of love to you all. Just keep your head up!!

yay!

so, a quick post – last week I had my 6 month check up. Boring boring I know…but I have been totally stressed with it being 6 WHOLE months…even though I know very well that IF I had a recurrence, those months make very little difference to the outcome of eventual treatment. But still. Logic and emotion don’t know one another in the cancery brain.

My CA 125 is one point down from last time – it’s 8. YAY!! Last time it was 9. Mine seems to fluctuate between 6 and 9. Good for me – well within the norms of 0>35. Although that means it hasn’t actually moved at all in real terms, it’s still a relief. 1 point up or down is nothing – a move of +30 is a worry.

My only problem right now seems to be some kind of bowel impaction. Where the cancer had spread to the bowel, they scraped it – so now the bowel [a very easily irritated thing – how dare it after all this drama!?] does weird things. The adhesions don’t help. It's painful and I need to get it sorted. Sometimes I am limping. What? Er – not ideal.  But for now, I am just so happy to be cancer free that the bowel thing can wait until next week…I will be off to the GP for drugs - woo – love drugs! Brilliant things!

In the meantime I am running like a mad woman – off to Stoke for the fundraiser tomorrow…

Then back home again Saturday night so I can start a new graphic design job which has a VERY tight deadline. Wednesday!! EEEK! Cleaning at the Salt Mines on Monday and Tuesday morning…and SO glad to be able to do it…never mind how ghastly it is – I can do it!!

In the meantime; I can no longer use Skype, as the Wild Things ATE the cable to the microphone! Then this evening they managed to knock a glass of wine into the keyboard…thank goodness for hairdryers…and then, Lily fell in to the bath. Super - a stress free evening. Not!

But they are adorable, and becoming very affectionate – see here; Lily…

and Bear…

breathless

I am always rushing these days. And this week has been no exception. It seems I don't have enough moments in the day. Or enough days in the week. I am breathless.

It's been a good week, and a very bad week. A very LONG week. Count the good first - my check up was fine, CA 125 up to 9 again but still well within the norms. A milestone for me, as it's 2 years [amazing! doesn't feel like it!] since my last chemo in August 2008 and I am now going for my next check up in SIX months time. Chemo never seems far away - hopefully it soon will feel that way. But I still remember this day so vividly - I can still feel how my scalp felt then…

Yay? 6 months cancer free! hmm - I think so. But it doesn't matter, as I can call and go there whenever I like if I feel unsettled. So. A GREAT result. Relief. And Rachel has been declared totally cancer free!! Amazing!

BAD because ALL bloody week my friends have been having lots of problems. Of my dear friends, one is constantly back and forth for scans, blood tests, this that and the other - and no-one seems to know what's wrong; another one's CA 125 has shot up rather alarmingly; to be resolved soon we hope. Another has been diagnosed with breast cancer and is now in chemo. My friends [she feels like my sister] mother has been diagnosed with the same. She is in for surgery this week. WHAT is going on?? It's almost like a message, pounding it home how grateful I should be.

And I am - but I so wish I could share the good luck. Because worse was yet to come.

a wonderful story of hope

I remember meeting my friend Emily on the internet – I think we met through her blog. I had been looking for something positive, as averse to dry clinical articles that told me I'd be dead within 5 years.

Em's blog was a far cry from that and I loved her determination. It was exactly what I needed, having been recently diagnosed.I read it all, cried through the twins, laughed at some of the other remarks and happenings, and decided to make my first 'blog comment'. Braving the new world [for me] of blogging was quite extraordinary.

Then we got in touch on Facebook, where it's a lot easier to 'chat' and that was that – we sent a million messages back and forth, as Em was ill when we got in touch, and I was in chemo. Lots of sleepless nights made for long messages :o)

She was such a support, and such a mine of information. And the story below is like a miracle. It should give hope to all women who are going through or have been through ovarian cancer – there's never a day when you shouldn't feel that things can get better. No-one is a statistic.

Way to go Em!!

