Sixty Six

I was trotting along, settling in, getting used to things and then BANG! Everything changed. Almost overnight.

On Sunday 10th December I had a conversation with my dad on the phone. I hadn't spoken to him for a while, he had been working and is always terrible at keeping in touch when he's got a long job on. I knew he hadn't been well. My husband had seen him the weekend before and was worried about him. Thought he was completely exhausted. The phone conversation threw me into a flat spin. He not only sounded confused and slightly slurred but admitted to having problems spelling simple words and remembering things.

The next morning I dropped the kids at school and drove straight to Kent to see him. He was unable to work and struggling at home with simple tasks. I thought maybe he'd had a stroke. We spoke to his Doctor on the phone and made an appointment for the next day. I returned home. Tuesday morning I dropped the kids at school and drove back to Kent. We went to the Doctor and explained the problems he'd been having. She examined him thoroughly and gave him antibiotics for a chest infection. She made a request for an urgent referral to a Neurologist and suggested possible mini strokes, a nervous breakdown or potentially something putting pressure on part of his brain.

I drove back to London and was replaced by my Sister who raced up from Cornwall on the train. She has taken over my role as big Sister and has been truly amazing. My Brother was there too and on the Wednesday My Dad's lovely Girlfriend returned from London where she had been working for the beginning of the week (she normally spends Monday-Wednesday in town). They muddled through and although he was happy and relaxed having them all there taking care of him, the symptoms kept returning.

On Friday afternoon my Sister phoned to say he'd had some sort of fit. She thought it was a stroke so she called an ambulance. We dropped the girls with friends and drove back down. He had to endure a whole heap of tests including a chest xray which showed lesions on his right lung. A CT scan showing a mass and some fluid on his brain and a series of questions and tests to ascertain his levels of confusion and co-ordination. He was cheerful throughout and it sounded like there was a party coming from his cubicle in A&E.

He spent the weekend holding court in his own private room. A constant stream of visitors. He also had further scans and an MRI. He was given steroids which immediately returned his marbles. He looked rested and we all felt much more positive.

On Monday 16th I drove back down to Kent to take my Mum out for her Birthday lunch and pop in on Dad. On our way out we got a call from Dad, he was upset. We drove straight to the Hospital. He had been given his diagnosis. Mum didn't get her Birthday lunch.

My Dad has been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. He has a tumour in the bottom of his right lung. It has spread, via his lymphatic system to his brain where he has two tumours and to his adrenal gland which is on his right, just above his kidney.

I can't even begin to put into words, the emotional effect of this news on us all. I can't even start to try. I can only tell you the facts right now and hope that in doing so I can somehow lessen the constant sickness in my stomach.

So, we have been coping. Pulling together. On Tuesday 17th his Sister arrived from Canada, on her Birthday. Herself a cancer survivor. They let Dad go home and my Sister finally headed back to Cornwall to try and prepare for Christmas. My Brother stopped working to spend as much time as possible helping out. I drove backwards and forwards.

We are still in shock. Unfortunately it does nothing to mask the pain. We move forwards, we smile for the kids. I've cried a bit, not enough, still terrified to really let go. Not one of us can sleep properly. I have prayed, broken down in the street and laughed and loved with my family.

If this is a test, I'm not convinced we can pass it. It's becoming more and more difficult to stay buoyant, stay positive. The rational me is taking a battering.

Dad is doing well. He feels surrounded by Love. He has a wonderful woman. He feels he's had a great life. Today he had some really good news. He had a meeting with the Oncologists who have prescribed a course of Radiotherapy on his brain. They would like to try to shrink the tumours down sufficiently to stop the steroids. This will start urgently, as soon as they have a machine spare. We are hoping for a cancellation.

They are going to take a biopsy of his chest and when they have his brain cancer under control they are going to give him Chemotherapy to treat the rest. This will buy him time. How much time, no one can say. He is thrilled with this news. Happy that they think it's worth his while. When I'm with him, the pain goes away a bit. The rest of the time, it's almost too much to bear. It was so much easier when it was all about me. But it's not now and Cancer was one experience I didn't want to share.

Sixty Five

The wind is howling outside. I'm in bed with all my clothes on. Because I've written so much of my blog in bed, it seems to be the only place I feel comfortable doing it. That and the fact that the house is cold and if I sit still for an hour I will freeze! Our bed is at the top of the house, in what used to be the attic. We had it converted when we were told we needed a whole new roof. In for a penny and all that. Unfortunately because I was so heavily pregnant at the time and didn't keep nearly as close an eye on the build as I should have done, you really do feel out in the elements. Today I can feel the house being buffeted and hear the wind outside. When it rains, it sounds like someone is dropping pebbles on the roof just above our heads. In the summer it gets so hot we have to sleep with all the windows open. Basically it's like living in a caravan on the top of our house. That's probably why I love it so much.

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. The girls have written their lists, I have tried my best to make sure they're not too disappointed. The house is getting festive (more so when I finally get round to buying a tree) and you can't leave the house without falling into a local Christmas gathering. I'm super chuffed to be in more of a position to enjoy it than last year, it's hard to go back and think about the lead up to that Christmas. The children have assured me that this will be the best Christmas ever.

On the weekend of 23rd November we drove to the Cotswolds. One of the twins lives there with his glamorous, brilliant, ever-busy wife and three kids. We walked and cooked and caught up and prepared for their first dinner party in the house with local friends they have met since moving there. It was a freezing cold night and the house was steaming hot with all the open fires blazing. The food was delicious and the company friendly and fun. I did fall slightly off the wagon but tried not to regret it too much in the morning as it had been such fun.

We took our hangovers, the next day, to the pub. Where all good hangovers should go. We managed to meet up with some dear friends who we haven't seen for ages and all go for a good Cotswolds stomp together.

This not-drinking thing gets very hard at this time of year. In fact it was pretty hard in the summer too - no long gin and tonics in Ibiza town.... no cold pints on hot days... But I find it harder around Christmas. All that lovely spicy warm booze laced with sugar. That's a big fat no on both counts. Red wine by the fire. No.Warm apple juice with Bison grass vodka. No. Single malt whiskey at the end of a meal. No (well actually yes, this is still a weakness I'm yet to control).

Aaarrrgghhhh! Flipping laptop keeps crashing! I'm now typing on the iPad. This will be the third lesson. I've been wondering what it would be. The third lesson in backing things up. These lessons always come in threes to make sure you have truly learned them. Firstly the blog, then I lost my phone in the Cotswolds whilst having a wee behind a stone wall on a walk and now my laptop. Great.

Where was I? Ah yes Drinking. Now, Ive never been a huge booze hound but I do like a tipple especially when combined with a dance or a giggle. I tend not to be able to drink to massive excess because I throw up or pass out before that happens but I  like to drink in moderation. I've been informed that this has to stop.

During a meeting with a nutritionist I asked about drinking, previously I have been told that if I want to enjoy a glass of wine with dinner then that's fine. This lady told me that because my cancer was hormone reactive I cannot risk drinking at all. Alcohol effects your oestrogen levels and this could kick start growth in any remaining cancer cells. Alcohol also contains stupid amounts of sugar which cancer cells feed on. I asked the 'just one glass a week with food?' question and she said that if I absolutely had to I should have half a glass and really enjoy it and make it last all night!

