16-32-64 thirty-nine

Fatigue, tiredness, lethargy. Exhaustion, feebleness, languor.

Weariness.

It's been a day mostly spent in bed, once I'd dragged myself back from the hospital. A very odd appointment too - what I thought was primary tumour recurrence turns out to be first signs of lymphodema. What he thought was diabetes caused by steroids, wasn't. What I thought was oral thrush isn't. The stretch marks I thought were caused by Kadcyla is actually because of the steroids... Side effects fun goes on and on!

And now I have them in a lower dose, and need to come off them asap.

And I had bloods taken, did a pee test for the glucose and changed appointments around... So I was there for nearly three hours and slept for four when I got home. My eating is up the wall because if I go without for a few hours I feel terribly sick... But coming off the steroids has left me with little appetite. I can eat, just with little pleasure or gusto.

Had a fab time with my brother, the sister-in-law and the nearly-one-tear-old TJ. He's an incredibly happy child and such a pleasure to be around. The journey was long in both directions but I managed to nap which helped. I felt normal for a couple of days - I wish it had lasted longer really.

Much more to tell you, too fuzzy-headed to make much sense of my thoughts. Another day. There's always another day. Well, for now.

This lady says it better.

16-32-64 thirty-eight

I think we'll stick with 32 today. That doesn't seem so bad.

I've had a tough week coming off steroids - I've gone down from one every 36 hours to once every 48 and am suffering a lot of mood-switches (sometimes quite sudden), sickness in the mornings (again) and feeling like I've got a cold coming on when I get up - but it goes by lunchtime. Odd.

Anyway, there are lots of things I would really like to bitch about, but none of them really feel worth even the typing time. Except this - a new movie coming out in September. Another one about cancer. Another one about BREAST CANCER. And I'm tired of cancercancercancer everywhere. 

Watch the trailer before you read my thoughts; trailer here.

There aren't many things I have strong opinions about these days; but guilt has always been a deep part of my psyche and this is a new thing to feel guilty about in my life.

During my first treatment; Docetaxol chemotherapy (similarly insanely priced; but you only have six sessions) I cried for many hours over not being about to 'contribute' to the world whilst taking away so much. Not being able to work - and since then, having to retire from work - tore me to pieces. I can't remember who it was - I think our counseller at our group sessions - told me I was contributing to the lives of my family and friends. You don't have to work to be 'giving back'. That helped, but on days like today, not quite enough. 

16-32-64 thirty-seven

I've just had a mild altercation with a lady in the bus, who clearly wanted to play "I'm more worthy of this disabled seat than you are". I mean, seriously. I'm thirty two feeling sixteen because I can't do confrontation, sitting in the space normally set out for sixty-four year olds!

It's been an odd week; I've wanted to write but nothing has really happened or seemed worthy. I'm coming off my steroids in a different way to usual and it appears to be working this time. Instead of taking them in a "one day off, two days on" pattern as recommended by the Oncology team, I've been stretching the time between them. I'm currently doing 36 hour gaps with little side effects (I think) and tomorrow start 48 hour spaces.

I say no side effects, but I did spend almost the whole weekend in isolation and wanted to - odd considering that being in them on a higher dose makes me antisocial, and apparently so does coming off them. On Tuesday mum was due to pop in and I realised I was going a bit stir-crazy, so I met her at a local cafe and we sat in the window watching the world, and I felt reconnected. And ready.

I met a few different (ex-) colleagues (I must get used to saying the ex- part - I've not been properly at work for nearly two years!) yesterday evening - all very excited with their news. One is newly engaged, one is leaving having been headhunted, others are doing big projects and all sorts.

They're all excited for me, being so well and stable and looking so healthy but... That's not an achievement, is it? I haven't gotten here from hard work - it's all luck and the hard work of the researchers and amazing people that create the drugs. I'm just receiving - and lucky to be able to.

My Pops is doing well - his hormone treatments have started and in a couple of weeks we get to go meet his Oncology team and plan the start of his chemotherapy - most likely in the same week at the start of October. It's good that his treatment has started - the waiting is so hard when you can almost feel the cancer growing inside you. Envisioning something like black mould or little green monsters the size of nanobots multiplying...

Okay so I'm feeling a bit sensitive - I have an Oncology appointment myself in an hour and I missed my train by moments, so once again I'm at a train station updating you. I've had stretch marks suddenly appear in the fatty bit of one arm - not both, just there, high up - and I'm worried about lymph node involvement. I don't even have the balls to feel it and wonder if it is lumpy or soft or what it should/shouldn't be like. I just know something isn't right and I'm going to talk to them today. Being stable at the last set of scans might be a relief at the time, but never means it'll last.

I have lots to tell you about. My dad's friend in Liverpool had secondary lung cancer and is about to start radiotherapy for brain mets. My/his desk arrived refurbished and looks gorgeous. It's insanely girly now with all my mad tat, but I couldn't be prouder. Even he is impressed with the work.
I had my eyebrows done - they look great. I'm back in Weight Watchers - also going great. My train is being delayed... Less great. More later.

16-32-64 thirty-six

Had a really good meeting with my GP (and a frightened looking pet registrar) this morning. I'm amazed to find I haven't seen her since April having had to pick up with locums during the summer while she's been away, and spending so much time in Oncology I haven't needed to see her.

Am in Costa Coffee right now - being back on WW (since yesterday - don't get excited!) made me go looking for the least naughty drink I could have and stay out and about. I was expecting to end up with an iced-tea-fruit-infusion type thing (which are usually pretty tasteless) but it turns out they've gone back to basics and started blending just fruit and juice! Like you would at home! What a revelation! (sigh) So I'm getting two of my five a day here and feeling very angelic.

Back to the GP. I updated on her my physical and mental health - great and great - brain mets are 'calcified' following the radiotherapy and organ mets are all NED. She looked particularly surprised by the brain so perhaps I'm very lucky it's worked so well - I chose not to ask what she was expecting because I honestly don't what to know. I told her about my reduction in steroids with my new 36-48-72 hour gap plans (coming off steroids is a hideous experience, making me very very sick. This is a new try) and she said it was inspired, so I'm pleased with that. Then we went on to my energy levels.

Costa is filling up - the children in here are quite well behaved and not too loud, but I am looking forward to them going back to school so I can use the cinema more at my leisure and it'll just be the "yummy-mummy" crew to contend with. I should get out of here before lunch time so I'm not too tempted by the smells of their paninis being toasted...