From RED magazine.

the last 2 weeks

I've been trying to be sensible and not do anything too strenuous [no circuit training – boo!], and I've been voting for cakes every day [yes, we are WINNING!! woo hoo! thanks all my friends who've been voting!] and NOT being Ninja Cancer Girl, so this has been a fabulous 2 weeks! I am totally in the zone of NOT having cancer. Just go and vote please…

Click the box to sign up and vote:

thanks…

Anyway - what? Oh yes – the last two weeks. First, the wounds in my tummy went all viciously red and sore. I mean REALLY sore – so I got a tad peeved with THAT scenario. I remembered from my last lot of so called 'dissolvable' stitches…they don't. Dissolve that is.

The body is supposed to recognise a foreign object and destroy it. My body is idiotic and doesn't seem to get the idea. We know that from the hellish tumour – wouldn't it destroy THAT if it knew what it was supposed to do? Confused dot com.

So I decided to remove them myself. Ugh! That was a rather shaky and sweaty experience to say the least! The skin had grown over  the stitches, so getting the scissors in 'just' the right place [in order not to cause bloodshed] was a bit tricky. But suffice to say, I removed all four stitches with no mishaps. Phew. Instant relief and now everything is healing up a charm. I am already using the Rosehip seed oil, so hopefully I won't have additional scars.

In the meantime, I managed to stub four toes before breakfast, rip one [long] fingernail off at the quick [aaargh – blood!], cut the back of my hand [ no I don't know what happened there at all] and smash my shin on the mum's tuck trunk we have as a side table in the lounge. BIG scab there. Yippee – a normal few things!

And I am really into helping this chap who is doing a 6,000 mile solo cycle ride intended to raise research funds and awareness about ovarian cancer. WHAT a cool dude! See his site here. More about that in the next post. And I am getting involved with a brilliant fellow who makes eco furniture – so cool. Everything Rick makes is sustainable and original. Beds, tables, boxes…superbly creative stuff, lovely to be considered as a part of his concern.  And also getting a bit involved with Killer Paint – really talented airbrushing. This man can paint anything at all. He is a true artist – and needs a good marketing person ;o)

And of course I am still looking for paying work [pay would be good!]. But, all told, a great start to MY new year – which really began once we got the biopsy result. At last it's sunk in!!

being a ninja

Image: azuzephre//jeff thomas

You know I already mentioned how hard it is to accept good news? Well, it gets easier.

The last few days I seem to have been in a daze – after thinking for weeks [yes, yes, I know it was stupid – assuming things always is] that I was in for a recurrence, now I am in this parallel universe where I am so happy! So. No. Not a daze. A surreal state? You who have followed the blog for ages will know very well that I am not a person who 'does' surreal – I like to be completely in the here and now. I like to be right up there with the facts. But this is something else. It's like a weight has been literally lifted off my shoulders.

Sounds prosaic right? But it's true. I can't think of ANYTHING in my life that has made me happier than knowing the cancer hasn't come back. And to be honest, I have had a LOT of wonderful things happen in my short life. But none of them would have the effect that a return of cancer would have had on me and mine.

The thing is, this isn't just about me. It's about the FH too. And my family; my friends. That is one of the reasons this is so great. I was so worried – imagine them having to go through all this AGAIN because of me. Uff. No thanks. I am tired of pretending that everything is ok. Being Ninja Cancer Girl gets boring after a few years…nice to actually really FEEL ok. And mean it.

So – I am feeling on top of the world!! Mainly for both of us – me and the FH. Because now we have time. There's ALWAYS going to be the worry of a recurrence – but  it doesn't happen like lightning. And to be clear in the first 2 years is very  encouraging.

I appear to be in remission. OMG!! It's the most amazing feeling. At last. Long may it go on!! Ad nauseum if possible? And thank you SO much all of you who have been, and still are, there for me. Your support means the world to me. Thank you.

But thank you most of all to my wonderful, amazing husband. You are the BEST thing that ever happened to me.

LIVESTRONG post – cancer – it's effects on my life

I promised my friend POD I would do a special post for LIVESTRONG day. And this is it. To be fair, it's a post that has been brewing and evolving [that means writing and then deleting to avoid the risk of sounding self pitying and grating – oh, and to avoid abusing people that piss me off!], as I have been having a 'cancer brain' type of week. Very irritating, as I have been obsessing about dying of this stupid, repulsive and repugnant disease. Hmm. Stupid. And a waste of time. But, hey ho, one year out of chemo, it seems this is normal. OOOO – goody!! I am normal! woop woop. Not.

