The chemo trial I’m
on calls for CT scans every twelve weeks to check how/if the swamp juice (TDM1
in my case) is working. That’s fine by
me. I’d much rather run the risks
inherent in regular bursts of radiation from the CT scanner than not know what
is going on with my insides. But it
seems only five minutes ago that I was last scanned and bleating away about
scanixety (the horrible waiting to hear what the scan has found). But here I am again in scary land. I celebrated my two year cancerversary last
week (two years since diagnosis) with a CT scan. Some time ago I was told that the average
life expectancy for someone diagnosed with spread to another organ (lungs in my
case) was two to three years. So you can
see why I am chewing my finger nails waiting to see the oncologist in two days
time to find out the latest.
While I try to
remain optimistic the fact is that at some point the chemo will stop
working. That’s the deal for those of us
with secondary (aka metastatic) breast cancer.
If we’re lucky there’ll be another chemo or hormonal treatment that will
hold things at bay for a bit but eventually we run out of options and the cancer comes out on top. So, for now, I’m hoping and praying that my
current chemo is continuing to give the cancer a bloody good slapping, and
meanwhile the boffins in research labs develop more treatments or, dare I say
it, even a cure.
While the above
paragraphs sound pretty miserable (cancer is
sodding miserable) I’ve actually been too busy of late to dwell on things too
much. I’ve been gadding here and there,
resisting temptation and being insulted.
Gadding
I spent a couple of
days in beautiful Oxford. I love old stuff so it was just my cup of
tea. Look away now if you prefer modern
architecture:
There were stacks of
gargoyley things but these were favourites:
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The donkey from Shrek? |
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The stuff of nightmares |
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Is it my lurid imagination or is this one poohing down a drainpipe? |
Also I spent time admiring the thoroughness of the road markings
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Definitely no parking then |
|
Resisting temptation
|
even though there were cute shy ones |
|
|
| | |
and Cyril look-a-likes |
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relaxed ginger poster boys |
|
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and, oh my goodness,
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a sad three legged kitten in a jacket |
Being insulted
I have been insulted by a complete stranger. While I was out shopping a woman came up to me and said "ooh I do like your boots". I smirked, lapping up the praise, only to be brought back down to earth with a bump when she added "I'd really like to know where you got them from, I've got wide feet and chunky calves too".
So that's my life at the moment, on the one hand anxiety and chunky calves but on the other poohing gargoyles and three-legged cats. So, it's not all bad.