Seeing as I'm not a huge fan of wine and I don't think she meant half a glass of vodka or whiskey I've been pretty dry for quite some time now.  I have asked my Husband to stop offering me a drink when he has one and to stop pouring me a glass on the off chance. This has made it easier at home but it's still hard when we go out. If there is dancing involved I can be distracted but sit down dinners are definitely my Achilles heel. Not to mention 'Christmas drinkies'. Please don't stop inviting me though, I promise not to become a horrendous bore!

What it boils down to is giving my self the best possible shot at survival. I have five years to get through before we know whether the cancer has all gone. This five years is just about to start. I cannot risk the guilt of knowing I could have done more if the cancer comes back. So another clean Christmas for me.

Now, onto treatment. I had my Herceptin on Tuesday. I am thrilled to announce that I only have one dose left and unfortunately that will be on Christmas eve. I am very excited about having the port in my chest removed as it has become more uncomfortable as I lost weight. January will be a new beginning of sorts. Then I have the 1825 day countdown to the day that I will be officially in remission and cancer free.

Sixty Four

Well, This is exciting, the first post on the 'new' blog! I'm afraid the excitement will probably end there though as it's been so long since I've written that today will have to be a boring catch up of all things medical.

Firstly back to the blog for a second. It was such an enormous shock to find it missing and I was truly devastated for about 24hours. I hadn't realised that I had written so much, that it was so important to me that the girls can read it at some point, and that I'm actually quite proud of my blog. Aside from raising two lovely little people, this might actually be my biggest achievement to date! The wonderful people at Leftbrain managed to recover a huge amount and we cobbled together the rest. I am still missing number 58 which is a real shame as it described the entire 5 week radiotherapy experience. If any of you have it, please send it to me.

The end of September carried on in the same busy fashion. Macmillan Coffee Morning at school, Massage at St Thomas's, DIY, Husband working late. On the weekend of 28th we went to Kent and collected our caravan for a last hurrah before we deserted it for the winter. Our friend was having his annual birthday party in the clearing where Husband and I got married. It's a lovely little spot with a lawn next to a lake nestled in a small woodland. I first went there in my teens and always wanted to get married there. Since then he has built two spectacular tree houses. My husband and I did have our wedding there in 2008 and our friend has now turned the place into a proper wedding venue. He has built loos and has a beautiful marquee erected for the summers. Sofas swing from the trees and the whole woodland is lit with fairy lights. You can see his website here. Most of the pictures are from my wedding.

Anyway, I'd better not get carried away and start writing about my wedding, I've got a lot to get through! The party was great. The band were terrific and I danced till about 2am when I crashed in my lovely comfy caravan. The next morning I refused to get out of bed and hosted a mega breakfast in bed with all the kids.

On the first of October I had my Herceptin and much to my eldest daughter's annoyance I couldn't make it on her school trip to the London Eye. On Wednesday 2nd I had a review with the Oncologists. They were pleased that I had tolerated the radiotherapy well and all the external scarring had healed. I wanted to talk about the ever important five year countdown, what did it mean? when did it start? what is remission?

I wasn't entirely happy with the answers. My five year countdown won't start until I have finished treatment so this last year of hell doesn't even count. My five years will start in January. I am not in remission. I will not be considered in remission until I have survived that five years cancer free. It was a reminder of my slightly precarious situation. The upside being that I actually have been feeling well enough to convince myself that I might have been in remission (cancer free).

That knocked me back for a few days, followed by a doctors appointment on the third and being told I was losing too much weight and my bmi was on the underweight side. This caused a confusion of mixed feelings. The girl in me rejoiced while the cancer patient worried. I have altered my diet to include a small amount of meat and dairy and generally relaxed my eating habits to include more protein. I can safely say now in the middle of November that it is no longer an issue!

The main realisation to come out of this review was that we aren't moving, we are staying put now for quite some time. We had moved back to London with heads brimming with embrionic plans for the next escape. The itchy feet not at all sated by our year in the countryside and feeling like we had a hole to fill. My meeting with the oncologist underlined the importance of my proximity to the hospital over the next five years. I will not be routinely scanned as each scan can actually raise my chances of the cancer returning. Instead they have what's called a 'Low threshold scan approach'. Basically if I have any complaints at all that could be cancer related, I am immediately scanned. ie, stomach problems, lingering cough, lumps and bumps in my chest wall, any skin changes...

I need to be close to the hospital. It needs to be a good one. I am being treated at the best and I live 15 minutes away. Why would I move? This was a life changing realisation for both of us and one we are both very happy with. I feel that we have settled and put down roots more in the last month than we did in the last 8 years. It's actually very nice to just stop planning. It's the first time I have ever done this and I like it (shame it took a Doctor telling me it could be life saving to stay put but hey ho).

So, with that in mind we have started to think about secondary schools for the girls and we are very lucky to be in an area with lots of good ones. Another bonus! Best of all is being back amongst our friends. There is a wonderful community built up around the school our children go to and I have my old friends who have moved here too. I'm feeling very happy about coming home. It really does feel like HOME, possibly the first real one I've ever had.

Dad got booked on a proper job taking him up to January so he couldn't afford to continue helping me with the DIY for the peanuts I was throwing. We had got a lot done while he was here but there was still so much to do. After he left it ground to a halt. I am having to be so careful with my arm that lifting heavy things is out, as is using power tools. There is only so much I can do between the school drop off and collect. The half finished house was starting to seriously stress me out so I stopped trying and just moved in. Boxes were finally emptied and most of the rooms were usable, if not finished.

I have been trying to visit the Haven once a week. They prescribed me a combination of Aromatherapy massage for stress and to help even out the muscles on my shoulders and arms, counselling and MLD which is medical lymphatic drainage. My arm hasn't swollen any more which is fantastic news. Apart from the prescribed one to ones I've been lucky enough to have, it's just a wonderful place to go. I even like the hour on the train and tube it takes to get there - I read or crochet and it reminds me of going to work. I try and have lunch there when I can as it's always vegan, healthy and delicious.

About a week before October half term my Husband announced that he had managed to take the week off work. I immediately logged onto his airmiles account and booked us a week in Ibiza. We stayed at the same 'cheap as chips' 1970's apartment I had been to with Mum and Sister in the spring. The sun was warm but not burning, the sea was warm, most of the restaurants were closed in the little resorts but open in the main towns. We hired a little pebble of a car and armed with our 'secret beaches of Ibiza' printed from the Internet, we set about exploring the lesser trodden parts of the island. It was an idyllic week.

The combination of the holiday and actually having unpacked most of our stuff helped reduce my stress levels no end. I have had two counselling sessions now too. This week I managed to only talk about my children and how I thought they were doing. I guess all talking helps.

On the 8th November we scooted down to Cornwall to see my Sister and adorable Nephew. I have missed them, especially him as I hadn't seen him since we were in Kent. We went out on Saturday night to the 50th birthday party of the twins eldest brother. It was a great evening with lots of dancing and laughing and seeing old friends. After a lovely roast at the farm shop on Sunday we rushed home.

My birthday was successfully dragged out for as long as possible. I had my herceptin on the actual day which was a pain but I went up to Selfridges where my husband was having a meeting and managed to squeeze a lunch with him in before he had to be there. On the Friday some of my lovely local mums came over for lunch. Then on Sunday I met some other friends and family for a walk and a roast at the Dulwich Woodhouse Pub. That pretty much brings us up to date. I thought I might struggle to write after so long but actually I've had to work really hard to stick to the important facts and not follow my instinctive rambles. Hopefully I won't leave it so long now as I much prefer writing instinctive rambles!