Imagine this. A person sitting with their face in their hands. Crying. Bent over the keyboard, just trying to see the 'x'. That is me. Trying to remember when I was diagnosed. Chemo brain does that to you. It can be really crushing. I suppose it was the 30th January really – sound scan, you have a malignant mass. Thanks.

Anyway, back to the post – it is supposed to be about how cancer has affected my life. Well. No brainer there. Get cancer, life changes radically. Values change. Friends change. Thoughts change. Long term plans change. The resentment is unbelievable - once you've had cancer YOURSELF, life is totally different. It almost seems like we ought to be able to just have a holiday.  Take a long break. But of course we can't. We [like everyone else] have to work. We have to pay bills. We have to deal with everyday ins and outs. But it's hard, as we feel like our lives are short, and WHY should we have to bother with these things??

In the meantime, back at the ranch, I have a lot of confusions. Actually, since I had cancer, my life seems filled with confusing things that were never there before – maybe because before I had cancer I didn't dwell on thoughts of death or how I might die? I certainly didn't envisage a long and painful, undignified death.  I AVOIDED that. And I think I was right to. Why dwell on things that haven't happened to you? No reason at all.

Reasons for cancer brain week; reading [I can't sing, so I just read the words] hymns reminded me of death quite a lot. Plus one woman I talk to is obsessed with the fact that ovarian cancer is the ONE cancer that always comes back. This has made me think too much. What if it comes back? What if it tries to kill me? What if it DOES kill me?  What? Blah blah – what about Aj, I don't want to leave him alone - what about this that and the other? It's scary.

I haven't even CONSIDERED where I will be buried / thrown etc. But I must.

And I confuse myself further by feeling totally positive it won't come back one minute, then by thinking it already HAS the next. Aaargh!  I am reading Lance Armstrong's book 'It's not about the bike'. He went through this exact same thing. Once you are no longer doing something [like chemo] to kill the cancer, you seem to be at a loss. No action. Just wait and see if it recurs. The first year of remission is so complicated. And it's disturbing to have a mind that swings back and forth between one extreme and the other. This first year is chronic - a low grade terror infests your mind constantly, as the chance of recurrence is highest then.

And, this is the other confusion – should I keep talking to other women who have had OC? Am I simply wallowing in my own misery? Am I dragging it out? Two people [they do not have cancer] have both said that if I keep talking to women who have had the same thing as me, I shall never 'Get Over' my cancer [get over it? hahahaha – is that even a remote possibility??]. Neither of them were being mean – they were trying to help me. But I am frightened of being alone with my cancer. So now I don't know what to do.

Today I was told I am 'obsessed'. What?? Of course I am obsessed, obsessed with making sure other women know about ovarian cancer. Obsessed with spreading the word. Yes. But generally obsessed? no. I don't think so.

The group of women I am involved with are fantastic – we all understand one another, as we've all had the same thing – Ovarian Cancer [apart from one friend – she had cancer of a different type]. We swap tales, we swap knowledge. But, we talk about recipes and garden plants, children and hopes and dreams – sex and the lack of it, work, hair colour [of course! now that we HAVE hair]. We do not OBSESS about cancer. But right now, one of us is dying. And I understand that. It is a warning of the 'worst case' scenario. But, for others, it may seem I am dwelling on things I don't need to. But I dwell on those things anyway. Better to know the facts or live in blissful ignorance? I think the former.

It is a constant in my mind…the pain I have in my side – is it the cancer come back? Is it an adhesion [please let it be an adhesion!]. WHAT IS IT???!!! And the people I can talk to about this are the women who have the same thing. The women who are also sitting awake at night, wondering what the hell is going on in their bodies – the women who also have the exact same pain that I have. Why, why would I want to cut my connection with these women?? How would it help me to pretend I didn't have cancer? How would it help me to pretend I am a normal person who doesn't have to think they may die within five years. How would it help me to be alone with my thoughts? I don't think it would. It's not the same as 'knowing someone who has cancer' – THAT you can get away from, cosily in front of the fire, you can forget about them – not cruelly, but it's human nature to try to concentrate on the good things, which is what I always did. Before I had cancer.