Having this chemo break has reminded me what having a normal (for cancer) energy levels are like, and I want it. I crave it. I don't want to go back down to fatigued days and long long nights. A friend who is a nurse and has a special interest in antidepressants and similar meds, informed me last week that the one I'm currently on (SSRI Citalopram, 40mg) has an element of helping you sleep. So with my GP today I mentioned one of the alternative SSNI (similar but not quite the same) called Venlafaxine.

My GP is lovely and has given me a great, solid place to go to when I have medical questions or need a bit of comfort and support. But you can see from her face that she is NOT used to people who do their own research; know their drug names and doses and feels quite out of her depth sometimes when I come in spouting my cancery news with almost relish. I love to learn about this stuff, it really helps me cope and understanding is the main way forward when you know you may end up on trials and your own research and contacting specialists may save your life. Well, extend it then. 

So, she looked uncomfortable while I talked about this alternative, but conceded that a change of meds now rather than later in the year made sense. We talked for a while about how I was ready to suffer a bit of a bump while I changed and the steroid reduction at the same time - I said I would get off the steroids first, and she seemed relieved. I'm in no rush, everything in it's own time etc. 

Just had a call to confirm my friend J has the keys to her new place and is moving in today - this is fantastic news. I'm going over there shortly to have a sushi lunch, and see it for the first time. I'm so pleased for her; she so deserves a break after this year. My fruit concution here in Costa is nearly finished and I'm starting to feel the eyes of "time to buy something else or go, love" from staff. Five more minutes... 

Eventually the GP agreed to all my logic; I don't think I pushed but I was very positive and I think that really helped my case (the reg sat silently nodding - talk about way out of your depth with a cancer patient asking for antidepressants with a kick!). The GP is going to speak to a psychatric colleague about how best for me to make the switch, and call me to discuss further and create the prescription with relevant dosage etc.

So, as I said, a good appointment and she's pleased I'm coming off the steroids, gone back on WW and doing positive things like getting involved at St Christopher's. Which I haven't yet but I will. I will!! 

16-32-64 thirty-five

I feel sixteen at the moment - I know I'm not running around brimming with energy, but I certainly feel absolutely wonderful on this chemo break and it's doing my physical and mental health wonders.

Sunday was my 32nd birthday (that information still hasn't really settled in yet to be honest) but festivities started on Thursday when I travelled to meet friends in Milton Keynes. An amazing dinner was had, here at Melis (Turkish & Ottoman food - the best of any Mediterranean I've ever had) in the little village my friends H&C live in.

Friday was the shared tattoo I've been hinting toward for weeks - this is the original image, from a Korean poetry book (we contemplated getting the text and decided not to, but it's very beautiful):

H already has a few small tattoos and my friend J came up to have her first with us at Electra Tattoo, all done by the incredible Mark who bravely put up with the three of us from 10:30am - 7:30pm in order to get the three done in one day. What a grafter; and a true artist. Photos in a few days when the last of the bruising has gone down - it seems to be healing well (if a little slowly, although I've been warned of that on lower legs) and I think the chemo break of three weeks will be enough.

Dinners and lunches and lovely family moments including a Chinese for ten, where so much food was ordered I was actually a bit embarrassed (£177.20) and a trip to Greenwich - one of my favourite places in the world.

I had my eyebrows tattooed back on today by Geraldine at the Karen Betts Harley Street clinic. They never really recovered after coming back very fair and sort of half-there after the first chemotherapy which finished this time last year; so I promised myself when I got ill health retirement that I would have them done - I extremely pleased I went ahead.

As I'd hoped, it was a really positive experience; couldn't recommend her more and I'm very happy with the early results. My niece came along as a second opinion and to help me make the big decisions - at seventeen I thought it was a good chance to see what having a tattoo looked like - almost an 'ink-lite' experience! Not that she wants any of her own, but I was grateful of the company when I started to get a bit nervous beforehand and someone to bounce the ideas off when it came to agreeing to the colour and shape. They look like real hairs; it's quite incredible and really very different from a standard tattoo - the machine was even quieter than the gentle hum of the rotary that Mark had used a couple of days ago.
Looking forward to seeing how they fare over the next few days while the swelling (no where near as bad as I expected) and darkness of colour goes down. Photos soon; worth every penny - and it costs a lot of them!

Lastly, my desk has arrived back in it's incredible refurbished condition - fits great in my living room and I'm busy filling it with all the good things that a nice desk deserves. I'll take photos tomorrow in the daylight - but it is really stunning. My dad was particularly impressed with how well the re-leathering was done.

So, a couple of days indoors (I was preparing for the eyebrows to look a lot worse than they do) with just a GP catch up on Friday, and Sainsbury's delivering on Sunday. Let's hope it's drier tomorrow - it's been pelting with rain all evening - so I can at least sit out in the garden while I relax. Oh! and I keep forgetting; dinner with J at Sapporo on Friday night with my Pops - she is moving into the area on Friday so I'm looking forward to showing her what was my favourite restaurant when I lived nearby with the ex. Fingers crossed it's still just as good!

16-32-64 thirty-four

For anyone wondering how my weekend away is going...

16-32-64 thirty-three

I have questions. Big ones, about life, the universe and everything. Maybe I'm feeling 42 today.

No, definitely not. I feel about twenty actually - I have more energy than I have in weeks, and my tinnitus is relatively quiet despite staying up until two. My thighs feel more normal and my stamina is at a high - I spent all day out from 11am - 8pm and I'm still good. This is the week I'm due chemo but I'm taking a three week break to get tattooed... So I'll keep feeling this way, and better hopefully for the next 21 days. That - wow - that sounds GOOD.

So, three questions to ponder -

Is there a shift pattern in place for bell ringing in churches? Do they even do this manually any more or is it all automated?

Is there a nice neighbour etiquette regarding wind chimes in the next back garden? I really like that neighbour and don't want to upset her, but oh oh how I hate wind chimes.

Is there a moral reason not to visit Poundland? I don't know anything about it, but it's mostly recognisable brands, and therefore not supporting sweatshops in the way Primark do - right?

Signing off happy!

16-32-64 thirty-two

So it turns out Meowls is a thing - it's managed to pass me by completely, but now I've learned of it, they seem to be everywhere. These are my favourites - enjoy. 

16-32-64 thirty-one

Beautiful meal or with E&A last night to celebrate us girl's birthdays. Mine is now just a week away and hers was at the end of July, and we were lucky to get a Saturday evening A's parents were able to do babysitting duty so we could go to Sea Salt, Beckenham. I'll add a link here later on.

Lovely food there, really nice quiet atmosphere and we chattered contentedly in the corner over very fine cocktails and piles of food for three hours. That's what I need right now; great company, nice and quiet.

