Race for Life 2010

This Race for Life malarky whizzes around doesn't it? This time we're doing it on Sunday 6 June at 11am at the University of Bath.

Absolutely not a chance of me running as I can't run any longer, don't ask me why not as I can't explain. I can walk and almost (almost) dance but somehow, running's out. The fields up at the uni aren't very even, so I may have to take my stick, I hope not.

If you've any spare cash (£2 minimum donation) please feel free to sponsor me! If I make it to £500 this year, between us we'll have donated over £2000 to Cancer Research UK which makes a huge difference, so thank you :-)

If you're also doing the 11am race on 6 June please let me know and we can at least start off together - even if I do finish a good hour or two later than you!

http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/caromellymac/

Living with Cancer

Hmmm, in the absence of the Absent Bloke (he's only down the road, not like he's left the postcode even, but still) just asked my nurse if this chemo will send me into remission and apparently it won't.

The Oxford English Minidictionary explains remission as:

1 The cancellation of a debt or charge

2 The reduction of a prison sentence for good behaviour

3 A temporary period during which an illness becomes less severe

Somewhat disappointing that this period can't be reduced by good behaviour but on the upside, I can behave badly without it having an impact :-)

Last week saw Caromellymac galavanting around Longleat with a group of similarly afflicted souls and a greater number of nurses and volunteers. Around 25 of us took long walks, went on picnics, went swimming, relaxing and met some birds of prey up close and personal. Photos to follow... It was a wonderful week and again, a huge thank you to all at Dot House who made it happen.

Next chemo is this Wednesday which is followed by an echocardiogram. I get all the fun jobs!

Remember Me?

It's been a long time between blogs. I'm not good at regular blogging and having just sat down to fill y'all in on the latest I looked at some other blogs and really, am wondering what I can say that's different/more enlightening/entertaining than anyone else.

You'll be pleased to know I'm not quite so dependant on steroids and so look much less like Alvin the Chipmunk than I did, but still not quite like Caromellymac either.

I'm now two sessions into a new regime of chemotherapy called Vinorelbine which is soooo much less toxic than my previous chemo which is great. It means I don't sleep all the time and I'm getting some exercise and beginning to live my life again, woo hoo. Having said that, compared to most people, I'm still very tired. My week still consists of counselling sessions (Tuesdays/emotional and Fridays/medical) chemo on Wednesdays and Dot House on Thursdays. Add to that that I sleep most of the weekend that only gives me Mondays to do stuff, which inevitably doesn't seem to happen as I'm asleep when I should be planning what I want to do...

If every picture tells a story, I hate to think what this one says... Having a blog is such a good excuse to rant on about yourself, publish photos, be generally me, me, me all the time, so, here's another picture of... me! Totally irrelevant to my treatment, but so much more fun than the previous chipmunk stylee photos.

We've just been to a murder mystery party and the currently present Absent Bloke was the double-barrelled surnamed solicitor reading the will and I, as you might guess was the housekeeper/ cook/ not the murderer. I've always wanted to do a murder mystery and tonight was especially sweet as, by pure fluke, I guessed 'whodunnit'! Dunno how, just a feeling as much as anything - but very happy to win a bottle of vino which I'll save for when I can drink again, yay!

Meanwhile, last Wednesday saw my appointment with the good doctor, Dr G my oncologist. There's great news here - he's putting me back on chemotherapy! Yay! I'll be on a regime called Vinorelbine which sounds like a kind of wine to me (say it out loud). I start next Wednesday, have two weeks of treatments and then a week off. In this time I'll also have the Herceptin and bone strengthening infusion. Assuming I respond well (yes, let's!) I'll be available for lunch/coffee that third Wednesday, fab!

Meanwhile, in case you're wondering if I keep a maid's outfit in my 'dressing up box' let me put your mind at rest. I was at Dotty House a couple of weeks ago and the conversation went from Scrabble to Cluedo (everyone's favourite). I mentioned the murder/mystery party and from nowhere, this outfit appeared, so not only did I get to borrow the perfect costume, I got it for free. Love a bargain.

Dotty House doesn't have invisible strings and whilst I enjoy their services be it the nurses, physios, doctors, costume hire or craft things, someone has to pay. I'm incredibly lucky to have friends who do things to support Dorothy House and last weekend a friend ran three marathons. Let me write that again. He ran 3 marathons in 3 days. A marathon is 26 miles. Only the one he ran on the Saturday was 28 miles. In other words, over 3 days he ran at least 80 miles. All the sponsorship he gets he will donate to Dorothy House so that people like me get to enjoy/seek refuge in the services that Dotty House provides. I know we all suffer from compassion fatigue, but if you've got a spare couple of quid, please donate it to Sim - I can't imagine running a mile, let alone 80 of them and thank him from the bottom of my heart. Here's a link to his blog which tells his story. If nothing else, he's a blokey bloke and he wore a pink tee shirt at the finish line. That's worth £2 of anybody's isn't it?

Later this year the Rondo Theatre Company (RTC) who I'm involved with will be producing 'The Merry Wives of Windsor' at the Botanical Gardens in Bath and again, profit will be donated to Dotty House.

As I write this, I realise that I need to sort through some of my old clothes. I'll donate them to one of Dot's charity shops in Bath so if you fancy something in the style of Karen Millen/ Joseph/ Whistles from the last 3 years in a size 12 head to one of Dots shops soon!

This is me at the beginning of Wednesday. The cytotoxic box is covering my stomach. I'm not sure why else I'm holding it. I don't normally.