So. Would it help me to be alone with my thoughts? I think not. I actually think I might go mad. I am not sure I will ever 'Get Over' my cancer. How depressing. Get over it?? Give me a break – it's always there like a childhood monster in the cupboard – but this time it's real.

So now I do know what to do. For now.

thank you Ovations…from the bottom of my feet!

wow!! A while ago I came across the Ovations for the Cure site, which has a blog and a ton of information for women having to deal with ovarian cancer. The girls who run it are constantly busy doing stuff to raise both awareness and funds. And they are so friendly!

Find them on Facebook here. And there's a link to their site on my  list down the right hand [see: ''blogs I follow'' & ''Places to find info and advice''].

Anyway, in addition to all the other stuff they do, they have the Happy Feet program – and today I got my very own pair of happy feet! Which I am now wearing. These slip-ons, jewelled with Swarovski crystals are for women having chemo and are also free to survivors as a way of helping their road to recovery be more comfortable. And they DO make you feel rather special. Yay me for surviving!

They are designed by Stuart Weitzman, see below. Sorry about the actual feet inside them ;o)

And in the same package there is a bracelet which fits my ankle rather well, and a beautiful little badge and an awareness car sticker, both of which you can buy here. It's like Christmas today!

Look – even underneath they are cute! Dogs!

 

Gorgeous!! Thanks so much girls, I love them to bits!

"You can sponsor a pair of happy feet today too. Ovations asks for your donations to sponsor Happy Feet recipients, as requests are coming in every day. Happy Feet is a self-funded program, so we appreciate your support. Sponsor a pair of Stuart Weitzman designer ‘Happy Feet’ for $100, which will gift an ovarian cancer patient undergoing treatment. All sponsors will receive a special acknowledgement on the Ovations for the Cure website. Help us put some sparkle in the steps of these women—sponsor Happy Feet today!"

the day before 'The Check Up' – screaming. quietly…

what I have wanted to know for a while is this: WHY do we get so distressed about having this check up?  And I think I may have discovered the answer.

Weeks before, I am thinking about what 'could' happen, what 'might' happen – the worst scenarios and the best. Plan A and Plan B. [gotta have those – control, control…]. And I know I am not alone in this. At first I thought I was, but now I know better.

EVERYONE who has had cancer [any kind – oh, and how fun that there are so many varieties of this fucking disease!!] that I know, freaks out in the weeks preceding The Check Up. It's odd, as as soon as I walk into the Oncology department I am totally Zen. I have a comfort zone there, as they are the people who saved my life, so if they did it once, in a worst case scenario, they can do it again. So, once I am there I am calm and totally 'in the zone'. Am I naive? Am I stupid? Or am I realistic?

But Aj put it completely into perspective for me when he said that actually, this is a 'life or death' appointment. And he's right.

It is life or death.

And that's scary. I never really managed to think it through until he said that, but I think that's actually what makes us all into quivering wrecks. And please, anyone, correct me if I'm wrong here. But for me, the [almost] subliminal thought that 'this time' could be the time that they tell you it's come back. That bastard cancer. That sneaking, murdering, hideous little cell that could kill me if I let it. It could be the day that I discover I am going to die of this disease. Soon. And in pain. Probably in agony. It could be the day that I discover I have to have more chemo. Or some new treatment. Or more surgery. Or that they can't do anything more for me because I am terminal. Or anything.

It's a screaming unknown. And we go into it screaming. Quietly. And hiding the screams with laughter or chatter or blasé remarks. Trying to be POSITIVE. BEING positive.

But the screams batter round your brain….echoing hell. A hell no-one can see.