Really liking Under The Dome TV show at the moment and making my way through it at a clipper - the second series has gotten a little odd (as I was warned) and apparently the third gets silly... But it's based on a Stephen King novel, so I'm ready for anything. E wants me to go back and finish Humans because it got better, and A had a couple of recommendations too - must ask him to remind me.

Remember I said I was like a little old lady frightened of my TV when it first arrived? I feel like I've got the hang of it now and am quite pleased. My Firestick had gone to my dad (as the TV made it obsolete) and the switch from Netflix to Amazon Prime is official tomorrow.

Off out shortly to Homebase for masonry nails to put up trellis in the garden and do a few other things with gardener aunt - tired, but chipper at 32 (almost!) today.

Lastly; rather wonderfully, there was a guy busking with an electric guitar outside the local M&S Food at 11.30pm last night. Beckenham is a little village-y type place most of the time -  we have our local book shop, a sausage shop, lots of cafés... It's not Covent Garden!! and yet this just really finished off my evening with a grin. If the drunk idiots bar-hopping on Saturday nights want to dance and donate to this entrepreneur, I'm all for it!

As long as he doesn't bring the silver painted people next time...

16-32-64 thirty

Referring back to 1st August, I've already explained that my dad ('Pops') had been recently diagnosed with prostate cancer. We've been dealing with it in an oddly reserved and relaxed manner, feeling as though we have a bit of a handle on things with the experience of my cancer over the past eighteen months. And then it kicks you when you're down, and you remember to be surprised.

The more up to date news isn't good - the prostate cancer has spread and although there is no organ involvement yet, it's throughout his lymph nodes and therefore considered metastatic. The new treatment plan is the same as what I had nearly two years ago - hit with chemo and start hormone treatments immediately - they which will continue for the rest of his life.

Pops was originally offered radiotherapy as a first port of call, but now it's found to have spread, chemo is the way forward. I said got to be worth going through five months of chemo for the price of two more years of life (it extends the prognosis by about 22 months rather than just having hormone treatments, their most recent studies show). He originally said he would decline chemotherapy if offered it, but I think he's so relieved not to have to attend five days a week for three months radiotherapy, this is almost better.

I've found it hard to deal with mostly that the prognosis has reminded me of my own. Very strange to feel like I'm being hit with facing up to my own mortality almost two years on again. So, I've cancelled a few lunch and dinner dates and having a quiet few days out of the busy schedule of things I usually 'entertain' myself with.

I'll get back on track, this has just been quite a shock as I didn't expect the news to get any worse from his first diagnosis. Once again, am eerily familiar story.

At the same time, one of his closest friends who lives in Liverpool had just been diagnosed with a pair of brain tumours which have turned out to be secondary to lung cancer. I've been talking her through some of my experience through Facebook messaging - radiotherapy mainly, as that's what she's facing first for the brain tumours, which have caused her to lose all power in one leg and other side effects. No one can quite believe this is all going on.

My health for once is fine - tiredness but otherwise the comfort of the recent scan results is still there, and I can't wait to have my new tattoo next Friday! More on that later - I have one very important dinner date I have kept with friends E&A at local seafood restaurant Sea Salt and absolutely cannot wait.

16-32-64 twenty-nine

It's 9am, I'm thinking to myself as I finish breakfast and consider what to do with my day. I should be settling down to a desk, switching on my PC, complaining about my emails to whomever I share my office with these days. I should be worried about the price of groceries; reading the news online before tackling my emails, complaining about the weather. None of these things are part of my normal day any longer.

It's also a Saturday. What use would I be when I don't know what day of the week it is?

16-32-64 twenty-eight

Gabapentin - works!

Extra sleep - works!

Radiotherapy - hopefully works too.

I've just left the department after a hit on my ribs. Posterior ribs, left side. Had all the usual chatter, signed the forms but this time a much smaller machine that has an arm that comes around to you on a movable, comfortable bed. Such an improvement on the machines I've been in before (apparently a different kind of radiotherapy) which have been all metal - they practically strap you in; you're stuck lying flat on your back (which is agony for me unless my knees are raised) and the bed it metal too.

So, eight minutes of lying very still (eyes closed, concentrate on breathing as recommended by my Pops) and they're back in, fussing around and discharging me and I'm making tattoo jokes and off I go. Two years ago this would have been terrifying, unthinkable - today, I'm more concerned about what's for lunch when I meet my friend upstairs.

Redness and soreness ("have you got any Doublebase?") to be expected, and the pain from the bone itself may get worse before it gets better. Typically, I forgot the fact that both will be at their worst at two weeks post-treatment... Which is my birthday weekend - but that's fine. As long as there's someone around to moisturise me, I'll be fine.

16-32-64 twenty-seven

My Gabapentin is here! It's one tablet a night for 3-4 days and then if I'm still suffering pain, I can up to one in the morning too, and further down the line I could even go up to three doses; although I hope not to have to. 

Bit of a mix today - am overall feeling 32 though. I went to the GP to chase the above, get five repeat prescriptions and request a physio referral. Nice locum found me a bit irritatingly knowledgeable and kept asking me to repeat stuff while he typed s l o w l y; although that was something to do with his limited access (he said). Had a lovely wrap for lunch at Deli Nene - they've definitely upped their game and I'm looking forward to going back one evening for their new Tapas menu.

Lastly, I had a four hour nap and woke feeling rested for the first time in weeks. And yet it's now coming up to usual bedtime (10:30pm) and the tinnitus is back at usual volume and I'm the same tiredness as I would be on any other day. So it makes no difference at all, it seems...

Two appointments tomorrow - Radiotherapy at St Thomas' at 10:50am, and then Cardiology for an ECG at 4:30pm. The former will take about an hour, so I have a little under five hours to fill in the afternoon and have one lunch planned so far. Hope to see a few other people - might do my usual trick of texting a dozen or so different people and just say "I'll be in AMT coffee for the next two hours - come on down if you can" - that often works nicely.

16-32-64 twenty-six

I'm doing paperwork today, amongst other sorting and having lunch with my sister during her bimonthly London visit - lovely grilled king prawns from Ask were enjoyed by all.

You know that awkward feeling you get when you take down birthday cards a week later, feeling a bit guilty about throwing them away? Well it's worse when it's "sorry you're sick" cards. Eighteen-month-old cards that couldn't even say "get well soon" on them because my diagnosis was terminal. I know they weren't easy to buy, not easy to write (most were cat cards; 'blank for your message' types - people know me well enough) and it all adds up to my not thinking about it yet and just stashing them.