A couple of hours later I was spark out asleep on the bed whilst the Herceptin and Zoledronic Acid (bone strengthener) were being pumped into me.

Do you like my chipmunk features? The steroids do that, I'm coming off them next week so that'll be nice for the good people of Bath. I think I look a bit scary.

To recap on the treatment side of things 'cos I've been a bit remiss on that score - after starting the chemo in weekly bite size chunks before Christmas, by February the good doctor decided to give me normal size, three weekly chemos and then discovered I'd developed a very rare, allergic reaction to the chemo. This effectively meant I was being deliberately poisoned (chemotherapy) and accidentally poisoned (allergic reaction). Once again, nobody's fault, this isn't an exact science but bloodyhell I felt like shit. I kept saying 'This is so much worse than previously' and various people rationalised it for me; 'You've forgotten how bad it was.' No I haven't! I was functioning previously, now I'm asleep, housebound (I know, I'm not meant to use that word), useless (and incidentally, really pissed off most of the time).

I've not had any chemo for around five weeks which on the one hand is a bit scary but it's giving my body the chance to recover, for which I am truly grateful as being constantly poisoned is such a drag.

Next Wednesday we meet up with my Oncologist again and he will suggest a new treatment regime, which of course we hope will include chemotherapy. He's looking at less 'toxic' forms of chemo for me. I suspect 'less toxic' must in some way mean 'less effective'. I could be wrong but that would seem logical to me.

When I had my first diagnosis the treatment regime was pretty straight forward and as you know, I responded well to it. This is all a bit different but thanks for sitting it out with me. Knowing you're at my side willing me through makes a huge difference. I just wish I could put a post up saying 'Panic over, normal service resumed' but I'm not there. When I am, I will I promise.

Meanwhile, have lovely weekends. Those of you in Bath, beware aging, raging cyclists and balding chipmunks and everybody be safe and happy :-)

(Don't) Look Back In Anger

Cast your mind back to January when this was the outlook from my kitchen window. I was only a few weeks into being what I'm currently calling 'housebound' but I'm hoping to either remove the word from my vocabulary or find something infinitely better. The very effort of coming downstairs to watch TV and certainly, the extra three steps into the kitchen was often too much for me. The currently present Absent Bloke took this photo of our back garden and our fabulous view of St Saviours Church in Larkhall.

Now, there's only so much TV a girl can watch (believe me, I've peaked) so one January Saturday, I asked AB if we could go to our local DIY store to buy a bird feeder and some bird food so at least I could sit on my sofa and watch the birdies. I can be such an Edwardian lady at times :-)

I got wrapped up and then dressed up. That was my coping mechanism. Get myself warm (with no immune system getting 'a chill' isn't an option). I then poured on the make-up and with a warm woolley hat on added a decorative scarf on top, for the sake of appearances and off we went.

Parked up at a set of traffic lights there was a lycra-clad cyclist, I imagine by his absolute white pointed goatee, he was in his late '60's/early 70's. Well bloody good on him I thought. I certainly won't be cycling around Bath in my 70's, so kudos to him. As I looked at him he motioned towards my window (remember I'm a passenger in this car). I opened the window and stuck my head out into the cold. He pointed out that the car was over the line for the traffic lights. I apologised, said to AB 'you're over the line' and turned back to acknowledge the cyclist who called me a 'sarcastic bitch'. Well, I dunno about you, but that wasn't quite the exchange I'd been expecting. I calmly asked him not to speak to me like that, to which he came back with something equally unpleasant. By now I should have realised that what he wanted was a bit of road rage, he didn't give a rats how we were parked, the problem was that firstly we were in a car and (I'm guessing, this is becoming a bit of a recurring theme) but a very nice car. Sorry for making an effort an' all that. What a prize prick. Anyway, this 'exchange' continued the length of road we were both on, with AB getting involved too.

I'm shaking just typing this now - I can't express how upsetting I found it. Anyway, we got to Homebase where I just pulled my scarf and hat off (and it was freaking cold) and walked through the store on that busy Saturday afternoon totally bald (not in the style of any of these Hollywood actresses going through 'breast cancer' who have perfect eye-lashes, eye-brows and make up but in the style of someone fairly sick with sores on their mouth and nose and the make up looking like a child who's played in her mother's make-up bag. I saw someone I knew from the theatre and didn't want to embarrass him by saying hello. I think I do the angry/empathy thing quite well no?

So this blog is really to explain where this 'anger' I have comes from. It didn't start with the diagnosis, 'why me?'. I hope I'm really not that selfish. It started with the actions of one man with an ego problem who went to war with a woman he saw in a car and that woman was too distressed with everything else in her life to cope with an exchange that took probably less than a minute, one Saturday afternoon in January 2010.

'Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle' Plato

Decolletage? I meant chest. I could blame chemo, allergies, anything or just disappearing up my own arse but what I meant to say was look at that plaster on my chest, that's where the portacath is inserted.

It was inserted by a surgeon under general aneasthetic when I was admitted to the clinic as a day patient back in January. Before I go for my chemo/Herceptin/bone strengthening treatment I put on a tiny tube of aneasthetic so that when the nurses attach the needle I don't feel a thing. No trauma, they just pop the bugger in and away we go, whoosh - chemicals in, blood out (tick as required). Easy peasy portacath squeezy. Every chest should have one. Well maybe not but I do want you to know how much easier it makes my life. It's just like a mini-plug socket in that the needle just pops into it - it's not visible (no point posting a photo) but you can you feel it if I like you enough to let you :) There's a tiny scar, but I'm collecting chest scars - just hoping to find the right style neckline to show them off at some point.