Moving on...

Well, hello again.  I didn’t expect to be writing this blog anymore, but over the last few weeks, I’ve had several people tell me I should.  My initial reasoning behind the blog was twofold; one to help me externalise and cope with what I was going through and two, to potentially help anyone else going through something similar.  As I moved through the recovery process and started to regain some semblance of normality, to be honest, I needed the blog less.  However, it would appear with all the nagging, from Mr. J in particular, that I should keep going with it.  I’m not sure how interesting or funny it’ll be now that I don’t have any face down, arse up stories, but I’ll give it a go.

So, the last time I posted, I’d just been given the news that I was clear of the bastard cancer and was in remission.  Huge news.  Massive.  So I went out and got well and truly inebriated – getting out of the pub and home was fun that night.  Being drunk doesn’t work well with crutches and no natural balance!

Anyhoo, given what the cancer had done I was clearly still left with the whole walking challenge.  Not ideal.  I was making fantastic progress given my initial prognosis, but it was still too slow for me.  I kept expecting too much and then being disappointed and frustrated with the reality.

Also, the unrelenting ‘positivity’ I was maintaining was wearing.  Exhausting even. Every now and then I wanted to rant, shout and cry.  I've found that facebook helps me meet and suppress that need.  There’s nothing like a drunken rant on arsebook to remind you the morning after that although you may not be well, you can still make yourself look like a total twat with minimal effort. Particular thanks go to Gary Francis and the Sneddons for reminding me of that. ;-)  Salutary lesson, duly noted, but one which I’m sure I’ll completely ignore next time I overdo it on the sauvignon blanc or rioja.

What’s that? A funny story to keep the readers hooked you say? Ok, I can do that.  Going to the local pub last week for Sunday lunch, Kevin and I were stopped in our tracks by an elderly lady.  I bloody love the elderly – they have no respect for privacy or personal space…  “What’s happened to you? Knee replacement?” she shouted from about 100 yards away.  “No” I said more quietly.  “What then?” she shouted.  Right then you nosey old bag, I thought, so I let her have the whole horrible story.  “Well” she said.  “Aren’t you a lucky girl!” “Am I?” I said.  “Yes”,she said.  “Two years ago, my son’s wife was at work – very bright and successful, just like you (little bit of preening), when she suddenly felt a bit odd and couldn’t feel her fingers.  She was rushed into hospital, two weeks later…..huge pause….DEAD!!!!”  “Really?” I said.  “Well that’s a hugely helpful story, thank you for that”. WTF??

But actually, in a funny way, the old dear was right.  Although I have permanent damage and will never again do a jig or walk a marathon, (was I ever going to do that anyway?) I am still here.  If the cancer hadn’t done its worst on my spine, we’d never have known it was there, and I definitely wouldn’t be around now to regale you with funny tales. Scary stuff when you think of it like that.

And on that bombshell, goodbye for now.

A. xxx

Breaking news!

Apologies for not posting for so long, but I’ve been in a sort of limbo state since I finished chemo and didn’t want to tempt fate…  I had a PET scan a couple of weeks ago to see if the chemo has worked – being injected with radioactive fluid for the scan is most peculiar – and today I got the results.

I AM OFFICIALLY IN REMISSION!!!!

There is not a trace of the horrible shitty cancer left.  I could not be any happier than I am right now.  This leaves the way clear for me to continue to work my arse off on the whole walking again challenge without worrying about ongoing chemo or radiotherapy.  If I could do a happy dance, I would. ;-)

I’m over the moon and am highly likely to have several drinks this evening to celebrate.  You’re welcome to join me if you’d like to.  Row Barge from 6.00. J

Gambling, rehabbing and bar hopping!

Well, time continues to march on, as does my recovery.  Unfortunately, it feels like time is moving super quickly while my recovery does the feckin opposite!  Patience was never a strength of mine and I’m really struggling with the total inactivity that my current condition dictates.  Everyone around me tells me that I’m making fantastic progress – going to the pub on crutches instead of in a wheelchair was a big milestone (both for me and the landlords till!!)  I  know I am progressing, it just feels like it’s happening at a snails pace.  One of my rehab consultants suggested that I learn some formal relaxation techniques.  I can’t print what I said inside my head at that suggestion, as I’m sure the puritanical blogger.com admin people would auto delete the various swear words, but what came out was “Yeah, thanks for that – I don’t think that’s really me though”.  Which I thought was very well held.