Today I decided to go through them and pair (pare? I think pare) down what I want to keep. I can be brutal with this kind of thing - I'm no hoarder - but it was hard. I've kept anything particularly moving (to me, not in the traditional sense), and went through the rest of my correspondence. All letters and postcards I've received at random have been kept - mostly just un-cancery stuff actually. I love getting random postcards and letters and intend to do more sending.

That should be easy, as I've sorted all my unwritten cards and postcards as well - I admit I may have a bit of a Paperchase problem. I'm known for buying cards long before a birthday is due (hate me if you must - I've started Xmas shopping) and forgetting them when the time comes. Or just buying cards I fall in love with. I counted 21 cards and even more postcards totally untouched. That's got to count as at least a £60 investment, surely?

The whole thing made me smile as it reminded me of my ex, who opened his birthday cards over the bin every year (only opened in case there was a cheque) and unceremoniously dropped each one with a snort. Sweet guy, unapologetic about some of his... Idiosyncrasies.

Handwritten letters, thinking of the ex, finding a TV show I think is based on a book from my teens - let's call me 16 today.

16-32-64 twenty-five

Today the girls and I decided I need to try the following meats as I've never gotten around to tasting them, and I do so love being carnivorous:
partridge
pheasant
venison
rabbit
kangaroo
crocodile or alligator
ostrich

The last three I think I've eaten in Aussie-themed bar/restaurants in the past - but I don't think it really counts when you've had it in a burger cooked by a teenager.

A few less common things I have tasted in the past include octopus, shark and lobster; goat curry, four kinds of Argentinian steak (we love Gaucho), cactus and a variety of fish raw (as I'm a sushi fan). I had a full roast dinner in a sundae glass at Meat Mission once, and I'm a big fan of snails. Or anything cooked in garlic butter really. But I do enjoy snails for what they are as well.

Oh, and haggis - which I don't really count as it... never settled in my stomach. Never again.

Top of my food list at the moment is poutine (French Canadian gravy chips & cheese curd) - a little research seems to show the best place to go in London is The Poutinerie stall near Brick Lane on a Sunday - so I guess that's next weekend sorted.

Ooooh and wandering the web, this place looks interesting; Archipelago "serving crocodile, wildebeest, garlic crickets and scorpion" - I'll have to add that to my pintrest board of restaurants to visit. I've had to separate it from my existing "amazing food places" to keep track of where I have and haven't been. I love my food, can you tell?

I was going to talk about my lovely day eating noodles and brownies and gossiping; but that's pretty much my life now and nothing unusual. Chatting with my dad this morning; I haven't found my 'new normal' since my diagnosis (despite it being a full 19 months ago) but I have found ways to 'keep busy' and I appear to have turned into a 'lady what lunches'. Things have changed too much and too rapidly to settle into a pattern, but I hope to get there. I hope to find one for my 'lifestyle' in the way that I have for treatment. But as ever, treatment could change at the next set of scans (or sooner) so how do I even begin to settle?

Lastly - oh! pain. My hand went into spasm earlier and I had to get P to wrench my thumb straight while I held the rest of the fingers down. I need to chase the GP about that Gabapentin prescription, as this isn't a funny tingling or occasional cramp any more. 

16-32-64 twenty-four

I've just posted what has been a draft entry for about two weeks now - originally written 17th July. My dad has been diagnosed with prostate cancer and we're all still trying to get used to - and work out how best to share - the news. It's been an interesting couple of weeks, but he feels like an okay time to share past the first 'concentric circle' of immediate family, so I'm able to share here.

I love the theory of concentric circles of support - it's something we talk about often and had really become important with the last two years. It's not just a case of "knowing who your friends are" but much more those you could ring in the middle of the night. That would cancel a date night to sit and eat pizza with you. That would cook your favourite meal and not complain of you couldn't eat it. 

There aren't many of those in my life - I'm sure not many in anyone's to be honest. It's good to consider these things though, as it makes you more grateful.

I'm on my way to meet Pip and Jacqueline - the latter of which has blog Brainweasel. These are people I can be tired with; I can be honest with, and still enjoy lunch and cake without feeling guilty!

16-32-64 fourteen-point-five

Delayed post from 17th July 2015:

So my dad received a diagnosis of prostate cancer today. This entry won't be going live until the news is public, but I feel like writing so it can live in my drafts for the time being.

A whole new world of learning ahead of us - and starting over with telling people bad news. The worst part for him - having been surprisingly prepared for bad news - is going to be telling my brother and uncle. Prostate cancer is hormonal and therefore genetic links are very possible. My brother at 36 won't need to worry yet, but uncle T at 57 will need to get the PSA blood test and be closely monitored from now onward. As if our lives aren't full of enough worries.

In the last couple of weeks following a elevated PSA test (blood test that simply says "prostate needs further investigation"), Pops been through multiple tests and a horrific sounding biopsy procedure with one more to follow - a CT scan to check the abdomen. I'd convinced myself there were too many other things this could be and when there was only one person in the room calling us in - I thought we were home-free. Not so much.

The level of cancer is showing at a middle-seriousness; with quite an aggressive character. It showed up in all twelve of the biopsies (on an organ the size of two walnuts - I was surprised there was enough tissue!) and is currently showing in one lymph node, meaning it has started to spread but not yet made it to bones and organs yet. The CT next week should confirm this - he's had a bone scan but they need to double check. If it had been in less biopsies and not the lymph node they may have chosen to operate (he has COPD as well which increases risk, so this may not have been an option anyway). If the cancer was further advanced and spread, chemotherapy would have been suggested and - from what I can tell from his opinion of it - declined. That leaves us with the middle ground of hormonal treatments - which starts with a month of tablets once the CT scan is done - and radiotherapy.

Radiotherapy has been the easiest part of my experience so far, but the way they apply it to secondary breast cancer bone mets is completely different from the way my dad's experience will be. For bones, you get a blast, or two (or in the case of my vertebrae which were positively crumbling, eight sessions) on a very specific spot. They take about fifteen minutes each and are painless. For my brain the sessions were even faster - I think four minutes each - and the worst part for me has always been lying perfectly still on my back, as the beds are metal and flat which isn't good for anyone with bone mets in their back!

For prostate cancer we've been told he'll be facing 7-12 weeks of five days a week visits. This should - with the hormonal treatments - shrink the cancer right back down to a minimum and stop it from spreading and becoming secondary. However, it's already considered incurable, because they can't do surgery which I guess is the only way of removing all the effected tissue. So we're using the term 'incurable, not terminal' because it may yet not be the thing most likely to kill him. Damn it's lucky we both have a sense of humour about this - we've already joked about being in the race 'to go first'. Dark dark dark humour.