Sixty Three

Sixty Three

On August bank Holiday whilst the rest of the world was enjoying carnival, we moved house. We were helped along the way by our magnificent support gang. We didn't actually sleep in the house till Tuesday night when we brought the girls back for the first time. They were both nervous and still upset about moving but the minute they walked through the door they both felt at home. The relief was obvious and very welcome.

The next few days were spent unpacking the kitchen and bathroom, finding the bare essentials and camping wherever there was a space in the boxes. The house had been looked after by the tenants but they had lots of children and the house is old. There was an enormous amount of 'wear and tear'. We decided to decorate before unpacking (a decision I wouldn't have made in hindsight and have lived to regret a thousand times over!)

On Wednesday 28th I went back to hospital to have my arm measured again. It was carrying a 4% increase in fluid since the scan a month before. This isn't great news but it's not terrible either. I will have it measured again at the end of September and hope it hasn't swollen any more. It hurts every day. Some more than others depending on how much I have used it.

The children were due to start back at school on Wednesday 4th. Daughter 2 still didn't have a place. On Tuesday we went out with her God-Mother for a day at the South Bank and whilst we were there I spoke to Lewisham Education Authority and was told I could take her into School. Amazing news - we were all overjoyed.

Unfortunately she went into a different class to the one she had been in for the two previous years. There are three classes per year group and she didn't know any of the children in this new class. This was compounded by the fact that the teacher was new and also didn't know any of the children. Daughter 2 cried every day for the first two weeks. She played with all her friends at play time then had to leave them for class. She has finally settled in and made some new friends.

Whilst this upset was happening at school, the children were sleeping on the landing at home! We attacked both of their bedrooms at once and sanded the floor in the loft at the same time. Dad stayed too and slept on the sitting room floor amongst the boxes. Husband and I camped down wherever we saw space. With Dad and I working through the day and Husband chipping in whenever work allowed we have finally now all got a bedroom (except Dad who is still on the sitting room floor!).

On Sunday 8th we returned to Kent and took all our unwanted things out of Mother-in-Laws shed and carted them off to the boot fair. I loved the whole experience! We sold a fair amount of stuff and made about £100 which can go straight to B&Q. I was kept on a tight leash and not allowed to buy anything. I managed to sneak a £2 leather handbag with matching purse and a 50p cocktail dress from French Connection. Seriously, boot fairs are where it's at!

On Monday 9th I had my quarterly echo heart scan. I still haven't had the results but the radiographer confirmed the lazy valve and saw a slight thickening in one chamber. I am yet to find out whether that has anything to do with the chest pains. Tuesday 10th and I was back at Guys for my Herceptin, the three weeks seems to come round so quickly at the moment.

Wednesday and Thursday were taken up with welcome meetings at the school and more filling and painting. Lovely friend and I escaped to East Dulwich for lunch and attacked the health food shop with gusto. I have missed all of this. Her, lunch, East Dulwich and the health food shop. It was warming and I really appreciated something that I may have taken for granted before all this happened.

On Friday 13th (I should have known to stay in bed) I went off to St Thomas's Hospital for my first of a three Friday course. It's run by the Penny Brohn Cancer Centre in Bristol and is called 'Living Well'. I was really excited about it and have heard only really good things about the centre. They do amazing work.

Unfortunately it wasn't for me. I arrived a couple of minutes late having run from the school drop-off and charged through the underground. As I arrived, the group were setting up 'ground rules' and they agreed that the first one was time keeping! So it didn't really start well for me. We then went into the introductions. I was the youngest by far and had (apart from one man who was in a pretty bad way) probably the least positive prognosis. Everyone there was so gloomy about their experience that I wanted to shake them. They had basically given up.

I was grouped off with my two next-to's and left in that group all day. I may be generalising enormously but didn't actually get a chance to speak to anyone else on the course. I feel like I am emotionally so far beyond anyone there that it brought me down, and then trod on me. I left feeling low, sad and slightly desperate. Let alone bitterly disappointed. I also missed lunch which as you know is not my favourite thing to do. I took a call from my Husband and was out of the room for about 10 minutes. When I returned there was NOTHING left! No-one had even thought to save me a sandwich.

I haven't been back.

On Monday 16th I had a totally different experience at The Haven. It is a centre for supporting people who have or have had breast cancer. It's in a beautiful old churchy building in Putney. I felt welcome and at home the minute I walked in. I had a wonderful consultation with a lovely lady for an hour where she helped me decide how best to use their services. I will be having some counselling, some aromatherapy massage and some Medical lymphatic drainage. On top of that they have a huge range of groups that I can't wait to get involved in. Plus on Tuesdays they have amazing people come in to make lunch!

The rest of the week was spent registering with a GP, having a nurse check me over, having my first GP appointment for ages, spending £1300 on having the car fixed (the old banger never cost me any money to fix!), painting, and more painting!

On Friday 20th I went off on my own to the opera. My Dad's Girlfriend who works there had sent him up with a ticket for me. It was the final rehersal for Elekra. I spent the first 20 minutes trying not to fall asleep - this was in no way a reflection on the performance, I was just exhausted and it was warm and dark and no-one was aking me to do anything. About half way through people started killing each other and the drama had me gripped till the end. When it was all over I had to stifle sobs of relief for the singers/actors. Luckily I managed - God knows how I'd stop if I really started to cry.

On Saturday morning we finished painting daughter 2's bedroom. Moved all the furniture out of the middle of the room into the hall and the carpet fitter came. I painted red nail varnish over the white paint on my nails, washed my hair and donned a mask. We were throwing a 60th birthday party for Mum in Kent. She was 60 in December when I was in the middle of my chemo and she decided to put it off to a happier time.

I wasn't the only one in a mask, everyone wore one and the effect was great fun. There were a perfect mix of people and the music was cheesey enough to keep me on the dancefloor for nearly 5 hours. The terrible mood I started the day with lifted and we all had a really lovely time.

Sixty Two

Wednesday, 4 September 2013

Sixty Two - found!

I have an unnatural, mainly unfounded, irrational and intense hate (that's a strong word, perhaps 'mistrust' is better) for removals companies. This is unlike me, I generally like giving people money to do things for me better than I could do myself. This 'problem' has undone us before and I'm sure it will again. Every time we move house I swear I'm going to get someone else to do all the hard work and pay them. They come to give quotes and the minute they walk through the door I'm trying to get rid of them.

Perhaps all the talk of how many boxes they think it will take, or how long, freaks me out. Perhaps it's the reality of what we are about to embark on. Maybe it's just the thought of a stranger touching all my things? I don't know but I'm afraid I just couldn't get past it. Again. I employed mytruck driver, a man I have known since I was in my teens, a mixture between friend and an uncle to me. Roped in My Dad, Brother and his Girlfriend for the move and started to barter and beg for help packing.

Packing the house back into boxes was, apart from the annoyance of having to actually do it, a very cleansing experience. We managed to syphon off an enormous amount of things to go to the charity shop and the boot fair. This means we have a very slightly smaller, enormous collection of stuff. The hoarding has definitely passed from my Husband and me straight to our daughters.