The gradual transformation of Chez Jones into a well-equipped gym has continued with the arrival of my parallel bars.  I’m finding them really useful and have already noticed a difference in my ability to walk without holding on (I know, who’d have thought that’d be a big deal apart from on an especially large weekend!)  Mr. J (pictured right :-)) and a few of the other usual suspects have also

found them to be much fun, with various attempts at swinging, jumping and general silliness happening regularly.  It’s bound to end in tears – I can just see me being the one to dial 999 for someone lying prone on the dining room floor – oh, the irony….

 

Finally to the gambling.  I went to Ascot races last weekend and had a bloody brilliant time.  Lots of wine and lots of winning, which pretty much sums up how the races should be.  J  Mr. J, by the way, who bleats on about the correct way to gamble, the lineage of horses, blah, blah, blah, won nothing.  Just saying.

Onwards and upwards - with a little bit of sideways thrown in for good measure....

Crutches, steroids and sulking

Yay!  I’ve moved on from my rollator to crutches, which is fantastic.  Being on crutches is a huge step forward and makes me feel less like a pensioner and more like some young (ish) sports injury victim.  They allow me to move around more freely so I’m now going to be out and about more often.  J  I’m also back in the kitchen telling Kevin how to do various and sundry tasks, which he’s really enjoying.  He’s been excelling at all things domestic since the big C entered our world, the most recent activity being flower arranging.  Yes, you read that right.  Today, he arrived back from shopping with not one, not two, but three bunches of flowers all of which are now artfully arranged around the house.  Feel free to pop over, say hello and check them out...

The flowers do look beautiful and cheer me up no end.  I’ve needed cheering up recently as I’ve had major steroid comedowns and sulks going on.  The main reason being that for years, I’ve manfully attended Henley regatta and festival in all sorts of dull, grey, cloudy and sometimes downright torrential conditions.  The one year I’m out of action it’s bloody glorious for both of them.  Typical.  This wasn’t helped by facebook.  Virtually everyone I know felt the unresistable urge to share the wonderful time they were having with the world.  Yes, yes, I know,  stop whinging Aideen, you didn’t have to read it!  Although I was obviously thrilled for you all, I can’t say I’m sorry the Henley summer madness is over for the moment.  I can get on with recovering without feeling I’m missing out on the best regatta and festival ever.  Aaaaghhh……

Finally, I’m off for what should be my last chemo session next week.  I’m hoping that this time will be as amusing as the last when the most amazing elderly man was having a treatment the same day.  He was an awfully posh chap by the name of William, “but you my dahling may call me Bill”.  He was also blind.  He kept us all amused for the duration of the crappy chemo session by flirting outrageously with the nurses and regaling us with Tam o’  Shanter by the inimitable Robbie Burns which he was reading using Braille.  His friend was with him and when asked a question by one of the nurses, actually used the phrase ‘what, what, what?’ in a genuine, not taking the piss way.  Brilliant. I was in hysterics at and with the two of them for hours.   Bill was a shining example of someone who refuses point blank to let lifes challenges get him down.  An inspirational man.

News Flash!

Thanks so much for all the good wishes yesterday, you can now all uncross your various body parts.

After a nervewracking wait when I alternated between being ready to chew my own arm off with nerves or burst into tears at any second, we went in to see 'the man'.

And yay!!! The news was good!  Very good in fact :-) I'm responding really well to treatment and all is on track. Actually, it's better than on track - I've screeched into the lead in this battle. As planned and hoped, I'm kicking the proverbial arse out of the cancer.

They're really happy with me, but not as happy as I am with me. I'm off now for a cheeky vino to celebrate. Please feel free to join me virtually.

 


 

 

Conquering Everest and wet bums...

This weekend I slept in my own bed, with my husband, upstairs.  Yes, upstairs!

I conquered this personal Everest on Friday when my physio, the wonderful Carol, announced on her arrival that “the plan for today’s session is to get you up the stairs”.  I’d had no idea that she was so ambitious (for ambitious read deluded) and was duly terrified.