So, the next stages are CT scan, GP appointment to start the hormonal meds and then meeting the Oncologist at the Marsden who will be in charge of his care. There was some discussion of having his care transferred to GSTT where I am treated, but once we heard about the radiotherapy planning, it makes no sense to drag him into town daily for months when he could get public transport and - as the fatigue and side effects kick in - get cabs from home in much better time. He also identified that he likes the idea of the dividing line between his appointments and mine being at different locations, which I really understand and support. Hopefully his regular Oncology clinic appointments won't clash with mine on a Monday morning - anything else can be moved if necessary.

That feels like everything for the time being - I'm in a bit of shock and denial still at the moment but the news will settle in over the next few days and I'll feel better once the news is known to others - knowing something so big that my siblings - particularly my brother - don't know yet is very odd. The next few days have intermittent plans, so we'll see how I get on with energy levels after a decent night sleep.

16-32-64 twenty-three

With all the support in the world - my incredible family, a group I attend on Tuesdays, online group for women up and down the county, plus more medics than you could ask for... I still feel like I would like someone to "go through" this with. Someone at exactly the kind and stage with the same mets and the same meds - just so I can say - is this normal? Should we be this tired / sore / grumpy? I feel like I spend a lot of my time wondering what's normal - the problem is that everything is normal. Everything is accepted and I don't know how to pick a standard to aim for.

Fatigue and tiredness. Aches and pains. Chemo brain, loss of concentration, lack of interest. These are all things I have and sometimes fight - sometimes worry over and sometimes give in to completely. I wish I had a twin - or a clone? Who I could say, "if we push ourselves today, will we regret it?" and watch her go ahead to test. Can she concentrate on reading? Am I just being lazy or is it a real symptom of the chemo?

What's normal? Everything - that's what you're told when it's cancer. You're going through a very tough time, treatment - even well-tolerated is tough on the body and mind. Live day-to-day. Give yourself a break. Worry less.

I do. I worry less than I ever have. My mental health is better than ever and I can't remember feeling angry about anything for a long time. But I'm 32 and that: that isn't normal.

16-32-64 twenty-two

I'm home from a few days in Brighton and still recovering - but it's been wonderful to be feeling 32 for a couple of days. My niece (M, a very grown-up seventeen) had never been before and I so wanted to show her the lanes, lovely restaurants and have a few hours on the beach/pier and just looking out at the sea. Such an incredible city - and her brother moves to start uni there in just over a month.

We were given a ton of recommendations - my friend Chris wrote and gave me six essential Brighton places to visit...

... plus others recommended cake shops (Cloud 9 which sadly we missed) and lots of restaurants. My favourite meal was probably in Jamie's Italian, where I had the best scallops I've ever tasted. Melt in the mouth doesn't describe it! Although chips on the pier has a very special charm to it, and I got my order of freshly cooked doughnuts in; we ate them over a movie in bed back at the hotel which was perfect. I highly recommend Walking on Sunshine as the happiest movie I've ever seen!

Visiting Whirligig (classic toys; many were traditional wooden and so beautifully made, you wanted one of each) was an absolute joy to visit, as was the aquarium (I got a bit photo happy in there) and we finished day two in VIPizza which was such a treat - incredible sour dough base, lovely little family place.

Checklist we managed to cover:

Fresh doughnuts

Chips with a sea view

Brighton wheel

Waffles for breakfast at Fentons - they also had the best slush puppies we've ever had.

Passable hotel (great bed, great location, terrible bathroom)

Walked the pier, watched the rides, agreed not to go on any!

Sat on the beach until we were cold (British weather!)

Finally we picked up a Bagelman lunch for the train home - I need to buy sour cream for the paprika bites I bought back with me. M had a long journey after she dropped me off - back down to Dorset for a week of camping, although she'll be back up with my sister in a couple of weeks as part of my birthday celebrations. More on that later...

Anyway, overall my energy levels lasted well for two straight days of being relatively busy - the second day my phone recorded over 12,000 steps, which I haven't done in months. I came home shattered yesterday; but revitalised and it gives me hope for seeing P&J tomorrow for lunch and cake (cannot wait - if there's one link you click here, make it that one) in London - plus visiting friends in Milton Keynes in a couple of weeks... in part for a new tattoo!

This is our little beauty and H has sketched out the way we plan to have the shape and lettering. She is from a Japanese poetry book we stumbled across, and have a tattooist with a fabulous style booked. Three of us are having the same - the only thing we're changing is the 'fall' to 'autumn' and anglicizing the spelling of colors/colours. 

Other plans for my birthday week include a family dinner for ten - I'm still yet to decide where - plus various other dinners with friends and having my eyebrows tattooed back in as well. My diary for August is filling up fast which is both lovely and a bit intimidating. My friends and family are all wonderful and will understand any short-notice rescheduling, but I hope to be able to fit everything in with mindfulness and careful spoon-allocation. 

16-32-64 twenty-one

Sleeping patterns are an odd joke at the moment - I'm actually looking forward to the darker mornings because I seem to be rising with the sun regardless of what time I've gone to bed. No fun when you really need twelve hours a night - I've gotten into a horrible habit of getting up to take my steroid tablet and eat at silly-am, and then going back to bed for the rest of the morning after an hour of TV. Hunger and sickness aren't a nice combination to wake up to but that part I could get used to, if only I could sleep in a bit longer and not need the nap.

Anyway, for the giggles - here are photos of Garlic in her very own jumpsuit. It took less than three hours for her to work her way out and I've still no idea how she did it - poppers around the tail were still done up and it wasn't even inside-out when I found it. She seemed to be settling into it after lots of encouragement and walking up and down, so I left her to her own devices for an hour and she did a Houdini on me.

I've now got to decide whether to try again as it is; try again but cut the lower half off so it annoys her less and hopefully wouldn't try pulling it off. Seems ridiculous to need to cut a brand new piece of equipment like this a day on, but really not sure what else I can do at the moment...

16-32-64 twenty

So, it turns out over been treating bruises incorrectly my entire life. As someone who not only falls easily, but then also bruises easily; is intensely fair and delicate skinned and clumsy, you might have hoped I'd been getting it right all these years.

I had an appointment with a nurse at St Christopher's - our local hospice - on Friday to catch up on my meds and wellbeing. Once you have a diagnosis like mine, they like to be involved in and updated on your care, so I see them once every 6-8 weeks to be cheerfully bullied into using one of their lovely services. They have a gym (which you can have a trainer in or use solo), an array of classes, get-togethers, alternative therapies, massages and other spa-like treatments... Most of the time I say 'give me the info and I'll have a look at home' but this time she got all excited when I showed a little interest in clay sculpture and pottery. Turns out I'll be attending the "crafts and curry" night next Tuesday - can't be all bad, right? They do have their own kiln.