How positive can we be?? I know I try so hard. It takes almost all my energy. Day in, day out, trying to just keep a cheerful face on…and I know my friends do too. But what if the surgeon / doctor / oncologist gives one that bad news? How strong do we have to be?  How strong CAN we be? Do we have to just carry on 'being positive' because friends and relatives expect it of us? Or is there a point we reach that we just say: "no, enough"…

I hope I never, ever have to find out.

more waffle – a bit of confusion about remission

Tuesday 11th October

It’s very peculiar – I have been told I am in remission [how great is THAT?? whaahahahaha], and I am thrilled of course, but I think people may think I am not thrilled enough. They’re right - I am not jumping around the room quite yet.

It’s odd, I’m over the moon that there is no cancer to be found right now. My blood tests are great, CA 125 at 7 is brilliant [it’s actually gone down from 9 at the last test] – the norms are 0 – 35, so I am well within them. But I think that it will take me a long, long time to be at ease. Being betrayed by your own body takes a long time to recover from. Plus the fact that the CA 125 test is not definitive – it’s just a marker. But for us, it’s important. And the remission means ‘right now’ – it does not mean forever. So, making the best of the moment is good!! But hard in a way.

Sadly, you know in the back of your mind that the beastly thing can creep into another part of you if it wants to – lungs, liver, kidney – even your throat - you know that remission does not mean ‘cured’, and you know that it is out of your control. We are warned that any lump or bump could be serious [hello paranoia! jesu, my poor GP is in for a life of misery. More so the surgery’s general secretary, she is a total bitch anyway, so that’s something to look forward to!]. No matter what all those so called non medical ‘experts’ [hihihiihh] say [I am sure NONE of them have had cancer! experts? pah!!!], eating this and drinking that and ‘doing’ the other - they ‘may’ help, but at the end of the day it seems to be down to Sod’s Law. People who have never touched a cigarette in their lives get lung cancer – what’s that all about? People who have really healthy diets and lifestyles get it – what’s that all about? Personally I think it’s catch as catch can – you get cancer or you don’t and that’s that. Journalists need to spend some time in cancer wards – perhaps then they wouldn’t be so quick to publish all these silly ‘miracle’ cures. Perhaps then they would try to find people who really have survived, and publish TRUE STORIES as averse to ‘fairy tales’ that feed peoples imaginations instead of FACTS that actually help them. All they need to see is the children – perhaps that could stop even their voracious appetite for thrills without result. The children truly touch your heart – I deny anyone to see them and walk away without some kind of true feeling.

Andrew and I are in a strange state – thrilled obviously, and yet still afraid. Both of us. I went to turn the bed back last night and discovered a spot of blood on the sheet under Andrew’s pillow. This small thing made me cry – Andrew chews his fingers terribly when he’s stressed. I know that spot of blood is because of me. And it breaks my heart that I am putting him through this. I am sure I am not alone when I say that I feel guilty. Guilty for not being the woman he married any more, guilty for causing him so much stress and worry – guilty for being ugly [in my own mind – I know this – I know he doesn’t think so], for being in pain, for being cross for no reason, for a million things. And yet, saying that, I know I don’t really have to feel that way, as he is there for me every minute. It’s just a stupid state of mind that I need to get shot of. I am very lucky to have Andrew, and I feel so bad for all the women whose husbands are not as understanding and kind as mine.

The other thing about remission is that one worries about everyone thinking you are now ‘OK’...hmmm. Interesting thought. I am ‘ok’ as far as everyday things go, and as long as I am within my own environment – but I still get the dreaded ‘chemo’ tiredness, I still have those horrible moments of being unsure [I believe the expression is ‘my guts turn’] when I have to meet people I don’t know. No!! I do not want to do this. But I have to. Although actually when I have to it’s not as bad as I think it will be. Travel is a total nightmare, as one has to haul a suitcase and deal with a LOT of strangers – very stressful, and extremely exhausting.

The main problem being the hair. Hmm – at the moment of course I am starting to have hair again. Fantastico!! BUT – I have hated having short hair since I was about 12. The second problem is the facial hair – whaa! This is not normal!! Although according to Dr Hong, it is. So girls out there, why the hell didn’t you warn me?? Apparently it’s the norm for one’s facial hair to grow in rather MORE than usual if you have been on Taxol. Oh yay – one more humiliation to add to the rest – now I am growing a beard?? Not really, but the tiny facial hairs of yore are now a lot longer and thicker than usual. Luckily for me, mine are blonde, but it still makes me very self conscious. According to Dr Hong, this should start to disappear after about 6 months. AND according to my beautician, this is true and I should wait it out. It’s all very well having a great beautician but really, couldn’t she just lie??? She refuses to depilate my face until at least 6 months...bah.

good news from the AC camp!