Mother in Law absorbed the children as much as possible and the rest of the time we sent them for play-dates and let them play on the laptop. The dog got bored and unpacked some boxes and simply destroyed others by chewing the corners off them. My Mum and my Dad's girlfriend packed and sorted and folded. As the rooms piled up, the boxes kept coming. As fast as they arrived – from the supermarket, from friends and from the storage shop – we filled them.

On Tuesday 20th I had to take a break and head up to Guys for my dose of Herceptin. I took Daughter number one with me for support and we had lunch in Borough Market together before heading back. She spoke about her fears of moving and how she felt about leaving our 'home' in Kent. I listened and made the right Motherly comments whilst coming to a strong realisation that I am more than thrilled to get out of the house that holds such painful memories.

On the Wednesday evening, whilst tackling the shoe mountain, I pulled something in my left arm. It wasn't too painful, just a sharp twinge but it gave me cause to stop and examine. On reflection, my arm felt different and when I paused long enough to consider it I realised it had been feeling different for some time. I had done an excellent job of ignoring it. The pins and needles had started on and off in my hand in Ireland and slowly but surely the arm had felt heavier.

I pinched the skin around my elbows and unfortunately the left was not the same as the right. I measured around my arm just above my elbow and it was a good centimetre bigger than the right. My mind searched back over what might have caused it. The puppies constant nips? Too much driving? Had I hurt it putting the awning up? I emailed my Breast Care Nurse and stopped lifting things.

On Thursday I went back to London to have my arm looked at by my surgeon. He agreed it was swollen and there was more fluid. I had my arm scanned to see what the extent of the swelling was but would have to go back in a week for a repeat. In the mean time, I was to treat it as lyphadaema. The thing I've been trying so hard to avoid. I promised to take extra care and do absolutely NO lifting.

Sixty One

Sixty One

On the first of August we woke up at 4.30am. Husband drove off to the farm down the lane where we keep the caravan and brought it back. We loaded into the car with the puppy in the back and off we went. It's still a novelty for me to not have to drive everywhere and I'm happy to say that I hardly drove at all during our two weeks away. We sailed from Holyhead to Dublin and arrived at our friend's house in time for tea.

The next day we hitched up and headed for Slane. Our friends have set up a Yurt Glamping site Hare's leap in the grounds of Slane Castle. A weekend party and camp-out had been arranged for her 40^th. We set up home and finally grappled with the awning for the first time, doubling our space and delighting the children.

Friends old and new continued to arrive for the next two days. By Friday evening though, the party was already in full swing. My sister arrived on Saturday and stayed for two nights. The children and the dog ran wild. We swam in the river Boyne, walked the ancient land and for one weekend I broke my resolve and drank champagne in the hot tub under the stars. The weather was beautiful – cracking blue skies peppered only occasionally with momentary downpours lasting a matter of minutes.

Ireland was it's usual welcoming self. Our caravan is small enough that we arouse no suspicion of tinkers (a larger caravan may have had a colder welcome). We were obviously just idiots abroad. On Monday the last of the guests drifted home and dramatic news reached us from the village. A masked robber had held up the bakers thinking it was the bookies (his mask got in the way), made of with 10euros and was caught by the Guards (police).

We were invited to go home with our friends, he is a twin I've mentioned before and his twin and their sister were with us plus Irish twin's beautiful wife and a lovely selection of children. We weren't the only guests to head home with them and we managed to hold on to the spirit of the weekend for at least one more night.

We finally hit the road on Wednesday and headed into the Wicklow Mountains where we had been invited by new friends to stay on a stunning Estate where they work. Their son and our daughter number two had become great friends at the camp-out. We had a blissful 24hours eating lovely food prepared from the kitchen garden, swimming in the pool, swimming in the river and enjoying great hospitality.

From there we drove South to a village called Dunmore East. We spent two days on the beach and on Saturday 10^th we caught the ferry from Roslaire to Fishguard. The drive from there to Cornwall was brutal with the caravan on the back. The early start to catch the ferry contributed to nearly 12 hours travelling. I drove for one. At about 6pm we arrived at Atlantic View campsite near Padstow where my sister and her family had set up camp and had a delicious curry ready for us.

We spent two days camping with them, surfing, walking, swimming, eating. The children and the dog making new 'best friends' at every stop. Then we stashed the caravan and moved into my Sister's house in Boscastle for three nights. We caught up with friends, visited the harbour, ate pasties, had a wonderful BBQ and swam in the sea some more. The children caught up with their friends and by Thursday when we collected the caravan and turned for home, we felt like we'd been away for a lot longer than two weeks.

We had one last hurrah, an evening in London, before the packing started in earnest. It was a dinner party with very close friends in a fabulous loft in Old Street. A birthday surprise. Everyone was dressed up and the setting was perfect. A step back allowed an amusing comparison to a modern, English version of 'Friends!'

Sixty

Saturday, 17 August 2013

After Glastonbury things looked a little less shiny for a bit. I started taking the Tamoxifen - a tablet I have to take every day for the next five years. It's to level out my hormones and inhibit any oestrogen spikes. Because my cancer was hormone receptive a spike could set it off again. Tamoxifen has a list of side effects as long as your arm, the doctors aren't interested in talking about them for at least three months - it takes that long for your body to settle into them.

I cried off and on for the first two weeks. I also found it hard to accept the fatigue having done so well through the radio. Depression is a side effect of Tamoxifen but it's also a side effect of cancer and one I've tried so hard to fight. I went to Hospital and had my scars checked out, all signs of infection had gone and they were very pleased with how well I'd tolerated such a long course of radiotherapy.

I spoke to my oncologist about my prognosis. They have a computer program that estimates your survival stats. The Oncologist puts in all your data - sex, age, weight, other medical problems, type of cancer, size/grade/stage of tumour, lymph involvement, all the treatment you have - even the specific types of chemotherapy drug and doses. (plus lots of other personal bits and bobs which I've forgotten) Then it gives you a percentage chance of surviving the next five years.

Five years seems to be the benchmark. If your cancer hasn't come back in five years there's a pretty good chance it won't come back in ten. The computer program starts by telling you what your chances would be without any intervention based on your personal data and cancer details. Obviously mine was 0% - a sobering thought. Each part of the treatment adds to your chances. I'm currently bobbing somewhere between the 75 - 80% chance of surviving the next five years.

Now, I know that this is based on statistics but these are accurate statistics taking into account all relevant knowledge of my personal situation. My chances are good but they're not fantastic and that takes some getting used to. My Oncologist helpfully pointed out that my cancer wouldn't come back 70-80% It either wouldn't come back at all or it would come back 100% so the stats mean nothing really.

Most of the time I can carry on and try my hardest to lead a normal life. But when I wake at night and can't get back to sleep I have a number 5 rolling around in my head. One in 5 chance of developing lymphadoema in my left arm, One in 5 chance of dying in the next 5 years.

During this whole sorry nightmare I have become institutionalised by the Hospital. It has crept up on me, I've only noticed it since my radiotherapy finished. I have been only too aware that things might stop going well at any point but while I was in and out of hospital week in week out I felt safe. Surely the cancer couldn't return while all those wonderful Doctors were keeping such a close eye on me.

Suddenly I'm hardly ever there. I still go every three weeks for my herceptin but now that my body has got used to it I can take the full dose in half an hour. I don't have check ups, I don't have blood tests. I'll be back in September for a heart scan and I'll speak to someone at some point about my Tamoxifen side effects but I basically feel dropped. I have to wait a year for any further surgery due to scar tissue. I cant help but be constantly nervous that something is going to happen and no-one will notice before it's too late. Luckily I have the girls to distract me.