Anyway, the reason for bringing up St Christopher's is because in the way home - pouring with rain - fate decided to take a stab at me for making light of my fall earlier in the week and my 'best of' list. Yep, ankle went out from under me and I went face-first. When I say face-first I mean forehead-first on this occasion - having my head ducked from the rain with both my hood and chemo cap on probably saved this from being a very bloody affair as I actually hit my forehead on the floor. So I'm lying in the rain praying no one has seen (small mercies) and eventually turn myself over - now sitting in a puddle - and get up. I'm drenched on both sides of my trousers and covered in tiny leaves which are sticking to my whole body. What a treat for the bus driver and passengers when I got around the corner - careful to make no eye contact with anyone the rest of the way home. At least I carry wet ones for hot flushes and was able to wipe my sore, grubby hands off a bit!

Back to bruises - I've been under the impression that with a bruise you massage in arnica to promote blood flow, and it helps break down the bruise. All a bruise is, is blood collected under the skin - so I never questioned this logic. I mentioned it to the above nurse who told me Noooooooo, you want to be as gentle as possible with a bruise - a firm massage will further damage capillaries under the skin, lengthening the bruise life span.

In the words of the great Britney Spears, "that is just so typically me".

Anyway, I'm signing off as sixteen today - I apparently can't look after myself even in the most basic of ways and at one I have Afternoon Tea booked at local restaurant Coppers with four of the girls I went to school with. So, lots of reminiscing and giggling ahead.

16-32-64 nineteen

Vicky's best fails/falls (and the damage done):

• falling down the stairs at my parents - despite the fact that seven people lived there over thirty years and the stairwell was to what was my bedroom for a good five years; I was the only one to ever fall. I blamed my dad - it was father's day and I was visiting; taking him a sausage sandwich and a coffee. I think I slipped; felt carpet against my knees and somehow over-righted myself. I can honestly remember thinking "ceiling, that's not good" and feeling the hot coffee splash on my hand. The sandwich survived - I put the plate down neatly on the top step apparently. I fell down about a dozen steps and landed CRACK with my head against a doorway at the bottom. I think it was only four stitches; but that one was an ambulance job and probably the most serious.  
• falling near home last year - having chemotherapy means everything takes forever to heal; so when I twisted/slipped/tripped this time, tearing my face along gravel was a real problem. Two guys came running over but fortunately I was a minute from home so didn't take their help (hideous embarrassment coupled with total and utter Britishness of "tis a scratch"). When I got in I realised why they were so worried - it looked like I'd broken my nose. As I've said, my left arm only has about 50% reach these days and doesn't stretch out automatically in the way that it should; so I go face-first whenever I fall. My glasses tore into the bridge of my nose, the end of my nose was grazed and I sported a Charlie Chaplin moustache of grazed skin above my lip for weeks afterwards. One of my disability applications was due so the image is immortalised... 

• breaking an outdoor wooden step on a newly built bungalow we were exploring near my sister's house; I tried stepping onto the unsupported end of the step and flipped the wood onto the walkway - grabbing at my niece as I fell. I was left with incredible bruises on my back as I fell onto steps on the way down. My niece came off just as badly - my grab sent her falling forward; her flip-flop fell off and she trod on a newly exposed nail that went straight into her foot. This was pre-cancer and I had no idea I also had vertebrae mets at the time; but the bruise was impressive enough on it's own and the only thing that soothed it was swimming. That was the week we visited Durdle Door fortunately, and I spent some very happy hours floating away.
• twisting an ankle near work and going down on both knees in the middle of the road HARD at lunchtime one day. The pain in my knee was hidden by that in the ankle - I remember being sure that if I had eaten already I would have been sick. I lasted a little longer at my desk and then my colleagues put me on the staff bus to our local Walk-in clinic, where they x-rayed and found I'd given myself Osteochondritis Dissecans which is floating bits of cartilage that have broken off and escaped. That was painful for some time afterwards!
• jumping off a wall which was a full ONE BRICK high; landing on a badly placed foot which twisted the ankle. I had to limp home because when I was twelve there were no mobile phones to call for help. The next day we left for a boating holiday on the Norfolk Broads which required being a lot more mobile than I was; what with crutches and a foot that honestly looked like I had a tennis ball shoved down the sock. Mum says as we left a week later I told her; "I am never getting on a boat again". 
• twisting my ankle down a pot-hole when I was about eight; the doctor told me the next day that if I had twisted it the other way it would have broken every bone in my foot. I've never known how much truth there was to that; domino bones in the foot? But it's always stayed with me.
• falling on holiday in Devon this year. The family behind me; both sisters and a partner, plus mum (who later said I would kill her with a heart attack) and my niece, who is seventeen and endlessly more mature than I am. They're all saying I shouldn't even try walking across these massive, wobbly rocks down to the beach which is packed with people and children of all ages are using the time to explore. Children everywhere playing on the rocks.
  I'm in a grump at being treated like a child and I went ahead anyway. Within moments I managed to fall and turn at the same time; I ended up with my head lower than my ass, which was lower than my feet on the rock-hill; and hearing mum shriek my name was enough to let me know I was never going to live this down. She has an incredible way of saying my name whenever she's witness to these events which sounds like I'm being told off - half way through a fall I'm often tempted to yell back "it's not my fault" but never quite manage it. 
  (the idea of 16-32-64 came to me on this holiday because I felt treated like a kid so much)

I think that's the best of the lot - I'll add any more if I think of them. I've never been a great breaker of bones or anything - a simple trip in the street when I was about six caused a "greenstick fracture" that was easily strapped up and healed. Other than that, my brother is the one that breaks bones - like ribs on the first day of a snowboarding holiday. Oh and so many more stories...

16-32-64 eighteen

I had a fall a couple of mornings ago - one moment I'm sleepily trying to get the cats both indoors in at 7.30 in the morning; the next I've crashed my shoulder into the doorway (cracking plaster - see below), bruising one leg quite epically in two places and landing face-first into the cat tray. No really; face first with extra wee. I don't know if my nose actually touched the litter, but I spent all morning wiping it with wet-ones.

Oh and I was carrying Garlic at the time - so landed on her (the arm that was free doesn't reach out to catch me since surgery), so she limped and darted away from me for the following 24 hours. 