Never before have a set of stairs looked so daunting.  Standing at the bottom step was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done, but, I refuse to be beaten, so up I went.  And it was fine.  I wouldn’t say it was the smoothest stair climb I’ve ever done – it was slow, laborious and definitely not elegant, but I did it nonetheless.  Coming down is even less elegant, as I have to do it backwards at the moment, so whoever (usually the blessed Kevin) is behind me for safety gets a full-on view of my arse on the way down.  Isn’t he the lucky one!

He was excited about me being back upstairs at first, but then I started passing comment on the changes he’s made since I’d last been up there three months ago.  “Ooo, that looks nice”, “No, I don’t like that”, “That’ll need to be changed”.  I’m surprised he didn’t throw me back down the stairs straightaway. ;-)

Apart from that, the other big bit of news is that I had my ‘re-framing’ scan to assess the progress of the chemotherapy.  That was another experience I’ll happily forget.  I had to down half a litre of barium meal drink beforehand, which was vile!  It tasted like one of Macbeth’s witches had come up with a disgusting blend of vegetable oil, chalk, a token squeeze of orange juice and the odd bit of eye of newt and spleen of toad thrown in for good measure.  They also give you an injection of some weird stuff that dyes your blood so it shows up more clearly on the scan.  It’s heated in advance which they warned me would make it feel really weird, particularly around the bum area.  Apparently, there’s a large valve in each buttock where the blood pools?  Unsurprisingly, ‘they’ were right; it definitely did feel really weird - a bit like I'd wet myself actually.  Very disconcerting.

Anyway, it’s done now and I get the results on Monday afternoon.  Fingers, toes, legs and everything else crossed everyone …

Back home again...

I’ve been home now for over two weeks and it’s been fantastic.  Waking up in my own house, eating what I want for breakfast, lunch and dinner and generally being more in control of my life is a joy.  The woofers are also an absolute joy – making every day brighter with their unbridled enthusiasm for life.  We could learn a lot from dogs I think.

 I’m not sure whether it’s quite as ‘joyful’ for Kevin, who has to wait on me hand and foot.  He is running around like a proverbial blue arsed fly; cooking, working, shopping, laundering (clothes not money) and trying to keep me upbeat and positive whilst staying sane.  Bless him, for someone with the tolerance and patience of Victor Meldrew it’s a big ask.  He also has to get up most nights about four hours after he’s finally gone asleep to escort me to the loo.  I phone him from downstairs for this – he loves that!  He doesn’t need to actually do anything, just be there in case I look like falling over.  It’s a whole new experience for me.  For years, any risk of falling over in the loo at three in the morning would be because I was still partying – how life has changed.

Chemo continues to go well – well being a relative term I guess.  I now have the delights of injecting myself with a white blood cell booster for five days of the three week cycle.  I also have the joys (and associated downs) of being off my face on steroids for 5 days of the cycle.  I continue to shop like a demon on the steroid up days – it’s costing me a fortune!  Having said all that however, I’m still getting an easier ride than many people I’ve heard about/spoken to who are going through or have gone through chemotherapy, so I’m not going to complain.

On the mobility front, it’s still an uphill slog.  I have now though (drum roll please) moved off the zimmer frame and onto a ‘rollator’!  Picture below ;-)

Yes, ladies & gentlemen, I now have a cool vibrant purple old ladies gadget thingy with built in seat and everything.  I have foregone the shopping basket attachment though.   And yes, I do find it ridiculous and yes, I am embarrassed.  But, needs must as they say and however ridiculous it is for me to think of myself needing one of these, if it gets me to the next stage (crutches), then so be it.

Apparently there are lots of these about, so I’m considering launching some competitions to liven up my days.  Fastest in a drag race, tightest cornering, artistic impression - all other suggestions welcome.  Although, the mortification of losing to someone in their nineties would probably stay with me longer than I intend my disability to be hanging around.  I’m also unsure of what my physios would have to say about such reckless use of NHS equipment.  I suspect I’d get a good telling off.

Oh well, in for a penny as they say - I’m popping outside now to practice my cornering...