This is a hard blog to write and I've been putting it off for nearly two months. Now that I've broached some of the more painful moments I can write about things I enjoy thinking about more. I still haven't worked out whether it would be a good idea for me to seek some sort of council for the morbid but realistic thoughts or if its better to continue to ignore them as much as possible. I know that sounds unhealthy but most of the time it works for me.

In family news, we are moving back to our house in London. My Husband's clever 'Thailand' contract comes to an end soon and in September he'll be returning to full time work. He's tried commuting from Kent but his hours are sometimes long and late and he's gotten used to spending time with his girls as the primary parent during the harsher parts of my treatment. He would find it incredibly hard to give up that daily parenting. The girls are gutted to be leaving their little school but excited about rekindling previous friendships.

We move on the weekend of late August's bank holiday. Eldest daughter's birthday weekend. We have only ever moved house over her Birthday weekend! The thought of tearing apart the home and packing it all up into boxes again fills me with dread. The thought of going home and starting again is tentatively exciting. Things have a funny way of working out and I'm seeing this whole move to Kent from a slightly different angle, I'm pleased that I don't have memories of all the illness attached to my own house. During our year away, more friends have moved to the area. Really good, close friends. I'm going to be in good hands.

Fifty Nine

Monday, 29 July 2013

Summer came. The first real one my children have ever seen here at home. It started for me the day after my radiotherapy finished. We woke up and did the school run. Then we got into the car and drove to Pilton for our annual pilgrimage to Glastonbury Festival. Historically a long weekend away from the children and the constraints of normality and a chance for me to really let my hair down. This year was a rather more sober event for me but wonderful none the less.

We arrived on site with only a handbag and ticket. The walk form the car was so easy we felt like we were cheating, I suppose we were. Our caravan was already there, waiting for us in the Theatre and Circus crew camping field. It was fully packed with all my festival outfits and my husbands beer. The food cupboard was stocked and the bed was made. My friend - someone I shared a blanket in the shade with during the white hot summer of '76, had towed it there for us. His mother had provided us with guest passes so we could join the family and camp in style.

On Thursday night it rained but just enough to settle the dust. The rest of the weekend was glorious. Every morning and evening I had to turn the caravan into a small surgery and change the dressings on my radiotherapy burns. The skin had lifted off sections of my shoulder, armpit, back, chest and breast. In these areas I had open wounds and had to battle to keep the Glasto dust from getting to them. On Friday afternoon I had a thumping headache and by Saturday morning I had a high temperature. The burn under my arm had become smelly and a bit foul so we took a trip to the field hospital.

It's a lovely walk through the festival. Glastonbury is like a small city that springs up once a year or thereabouts. One minute there are green fields with grazing cows and the next there are roughly a quarter of a million people (including staff, performers, ticket holders etc) and an entire infrastructure to support them. The whole event is dedicated to providing pleasure. Just walking from one area to another you pass through an entire menu of amusements. Everyone is smiling, or would be if they had had a little more sleep, the ground pulses to a mixture of beats and the air is filled with delicious food smells. The tents, stalls and stages match the lary colours of the revellers costumes. If, like me, you crave this sensory overload, Glastonbury Festival can be heaven.

Up behind the farm it's self, past the cowsheds, past the small temporary village that houses the enormous security force, is the hospital. Its in a long, white marquee. It has wooden floors, a waiting room, reception desk, fully stocked pharmacy, a mental health area, examination rooms and a dental surgery. The staff were indistinguishable from the patients in dress, although they each had a large laminate around their neck detailing their speciality and a mini ipad to keep them organised. Most were wearing wellys and one of the senior doctors was even wearing a kilt with his paratrouper's boots.

I was seen by a specialist nurse and a doctor and prescribed a course of antibiotics. The experience was a little surreal having spent so much of the last year in hospitals. This was one of the most efficient and impressive visits yet. The field hospital is run by a charity called festival-medical, they have been organising medical back up for Glastonbury since the 1970s and are considered experts in the field, providing the service for other massive events like Reading Festival. The other cases in the waiting room consisted of broken bones, tooth infections, dehydration, sunburn and sunstroke, D & V, cuts and various other injuries. It was totally amazing what they could cope with onsite.

By Saturday afternoon I was back on track and at 8pm we settled in front of the pyramid stage for Primal Scream. They were predictably good and a perfect 'warm up' for the act of the evening. I may have mentioned before that I am a bit of a fan of the Rolling Stones. My Dad brought me up listening to them in the kitchen, in the car, in the bus (that we used to live in). I have seen them twice before, once last November, but never with my Father. This time, thanks again to the family we were camping with, My Dad was right there with us.

We found a perfect spot with a great view. We were just behind a set of speakers and the sound was fantastic. We were surrounded by smiling, dancing, singing people and we were only too aware that this was the biggest, most heavily attended show the festival has ever seen. There were people as far as the eye could see. The atmosphere was electric and the band were on fire. I had enough space to dance, and for possibly the first time ever, My dad was dancing too. The three of us danced and grinned our way through the set, soaking up the vibes from a crowd who all seemed as happy as we were to be there.

The Rolling Stones were better than I'd seen them before. More raw, more real, more Rock and Roll. With every familiar riff, the whole audience would accompany Mick into opening lines and through choruses. The set list was similar to the one we'd seen at the O2 but the feeling was so much warmer. My husband and I remembered that visit and felt happy to be looking back at it. This time I had hair and with the exception of a bit of sore skin, I was well. My Dad and I remembered the days he would sit and play me records when the chemotherapy left me too tired to chat, now I was dancing and he was grinning. It was, without doubt one of 'those' Glastonbury moments.

The excitement carried me long into the night. I kept up with my friends until about 3.30am when I finally called it a day and wandered slowly back to the comfort of my little home. My Husband returned at some point and was there when I woke up. Sunday was blissful and Monday was very relaxed. The children from our little camp went out tatting (collecting the good stuff that people leave behind - like wombles. Ultimate recycling) and they collected a whole heap of fun goodies. Brand new, un-worn wellies, camping equipment, various items of clothing including a wedding hat, unopened boxes and bottles of wine, cans of beer, cans of beans. It kept them amused all day and kept us amused seeing what they would return with next.

I went for a walk and did a little tatting of a different kind. A visit to some of our favourite food vendors produced celery for our bloody Marys, half baked loaves of bread (my neighbour had an oven) tomatoes for lunch and onions and potatoes to add to supper. We caught up, over a lazy afternoon, with the families we were camping with, most of whom I have known my whole life. This communal, vehicular living is so deeply in my blood, any small space of ground can feel like home with a few creature comforts and enough people you love.

Fifty Eight

Missing Entry

I am so grateful that so much of my blog was recovered when I lost it but still so sad that number 58 is missing. This was the month or actually 5 weeks that I was undergoing radiotherapy.

I have the first paragraph and it goes like this.....

Right then, where was I? Oh yes, that's right. Radiotherapy. On the 22nd May I had my first of 25 radiotherapy sessions. I was laid out on a contraption and manually put into position by two chatty radiographers. My arms were raised above my head and rested in elbow stirrups - a very uncomfortable position for the sore arm. The positioning took about 15 minutes to get exactly right, I was lined up using lasers criss-crossing the room and the three small tattoos on my chest and sides. Once lined up I was instructed to remain completely still. Everyone else left the room and the heavy... 