I'd like to say this was a rarity - a one-off occasion - but if you know me at all, you'll know that falling and twisting, crashing and bruising are my specialities. It all starts with Hypermobility.

If you're interested, you can do the reading - I might do a post about how it effects me (and family members - there's a genetic link or predisposition - I don't know which but it's always been clear I have it the worst) but for now you can consider it -in a nutshell- as having very loose joints and a crap sense of balance. And little to no proprioception (awareness of your own body in space - which is why I knock drinks over in the pub regardless of having only had one). It's usually the reason for my falling and is why I've been doing it since I can remember; I wasn't diagnosed until very late in life and consider it my first "long term condition" - in some ways I feel like it helped a little prepare me for the cancer. That's another story too.

So, I've decided to test arnica on the bruising because I've never been really convinced that it works - so I've drawn a line through each bruise and I'm only going to apply cream to one side of each. Ah! the silly games we play. I'm covered in other little bruises to - the chemotherapy I'm on at the moment causes changes in the red cell count as well as white (most only effect your white count which is to do with immune system - red cell is to do with bleeding, clotting, bruising etc) and any time I barely knock myself at the moment, I bloom purple under the skin. The rest are getting all the treatment they want, but I'm interested in how my little experiment will go over the next week.

Anyway, this is all preamble because my niece and I were ruminating through my past and have decided I should blog my most epic fails/falls. I think it even deserves it's own post... hope you enjoy number 19.

Garlic is fine, by the way.

16-32-64 seventeen

It's a relief to say results from Oncology came back clear and sound - here's what I put on Facebook on Monday afternoon:

All scans look great; no evidence in liver and lungs, and bones no worse. Brain mets have 'calcified' which I guess means they are like little solid lumps that are no longer dangerous. No new ones and all have shrunk from the radiotherapy - basically the news couldn't be better.

Brain mets have calcified - so thanks to my friend P, I'm now thinking of them as kidney stones instead of 'dead tumours'. Harmless and cancer-less! More of this please.

In answer to my other questions; I've come off one of the drugs that may be causing a little hair growth on my face (Tamoxifen) and can safely have my muttonchops waxed. It's very fine and no one else seems to notice it at all, but I will feel much more like myself in a month when I have my new eyebrows (tattoo appointment booked) and smooth cheeks. I will also hopefully/eventually be coming off the steroids which are making my cheeks so puffy at the moment. My niece is coming with me in August to pick out a new pair of glasses too - she has the best taste of anyone in the family (expensive, but excellent) so we'll see what she comes up with.

And the final thing was to request further radiotherapy on my back and arm. I've had an x-ray (and then a hideously long afternoon in chemo - no fun story there, just teaching a new member of staff on me as an 'expert patient' and it lasted hours longer than usual) on the arm to see if the pain in the elbow is orthopaedic or bone-met related and the Oncologist will call in the next few days to book me in with one or the other. 

I'm very pleased and relieved to say that my friend J's Brainweasel has also stayed away, and she is also clear. Lucky/poor thing is going down to once-yearly scans now - is it a positive or a negative to be able to/have to wait that long? We'll see how she's doing in eleven and a half months..!

16-32-64 sixteen

Oncology appointment tomorrow morning; not just the three weekly one, but the three-monthly scan results are due in. I have a few questions/suggestions as well... 

The first is to find out whether it's the chemotherapy, the hormonal tablet (Tamoxifen) or the steroids I currently take that are resulting in a downy fur which has started growing on my face - I have very soft, fortunately relatively pale sideburns. I think it's the steroids which will mean I can deal with it short term with waxing - but if it's likely to be the Tamoxifen which I expect to be on for the rest of my life I'll be opting for laser treatment! Bad enough being bald and very round-faced at the moment!

Second up is radiotherapy - I think it's time to go back into the big machine for my elbow - the same side as the surgery I had on my shoulder. Pain (diagnosed as 'tennis elbow') was the first sign there was something wrong with the bone, so the return of that is no surprise, Also possibly one or more of my ribs (pain in my back, along the bra line) depending on how much that spot overlaps with the radiotherapy I had on the centre of my back last year for vertabrae mets. Hopefully not at all; as my back in particular has been playing me up for over a month. 

Thought this would be a good time to talk about scanxiety and unmuddle my thoughts on it a little - the way I feel differently about it to others. With this, and having had a long day out with the girls and over-doing it, I'm definitely 64 today.

Scanxiety - one side effect of this whole bastarding experience I just don't seem to experience in the same way as people I've met and those online. I'll admit to having had it in the early days, but my experience has changed and in the past year I simply never get worked up. Head and torso CT scans done last week, plus the previous Monday was a head MRI - checking how the radiotherapy dealt with my brain mets in February. These are big questions to be answered and I feel - okay - about the whole thing. It's hard to explain but I guess with three-weekly blood tests of tumour markers which have halved since I went on Kadcyla, I have a short of early warning system in place if the results were likely to be bad. Tumour markers basically work as an early indicator that if it's less in my bloods, the tumours should be shrinking too. The results for the brain and the WBRT are different, admittedly, but I still feel chilled about it all. 

For me it's just information - it's not like suddenly I've got more or less cancer. Other people fixate on the date of results, but nothing has changed for me when I walk in there - I feel more comfortable having my update and either carry on what we're doing or time to make a new plan... but that's all. I seem to be quite alone in this mindset, although oddly enough I think it's completely logical.

My friend J had a very-suddenly-diagnosed brain tumour and surgically removed about a month before my diagnosis in December 2013 - our stories have been incredibly different and yet with odd things in common as well - her blog is here if you'd like to see more - Brainweasel.

J suffers incredibly from scanxiety - her tumour was in a grey-area of 'cancerous/benign' so the possibility of it coming back, and being dangerous, is very much up in the air at each of her six-monthly scans. I feel in an oddly 'safer' place - despite my whole body being sick and the cancer being not just definite, but incurable. That's because I know it's here; I never had a primary diagnosis that I 'survived'; I never had to wonder.

I'm at relative peace with the rest of my life being about treatments to keep me alive, and the questions are about what's next? not, will I survive. Because I won't, and that's okay. I'll live scan-to-scan, treatment-to-treatment. As I said, I'm expecting good news tomorrow - the tumour markers are showing positive results for now and I feel pretty well in myself, except the gradually reducing stamina I have for being out and about. If the news isn't good - it's the next drug. As long as they can get my pain (elbow, rib) under control - I'll have no complaints. 

Oh, and let's get my beard sorted. 