Thursday 9th October


Well, the holiday was absolutely fabulous. I don’t think I’ve ever had a better one. Andrew found the most amazing apartment right at the side of the River Douro in Ribeira [Portugal]. We had a huge veranda, and could sit and watch the boats and people going by, the sun setting and rising – the weather was perfect, 28° and sunny every single day. I amazed myself by being able to stomp merrily up the hill to the town centre [very steep!!] and managed the 6 flights of stairs to the apartment reasonably well too [rather a lot of puffing on the 4th flight – not to mention legs that felt like burning lead!]. Thanks to Julie I think – my circuit training is paying off! Andrew was funny, as he was pretending that he was also shattered at that flight – I know very well that he lifts tiles every day and could probably run up them singing an aria at the same time. But he made me feel better anyway. As Nat says [and it always makes me chuckle]; My Favourite Husband!

While we were there I really did manage NOT to think about cancer, apart from one evening when I just went into one, very upset about the fact that Andrew is stuck with a wife with all these tedious problems – but hey, as girls, we are allowed to do that anyway right? And as always, Aj was a brick, so that was ok. I think it wouldn’t be normal if we didn’t flip out occasionally.

We had a little get together at the apartment, and it was so good to be ‘normal’ and go a bit mad. With people who accept what’s happening and can mention it in ordinary conversation without getting all maudlin about it, plus those lunatics love my hair...hmm, therapy may be in order methinks! One more person rubbing my head and I would’ve been bald again!

Lots and lots of laughter as usual – it’s the fault of my friends in Portugal that I have so many laugh lines. Well, I’ll call them that anyway...I think I’ll make them club together for a face lift for me as punishment...lots of Planalto [thank you Marina!], gorgeous freshly cooked Rissois [who else but Pat the Little Chef?], a fab Tortilha [aaargh! so bad you weren’t there Bella] and the great company of a new friend plus my usual bunch of crazy people. Only one missing, but that was the fault of Cersaie. Boo.

Anyway, waffling away as usual – the main thing being this: I am in REMISSION!! We arrived back on the Sunday, Monday I went for my blood tests [got into trouble for that – seems they only process them every Tuesday, so mine were rushed in and I should go a week before next time. Ok – salute, salute!] and Tuesday I went for the first of the 3 monthly check ups for the year.

WHAT a nightmare Tuesday morning! Thank God for Pat being so patient or probably my head would have exploded. She gave me some work that is just repetition and called me to be sure I was still sane – and I was still struggling to do it. I was not so much ‘stressed’ as completely deranged. I had a hot flash every hour, my heart kept trying to jump out of my ribs...you know what I mean. It was more ‘anticipation’ than fear – but once I arrived at the hospital, I was so calm. My brain goes: “ah, good, we are back where if we try to drop dead someone will save us, so we can chill!” So I was quite calm when the nurse said to me that I would be seeing the registrar. And I was also quite calm when I told her that actually I WOULDN’T be seeing the registrar, I would be seeing Dr Hong, thank you very much. Registrar?? I don’t think so babe. A small tussle, but we succeeded in the end, and I did see Dr Hong. She did an external and an internal exam [eww – yuck] and pronounced everything to be fine. And my CA 125 is now back down to 7!! Hooray! No more B&H for me thanks...anyone reading this, if you go anywhere, send L&M blues [lights] to me! I will reimburse heh heh. My CA 125 went up when I changed ciggies [yes, yes, I KNOW I should give up, but you try it in the middle of this little lark!]

So...hmm, where was I? Oh Yes!! We got the good news and decided to celebrate...er, difficult! We were so exhausted from the relief that really we just had a quiet drink and collapsed. Celebrate another day. Celebrate every day! Why not eh?? We all should...for no reason at all...