But that's it.

I think I went on to describe a panic attack I had on the 3rd or forth day and how hard it was to go back in day after day. I wrote about the calming mechanisms I developed to try and keep the anxiety at bay. I counted the times the machines moved and listened to the radio. 

Other than that I have no recollections from this entry. I have treated writing the blog as therapy and have been able to move on quickly from each traumatic stage after having written about it. This means that I am quite well, emotionally speaking. The flip side is that I have forgotten so much. I have relied on this blog to do my remembering for me. The memories are less painful if they are sitting here on the Internet, accessible for me whenever I might need them. I have then cleaned and pushed them out of my head where they bother me and slow me down.

I still have hope that someone will drop me an email one day with a copy of number 58. Until then I felt I should write something as it felt strange having a blank page for such an important part of my treatment.

Fifty Seven

Saturday, 18 May 2013

Wowzers, nearly a month has gone by and so much has happened. The only way is to speed you through. I'll do my best to concentrate on the highlights and keep it swift but there have been quite a few.

So on the 26th April, the day I last wrote, I was joined for lunch by two school friends. One who lives in New Zealand and was over here for her Dad's funeral. We moaned about the distance before agreeing that we'd actually seen more of each other this year than if she'd lived down the road. Funny how that happens. We take the people who live closest to us for granted, often not seeing them from one month to the next.

That evening I had a date with my husband. We went out for supper, bought for us by someone very kind. Then to the South Bank to see Mathew E White. A very tall American with a guitar and a large band. He/they were fantastic and we enjoyed the evening immensely. My favourite part of the whole date was when the young female hipster working in the cloakroom commented that she loved my hair style!!!! I have HAIR. It is very short, but it is there - so much so that someone actually thought it was a Style!

The week of the 29th contained; My Father's birthday which we celebrated with a little supper. A visit from the Irish twin and his happy brood who brought me purple pansies and a fun afternoon. A lunch with two more school friends and their youngest children - one of them very new. Another failed attempt at a radiotherapy planning session followed by another draining of the seroma and a weekend in IBIZA! Yes you read that right.

 I decided at the very last minute to join my Mum, her friend and My sister for 3 days of sun. The official reason for the fleeting visit was a wicked 40th birthday party on the Saturday afternoon and night. We made the most of our jaunt and rented a great little apartment on the northern most tip of the island. It was dirt cheap and instantly felt like home. The sea was warm(ish), the sun was hot, the food was lovely and we had a proper laugh. We hired two tiny little bright yellow cars and zoomed around in the pine covered mountains. It was lush.Unfortunately whilst there I managed to incubate a nasty chest infection.

On our return I was thrown into family mode. My Granny who is now 88 and still fabulous came to stay in Tunbridge Wells with her friend. I managed to squeeze some lovely meals with them around a week of hospital appointments. On Wednesday 8th May I had four appointments and a lunch date. One of the appointments was to show a lady the results of my operations. She has recently been diagnosed and was undecided about which reconstruction path to take. She was thrilled with my results and has now opted to have exactly the same surgery. Its nice to be in a position to help someone who is embarking on this roller coaster. I met one of my Dear friend's new baby and also had my three weekly Herceptin.

In the evening, after my busy day, the chest infection came to a bit of a head. I ran a huge fever all night and only avoided being admitted to A&E on the promise of hospital the next morning. I was booked in at St Thomas's for my third attempt at radiotherapy planning. Finally it happened, I was measured, marked and tattooed. I was also prescribed a 10 day course of antibiotics for the chest infection and given the rather depressing news that my blood count was still far too low from the chemo (after 2 months) to fight such an infection alone.

Friday 10th May. I spent the day at home, trying to give my body the chance to start fighting the infection. I actually felt much better than I had in well over a week but my chest still sounded a bit rough. Just before bed my husband noticed a dark red stain-rash all across the new boob. After a hurried call to Guys we were instructed to go to St Thomas's A&E asap. Bear in mind it was now past mid-night and we were at least an hours drive away. All grand-parents were away so we had to draft in the support of friends to take over the children and off we went.

After 12 hours in A&E no-one was any the wiser. It was agreed that my bloods were too low to fight infection but I was already on a very strong course of antibiotics for my chest. It was also agreed that I had some pneumonia in my right lung but xrays were clear enough for me to be discharged. The redness was still a mystery. All the Doctors could agree was that it wasn't an infection and even if it was the antibiotics would cover it. I was sent home with an appointment for Monday morning.

On Sunday 12th my husband flew to China for a business trip. On Monday I went to hospital for a breast surgeon's opinion on the red boob. By now it was very dark red. Like a mass of broken capillaries. With purple bruising and yellow around the outside. Neither of the senior breast surgeons at Guys have ever seen anything like it. They agree it is some sort of bruising but don't know what has caused it. I'm to go back on Monday (20th) for another look.

Husband returned from China on Thursday. 24 hours later than expected due to fog in Shanghai. My week has been spent Mothering and trying to recover from this lingering chest infection. In between the school runs, house work, meals, clubs, playdates and sleepovers I have visited my GP (my chest and a mole on my ear) visited the Dentist (eldest daughter, filling) and visited an Aunt.

From a diary point of view, that pretty much brings us up to date. There are a couple of more medical bits and bobs I should mention. The pain on the back of my arm has all but gone. It started to ease in Ibiza and has been getting slowly better day by day. The numbness is the same but I don't notice it any more. The cording under my armpit is still there but the movement of my arm has greatly improved. The seroma has settled but the scar and general appearance of my armpit is still fairly ugly.

My chest infection is much better. Still very slightly breathless and wheezy but not bubbly any more. I finish my antibiotics tomorrow. The redness on my boob is still awful. I'm looking forward to seeing what they say about it on Monday. I have been given my dates for radiotherapy. It starts on Wednesday. I will have to have it every week day for 5 weeks and it finishes on the 27th June. I have a heart scan on Tuesday to see if my heart is coping with the damaging effects of the Herceptin.

I have had a fairly low couple of weeks in the middle of the month. Partly down to the realisation that I am not recovering from each phase of treatment as quickly as I'd like to be. It is very frustrating to feel ill and or in pain for so long. I have also had a run of family and friends being diagnosed with various cancers. One would be too many but 3 in the last month or so, with others undergoing tests feels deeply unfair. I hope that in some way I can be of help to them with my new knowledge and experience.

On a much more positive note I now have 10 Angels joining me on the 10 mile pink ribbon walk around Leeds castle on the 8th June. We are raising money for Breast Cancer Care. I will be overjoyed if I can complete 10 miles, especially as I haven't been able to walk with my sore chest and I will be in the middle of my radiotherapy. I know now though that if I struggle, I have 20 hands and 20 feet to help me.

Carlie's Angels http://www.justgiving.com/teams/CarliesAngels

Also, in other news, My Sister-in-law - the brilliant one who came with me to get my hair cut amongst other things is doing a TRIATHLON!!!!! for Macmillan. Please also check out her page, she wrote nice things about me on it! http://www.justgiving.com/Hannah-Elise-Buckley

Fifty Six

Friday, 26 April 2013

My Husband has worked all week. I think this is the first week since my diagnosis that he has been able to work every day. It's been a bit of a pain that I can't drive and won't be able to for at least another couple of weeks. Living in the countryside becomes extremely problematic without the use of a car. Every school run has to be arranged plus all the after school clubs and dance, piano, brownies...
The parents have been wonderful but I can't help missing the ease of London.