16-32-64 fifteen

My dad's desk; from before I can remember anything else, has been huge, imposing and beautiful. Leather top, deep, dark wood that looked more expensive than anything else we owned - so masculine. He was given it as a parting gift from a job before I was born, and it's been synonymous with his working life for me. Many, many hard grafted hours spent. It's been to and from his workplaces and homes; quite a bit of mileage - and these few years later it's starting to look it. He recalls having it refurbished once in the past to tidy up the beautiful leather top; and now I've just organised to have it done again. And this time, once it's ready, it's coming to me.

The design is known as a "Partners desk" and he thinks it was a few thousand pounds new when he first sat at it 35 or so years ago. Skipping to twenty years ago (probably between being moved from office to home / the reverse) he paid about £500 to have it worked on. I've just agreed to £850, which I think is very fair considering the time passed and inflation! Probably a much less common job these days too; I was willing to spend up to £1,000 and am very pleased not to need to, and that collection and delivery are included.

Having retired in the past few months and deciding to recreate his home into something much less working-environment (he's been working from home for ten years now, and in his current place for eight), Pops decided it was time to retire the desk and get something that will fit in better with his into comfy space. There's a new huge couch on order and a small, discrete desk for his two monitors (some things he won't give up!) as well as other homely touches we're putting in with the change. It's going to look great, but the desk wasn't part of the new plan. I couldn't let it go - it's been around too long and boy, do I miss having a desk. I've had a variety of tables and chairs since I moved out of my parent's place ten years ago and underused them all; but it is having left work I realise what I want is a DESK. And this is a desk and a half.

A full metre deep, two metres wide. These are the 'before' photos we've sent the nice man at a local reproduction/antiques shop, who has organised all this for me. Thanks Stephen.

 Update when she's ready to come to her new home; lets see what their magic can weave!

16-32-64 fourteen

Feel like a proper little old lady today - unable to lift what I want; unable to use a screwdriver with my dodgy elbow, unable to be trusted with my shoulder and nagged by mum every time I lifted something.

And now I'm frightened of my new telly, which having set up I'm only just realising all the things it's going to be able to do that I don't yet understand. I actually wish it was less complicated - how 'Nan' is that?

Exhausted by building a couple of bloody storage units - two evenings used up and we still haven't put together the drawers. Which by the way are only three in number, and somehow I'm left with fifteen bits of wood. Wait, what? It's just a couple of drawers. That will get done at the weekend. If I don't have a breakdown by then.

Off for a nice shower and an 'early' night. Yep, definitely 64 today.

16-32-64 thirteen

Lying in bed late last night pondering how tiredness, sleepiness and fatigue - three very separate things to me - are rarely compatible with good quality sleep.

Example being that since having Whole Brain Radiotherapy (known as WBRT), I get tinnitus when I'm tired.

Last night, it was too loud to sleep.

16-32-64 twelve

The kind of comedy of errors that would only befall me in the middle of summer, organising a picnic for friends in a park. Today is not looking great.

Feeling 32 today and looks like I can't even organise a piss-up in a brewery these days - I miss the old me that found this not just a breeze, but stressless as well.

Last year my Pops and some of my colleagues bravely signed up to the Walk The Walk charity fundraising challenge of 10k walk starting-, finishing-in and looping the streets around Battersea Park. It was a fabulous day, and we ended with friends and family meeting at the finish line to celebrate and relax in the sun. The walkers were all exhausted having not realised how much care and emotional input they had dedicated to the cause until the end; but the pride in their faces was wonderful.

This year we tried to do the same, with less emphasis on the fundraising and more on an afternoon in the sun. It was agreed that those able would do a 5k walk this time, and meet the rest of us for a picnic. The first problem I've come up with is that a few weeks ago due to a low number of sign-ups, the walk has been cancelled.

Next is the timing; I get that this is a Sunday in July - height of Wedding and BBQ Seasons so the few early conformations I've had have become increasingly vague, and those who have are now so random I don't know if enough people will even know each other, having come from different areas of my working life.

So, the weather for the first time in weeks is showing daytime rain (which my garden desperately needs, but we do NOT) and it's cooler than you'd like for a day outside... I'm generally coming to the conclusion that we are going to be rained into the cafe in the park - at least I've directed to meet there!

Lastly, on my way to the station I left myself half hour for supplies from M&S - admittedly now no point since we aren't going to be able to eat our own food in a paid establishment - but it was just typical that my local M&S doesn't open until eleven on a Sunday. I practically broke my nose finding out in front of a surprisingly full bus stop of people.

So I've been at the station for half hour cataloging this day before it's even started - do let's try to be positive, I'm telling myself. Like I said, I miss the way I used to be able to do this kind of thing anxiety-free but I guess I'm out of practice. Let's hope this comes together in some way and we'll be covered by simply being "very British so we can fight the rain!" as my friend Toria had just reminded me!

Edit - of course it went down fine. Ten people turned up, some with food and some without expecting the same as I did. We were all very glad not to have to rely on the cafe for anything but drinks - an extremely old-looking pile of food was being set out under heaters for a BBQ with incredible prices like £7.50 per stuffed pepper!
Anyway, good to meet George the dog finally, plus see a few friendly faces - all in all a good afternoon for all.

16-32-64 eleven

Feeling 32 today - mad shopping spree online that only _I_ could do; as my family would say.

John Lewis, with the help of my friend Holly - new TV:

Panasonic Viera TX-39AS600 39"

Two shelving units from this new range at Next:

Chiltern Tall and Small Shelves - the latter of which I intend to use as a TV stand.

 

And then some pretty bedding and a few other bits...




I've been stuck indoors with tiredness and the heat for a few days; napping at random and trying not to feel sorry for myself. Going out daytimes has been a no-no with temperatures hitting 35' in the centre of town one day. I had to go up for chemo on Wednesday but avoided all else - hopefully by the time I have my MRI on Monday it'll be cooler than it is today - another 26'.

Two people have died in my cancer world this week. One lady I met at group - L, who has been in hospice care or St Thomas' for most of the past few months. I don't know the details yet - I haven't been for two weeks because of sickness and the heat, but it will be hard to learn more. Knowing someone even only for four-six months is very intense in a support group situation, and I'm going to miss her a great deal.
Another lady from the online-only Facebook group I'm part of died extremely unexpectedly; experiencing a pulmonary embolism after an elective surgery to have her ovaries removed. She lived in Thailand and died the next day, out of nowhere, despite the best care offered. Heartbreaking; and hard to hear about.

Support groups feel a bit like a marriage in this way - for better or worse - you get amazing responses when you need help, have questions or just have a rant in a forum that people know about it... but it hurts when someone gets sicker or dies. Better or worse.