Friday, 21 February 2014

Reasons to be cheerful

Picture from here

I saw the oncolcolgist on Wednesday and I'm a Stable Mabel.  There has been no marked change in my lymph nodes or lung lessions since my previous scan in November.  Also there are no new appearances of the little cancer bastards anywhere.  So while not as thrilling as last time (when the lung crap had shrunk) it's still very good news.  

Also good news is that the oncologist, Dr Oily, is retiring.  When he told me of his impending departure I think I was supposed to express regret.  Pah!  However, I was restrained enough not to leap around the consulting room punching the air shouting "see ya, wouldn't want to be ya".  I am the model of decorum.  Anyway, I'm hoping to see a less smug and self-satisfied doctor in future.

Other things that I've found cheery of late are:
  • An advert featuring a cat and budgie, click here
  • A biscuit advert with a huge aaah factor, click here
  • Channel 4's Sochi advert, good on 'em, click here  
And on that jolly note I'll say ta-ra for now.  Normal whinging to be resumed next time.

Monday, 17 February 2014

Is it really that time already?

picture from here

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.


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:

The donkey from Shrek?

The stuff of nightmares

Is it my lurid imagination or is this one poohing down a drainpipe? 

Also I spent time admiring the thoroughness of the road markings

Definitely no parking then
Resisting temptation

Sis no 1 dragged me back to Shropshire Cat Rescue but I managed not to bring any cats back home with me

even though there were cute shy ones

and Cyril look-a-likes
relaxed ginger poster boys

and, oh my goodness,
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.