In order to calm the cabin fever I have been walking. The sun has helped and I've been offsetting the longing to just jump on the overground/tube/bus by keeping a very close eye on the development of the bluebells in the wood and the wood anemones in the hedgerows beside the lane. This week has been a dramatic presentation of the pros and cons of city vs country life. I still can't decide which I prefer!

On Tuesday Daughter number one had her swearing in at brownies. She had to remember her 'promise' and recite it to the rest of the pack. It brought back memories of my own (very short) stint as a brownie all those years ago. I'm sure I had to dance around a silver tray lined with wild flowers...either the ceremony has become much more simple or my memory has been flavoured by imagination.

On Wednesday I went back to hospital. The seroma under my arm had swollen again. This time to the size of a half a grapefruit. Putting my arm down to my side was uncomfortable but holding it up was impossible. I have 'cording' in my armpit which is when the veins stiffen and movement becomes restricted.

I arrived at the hospital just before 11am. I saw two different breast care nurses and then finally at about 1.30pm I had an ultrasound scan on the swelling. The Doctor said she was going to give me some local anaesthetic before using a large needle to drain the seroma. I asked her to try without it and explained the numbness. We agreed that if the procedure became uncomfortable she would stop and administer the anaesthetic.

She then used the scanner to guide the needle into the centre of the lump and drained off 450ml of fluid! Finally I looked and felt normal (in a bald, scarred patchwork quilty kind of a way!). There was never a need for the anaesthetic as, again, I didn't feel a thing. I met Husband on the way home and we bumped into the family who have recently lost their Dad. They were choosing flowers for the funeral and all in wonderfully positive and loving spirits.

Yesterday as I was getting dressed I had a minor breakthrough with the arm grating. If I wear something that fits the arm, not loose and baggy, it feels better. I put on a long sleeved Tshirt that is soft and tight. Not TIGHT but not loose. Because it is constantly touching the area and not gently brushing against it it doesn't seem to hurt as much.

I set off for St Thomas's Hospital for my Radiotherapy planning session. This is only the second time I've had to go there. A change is as good as a rest and it is definitely more interesting to go somewhere new for a change. The Cancer unit is in the basement and thy have a huge radiotherapy department down there. Guys are planning an even bigger one which will be in a brand new building and it looks awesome on the pans. I hope I never have to go there.

I had a meeting with the Doctor and we worked though all the paperwork. On examination they have decided to reshedule the physical planning till next Thursday. thats when they'll do the CT scan, measure me on the machine and give me the tattoos. They feel that the swelling and seroma under my arm is still too unpredictable.

I got home just in time to meet the children as my Father dropped them home. He rushed back off to work and they ran upstairs to put on swimming costumes. They played in the garden with a pile of polly pockets in the sun happily until I called them in for supper at six. By the time I had them in bed and My Husband got home from work I was exhausted. I crawled up to bed and slept like a baby.

This morning my armpit has stared swelling up again...and so it goes on!

Fifty Five

Friday, 26 April 2013

On Friday 19th April I had to go and get my results from the pathologists report on the lymph nodes that had been removed. I had been given a clue on the Wednesday that they were clear so I was spared a hellish morning. The scar under my arm was swollen and getting quite uncomfortable. The bigger the swelling gets the harder it is to put my arm down to my side.

My Husband came with me. He has been coming less and less, partly due to him picking up more work now he is able and partly due to the normalcy of hospital visits. I spend so much of my time at Guys Hospital now that it almost feels like my work place. He hasn't had a meeting with my surgeon and breast care nurse for quite some time and was amused by the familiarity we have now. about ten percent of the consultation was spent discussing my breast and the other ninety spend discussing everything from world class seminars in America on breast reconstruction to restaurants in Paris.

I was given my results. A total of twelve lymph nodes have been removed form my left armpit. The first three contained small tumours but the further nine have been clear. This is wonderful news. The Cancer is very unlikely to have spread, even in a tiny form, to the rest of my body. It would normally spread through the lymphatic system. It can also spread through the blood but mine was clear when they checked in September.

Then we all trooped into the examination room so the surgeon could check my scar. They removed the dressing and trimmed the stitches then they decided to drain the area as the swelling looked like a seroma, a collection of fluid under the scar. While the surgeon stuck two needles into my armpit my breast care nurse distracted me by asking about good restaurants in Paris. The team are planning a bonding trip.

The most worrying thing for me was that I didn't feel any of it. My body knew something was up. I poured clear sweat from my right armpit which ran down my side and dripped from my elbow and I felt a little woozy but I couldn't actually feel anything the surgeon was doing.

This numbness has been bothering me. It's quite a large area in which to have an absolute loss of sensation. More annoying still is the hypersensitivity down the back of my arm. It has spread a little onto my back, just outside the numbness from my armpit. If anything brushes my skin in those areas it still feels like I am being grated. Even the softest clothes are like sandpaper and the constant pain is reeking havoc with my sense of humour. There is no way of telling how long this will last. The nerve had to be cut in order to reach all the lymph nodes. It is unlikely to regenerate but hopefully the hypersensitivity will calm in time.

After the wound had been drained and I was dressed again we returned to the surgeons desk and he asked me if I would attend a seminar where he would be presenting a paper on immediate reconstruction using implants. I would be there to answer questions from a patients point of view. I felt my stomach drop through the floor at the thought of speaking to a room full of people but promised to think about it.

On Saturday the sun came out. We popped over the field to meet an old school friend and her horse then the girls and I set off on an adventure while Husband put in some hill training on his bike.

The sunshine makes everything better. We walked, with our stick spears, across the fields. Stopping to paddle in the stream and sunbathe on a fallen tree. The girls picked flowers for their hair and rode their imaginary horses through the woods. We stopped and played for ages where a tiny spring of water comes up from the ground, we made rivers and pools and bridges with the heels of our welly boots in the drying out mud.

On Sunday we went to the Globe on the Southbank to wish a very happy birthday to a lovely friend of ours who shares hers with William Shakespeare himself.

Fifty Four

Friday, 19 April 2013

Just a quickie,

I had some very good news confirmed today. Last week I had all the lymph nodes removed from my left armpit and the good news is that there was no Cancer in any of them so we can safely assume it hadn't spread any further than the breast and the first three lymph nodes. HURRAH!

 Plus I thought I'd show you that my hair has started to grow. Have a lovely weekend xx

Fifty Three

Thursday, 18 April 2013

Fifty two was a bit 'woe is me'. It happens sometimes, I let those feelings in. Mostly I don't dare. Feeling depressed about a situation is my worst, it's never easy to pull yourself back so easier to just not got there. The sunshine helps and unfortunately we've been a bit short of that this 'spring'.

When my Husband safely returned from India we bundled into the old car and set off for Cornwall. Well we sat in the drive for half an hour first because the bonnet got stuck open again but once my clever Husband sorted that out we set off. This was the first long journey we have ever driven when we have shared the driving. My Husband has never had any interest in driving and only passed his test last summer. For one reason or another we haven't made it out of the county in the car since.

I drove as far as the Fleet services and then he took over. This is a revelation to me, being a passenger. I'm not actually very good at it as you can imagine and have to try very hard not to be a 'back seat driver'. My brake foot is always active and I have a horrible habit of sucking air sharply though my teeth and grabbing the roof handle. Once I had settled down and dared to take my eyes off the road I noticed that all the trees are still naked. We have driven to the West Country in the Easter holidays for as long as I can remember, either to visit my Sister or My Granny. It's normally lush and green, last year we even sat on the beach while the kids paddled in the sea and ran around in wetsuits.

This time the landscape was exactly as it looks at Christmas. It puts an eerie feeling in your tummy when you realise that nature is on hold.

I finally relaxed and finished my first crochet hat. Then I finished another one! Now crochet hats are my new hobby. Both my children have one, My Nephew has one, My God daughter and her brother have one and two of the new babies are also sporting one each. I need to buy a crochet book and move on, before I remember to do that I am going to attempt a tea cosy (which, considering my hats look exactly like tea cosies, shouldn't be too hard!)

We had a lovely couple of days in Cornwall. The beach was cold but still stunning. The children rode ponies and played with their dear friend who lives there. We ate pasties for lunch and my Sister's beautiful cooking for supper. On the Sunday we met up with a huge group of friends for a pub lunch which was both uplifting and poinient, all of us feeling the gap where our dear friend should have been who died a few years ago. My bald head, I'm sure, acting as a reminder to her wonderful Husband and beautiful kids of her incredibly brave fight.

On the Tuesday we said our goodbyes and got back in the (very well behaved) car. As we drove back across the country we muddled and plotted as we always do. Trying to come up with a viable plan enabling us to make our visits there more permanent. Bear in mind if you will that My Husband and I do this whenever we have had a lovely time anywhere. Most of our lives are spent coming up with plans and dreams. It's what keeps us happy.

Wednesday Morning we headed up to Guys for my operation but I've already told you about that.

Yesterday's appointments were very interesting. Firstly we saw My Oncologist, I've only actually ever seen her once before. I think she's the one who makes all the treatment decisions. She has a wonderfully calming nature and is clearly one of those very very clever people. We discussed the hormone treatment I will be taking. It is an oestrogen inhibitor with it's own list of side effects. None of which sounded too scary. Obviously one of them is putting on weight. Seems to be the only side effect that every bit of treatment has in common. I will be taking some sort of hormone tablet for the next ten years.

We talked about the Herceptin and how I was coping with that and she requested another heart scan. I have the herceptin every three weeks. It's a liquid in a drip that goes into the port on my chest. One of the main side effects is that it is damaging to the heart so they have to keep a close eye on it. if the heart muscle looks like it's thickening too much then I'll need a break from the drugs. I will be having these three weekly treatments until January.

Then I met my Radiotherapy doctor. I liked her. She was brusque but not rude and straight to the point. She examined my breast and armpit area and showed me how I would have to lie on the machine. Both my arms will need to go above my head which is still a very painful position. I have a 4inch vertical wound under my left arm which inhibits movement. She has given me a week to stretch it out.

In a week's time I will go for my planning appointment. This is where they will lie me on the machine and measure me. I will have dots tattooed on the centre of my chest and one on each side of me on my ribs. These will be used to line me up with the machine each time I go for Radio so they always treat the right place.

The normal bout of Radiotherapy for breast cancer is either three or five weeks. I have been prescribed five weeks. I will need to go to hospital every day Monday - Friday for my appointment. When I'm there it shouldn't take too long. The actual radiotherapy only takes a matter of minutes every time but there will be waiting around and it takes time to position me on the machine.

I have lots of leaflets and information to read about this next course of treatment. After my planning appointment I'll tell you all about it!

After seeing the Radiotherapy Doctor I headed up to the Cancer Day Unit (CDU) to settle into my chair for my Herceptin. Husband had to jump on a train home to do the school run and the various after school clubs and events he's signed them up to. Then by chance I caught the train home with a lovely friend.

Fifty Two

Tuesday, 16 April 2013

I was just settling down to write my blog and had a quick squiz at Facebook as a warm up. This has become the way it's done. I was saddened to see that a friend of mine's Dad has passed away. He was one of the more 'understanding' of all our parents when we were gallivanting around London in our teens, falling in and out of love and nightclubs. Sadly he is not the only parent of a friend taken during this long cold winter. This week the sun has finally made an appearance. Hopefully that's the end of that.

Last Wednesday I had surgery to remove the remaining lymph nodes from my left armpit. A complete Axillary clearance. They actually have to remove everything, all the fat, tissue and nerves. The nodes themselves are tiny and shrivelled from the chemo and very difficult to find so it all has to go. The surgeon has to be very careful not to leave any behind as they may contain cancer which, even after chemo, could regenerate.

I woke up in the now too familiar recovery room with a burning pain down the back of my arm. No amount of pain relief got rid of it (I made them try). I eventually realised that it was from nerve damage and that there wasn't actually anything there hurting, my brain just though there was. I made the most of everything on offer and surrounded myself in a cocoon of opiates. My surgeon popped his head in and confirmed my suspicion. He also said that he had squished any nodes he had seen and hadn't felt any lumps.

Slowly my arm went numb. I was pushed down to the Sarah ward and given my bed. There are now only two in the ward that I haven't occupied. Husband settled me and left. Nurses came and went. I got up and made it to the loo without being sick (a first for me post surgery). I swallowed pills and then slept.

Thursday morning I felt much better. Really surprisingly well. I ate breakfast and waited for the stream of medical visitors. First the Physio-terrorists, then a Nurse, Doctor, Pharmacist, then another Nurse. The doctor checked my drain, had a look at me and pronounced me ready to go home. The second Nurse came to remove my drain - fantastic news as I had readied myself and the kids for it's visit home with me.

The Nurse took the dressing off and prepared me for the painful mini procedure. I became slowly aware of the fact that I had absolutely no feeling whatsoever in my armpit, down to my bra, all the way across my breast (this has been numb since the Mastectomy) and over the back to my shoulder. She was telling me that she was amazed how fast my skin had healed and that she was going to have to cut it away to undo the stitch holding the drain in place. It took her about 15 minutes to free the drain and then she had me deep breathing as she pulled the tube out. I didn't feel any of it.

Husband arrived to collect me. I was so pleased to be home but became quite emotional on Friday about the lack of feeling. Its very normal apparently to be over emotional post surgery. It has something to do with being removed from the safety of the hospital and the warm fuzzy drug haze and thrown back into reality. I moped about feeling very sorry for myself until my sister arrived from Cornwall and made me feel much better by likening my horrible scarred body to a patchwork quilt.

Waiting for biopsy results rather sucks the fun out of everything. That said we have been doing our best. Husband celebrated his Birthday at the weekend and we had a lovely afternoon at our local pub. I have that familiar feeling of people coming and going, speaking and listening, eating and drinking but none of it really sinking in. I'm looking forward to Friday when I get the pathologists report and results.

Tomorrow is Herceptin day. I'll go up to Guys and have a consultation with the Oncologists in the morning, a quick catch up with my Nurse and possibly a stolen pow wow with my surgeon. Then it's back up to the Cancer Day Unit to settle into a big grey lazy boy and have more poison pumped into me. My armpit is still numb but with a low ache so perhaps some feeling is returning. Strangely it feels like someone is grating the back of my arm every time it touches my clothes. Painful, confusing - as there is no wound there, and very annoying.