Cheers and jeers

Well what an up and down couple of weeks it's been.

The biggest jeer should be reserved for Alistair Burt, a Conservative Health Minister, who scuppered the passing of a law which would have seen off-patent drugs (for conditions including cancer) made available to the National Health Service (NHS) at low prices.  Not only did Mr Burt filibuster the proposed legislation he also accused his opponents of "shroud waving".  Classy.  You can read more about it by clicking here or just take my word for it that the man is a total and utter shit.

The other crappy thing that happened was of a more personal nature.  I discovered a lump on my chest.  I only had a week or so to wait for the results of my recent CT scan so I knew I'd get answers fairly quickly but it certainly made the days approaching my oncology appointment even more stressful than usual.  Given the appearance of this lump I was convinced that my current chemo, Eribulin, wasn't working.  So imagine my surprise and delight when I was told that the cancer is currently stable.  The oncologist also had a good poke around my chest and said that she thought the lump was bone.  She's getting the radiologist to double check my scan but is fairly confident that the lump is nothing to worry about.  So the plan is now for me to continue on Eribulin and have another CT scan in January.  What a relief. 

Honestly, it was like the sun breaking through the cloud

There was more good news.  You may remember that a while back I was on a drug trial for a chemo called TDM1 (trade name Kadcyla).  This drug worked really well for me for 18 months with very limited side effects.  There has been a lot of hoo-ha about kadcyla due to its cost and there was a very real threat that it would be removed from the Cancer Drugs Fund (CDF) meaning that it wouldn't be available to NHS patients.  However, a decision has been made to keep kadcyla on the CDF. Hallelujah.

Also on the plus side I have been diverted by having all three sisters in the UK and plaguing spending time with me. 

And I've been a right old culture vulture.  On the day before seeing my oncologist I took my mind off things by leaving the sticks and heading to London to see the British Museum's exhibition on the Celts.  Then, just a few days later, I went to Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery to check out the pre-Raphaelites and the Staffordshire Hoard.  While I was in Birmingham I also took the opportunity to visit the new shopping centre but, you will be relieved to hear, I didn't let this sully my pure and academic soul.  Please ignore any malicious rumours that I had to be dragged away sobbing from the cashmere jumpers in John Lewis.

Talking of shopping, it's not long until Christmas you know.  Don't hate me.  I'm trying to help.  You could order some beautiful cards from Ebay.   All proceeds will go to Second Hope (the new and only UK charity specifically for people with metastatic breast cancer).  Go on, you know you want to.


 

Hot cockles!

Well my cockles have been well and truly warmed.  The fund raising barn dance (raising money for Breast Cancer Now and Compton Hospice) took place last night, and what a successful evening it was on all fronts!

To start off here's a couple of photos of the two of the cuter attendees who (like many others) had come dressed up to the nines.  Howdy pardners.

So many people made so much effort to ensure the evening was a success that it's hard to know where to start but, at the risk of this turning into a blub-fest worthy of an Oscar winner, here goes:

First and foremost huge thanks to Ian and Amy (the other-half's nephew and his lovely wife) who came up with the idea of the event in the first place and then worked tirelessly to make it a success.  The mere thought of the amount of hard graft they took on makes me want to have a lie down in darkened room.  And they did all this in the same year that they organised their house move from one area of the country to another, their overseas wedding and also their UK wedding celebrations.  Some people are just gluttons for punishment!

Also, thanks to more relations, namely Lee, Lydia, Sam and Gail who helped organise, obtained fantastic raffle prizes and sold heaps of tickets.

Lip-smacking thanks to all the cake makers (cakes were also sold on the night to raise dosh).  There were some fantastic and tasty creations, including industrial quantities of secret-recipe muffins from sis no 1 and cakes bearing the logos of the charities made by the lovely Carmel.  Even the other-half put his chef's hat on:

Big cheers too for the raffle prizes, either supplied by friends and family or obtained by them by going to their employers and local businesses.  Big thanks in particular go to the kind generosity of Virgin Trains.

Thanks to all those who helped set up on the evening, organising things like a well-oiled machine in a very limited time, while I faffed around like a particulary ineffective fart in a thunderstorm.

Thanks too to those who couldn't make it but still gave donations, which were very much appreciated.

And of course the evening would have been nothing without the support of all those who came along.  We had a really good crowd who completely entered into the spirit of things, the dance floor was full all evening from start to finish.

One of the main reasons the dance floor was so busy was the all round excellence of the band, the Slippery Hill Boys and their caller.  I really can't praise them highly enough.  Quite simply they were bloody brilliant and I wouldn't hesitate to recommend them to anyone wanting a hoe-down to remember!  Here they are setting up

And here's the crowd thanking them at the end of the night

So the nitty-gritty.  As the result of everyone's generosity £1400  was raised for the two charities.  I am totally chuffed.  So before I start blubbing and hugging everyone in sight I'll sign off for now with more photos from the night.  Yee-haw! 

Dangerous Del

Today I have been wildly reckless.  I have changed the quilt on my bed from winter to summer mode.  So now I'll be snoozing under 9 togs instead of the usual 15.  I know, CRAZY (given the erratic summer we're having here in England), but that's the way I roll.

I've been doing quite a lot of snoozing lately, either in bed or on the sofa.  I think it's due to the current chemo but as side effects go it could be so much worse, so I will cease my whinging here.

Before I move on from the subject of cancer I just thought I'd mention that Breakthrough Breast Cancer (one of the charities we will be raising funds for at the forthcoming barn dance) has merged with Breast Cancer Campaign to form Breast Cancer Now, the largest breast cancer charity in the UK.  The new website is still nauseatingly pink (don't start me on the whole pink thing) but other than that I'm impressed.  They seem to be taking metastatic breast cancer seriously and their new TV advert is, I think, spot on.  You can view it here.

I'm still obsessed by my tiny but, I think, lovely garden.  Here's the latest - front and back

This is what happens if you scatter poppy seeds with wild abandon (I will be starting an opium farm shortly)

Not content with sitting in my own garden I recently went on a tour of neighbourhood plots as part of the open gardens scheme.  It was a lovely sunny afternoon and at one point we were sat in someone's garden listening to a string quartet while drinking tea and scoffing cake.  It doesn't get much better than that.

Here are some edited highlights (and yes, I was very, very, jealous)

Herbaceous borders to kill for

Someone else with a poppy fetish

Swoon fest

 

shed envy

and scarecrows with attitude

And lest you think I have gone completely peculiar over plants, don't worry my number one concern remains mog-based.  I leave you with pictures of the cats I came across during my garden tour (all in all a blissful afternoon).

A Cyril look-a-like (apart from the full set of back legs)

Hello handsome

This one, Celeste, was in disgrace for bird murder (in full view of guests)

 

 

 

Oh yes, he knew he was beautiful

Summer shenanigans

I've had a busy few days and I'm in the mood to bore you with them now, so stand by.

Firstly the other-half and I (and lots of his family) went down to Guildford to help celebrate a family wedding.  It was lovely.  Happy couple, lovely atmosphere, delicious grub, 10/10.

We then spent the night in the noisiest hotel in the world.  We were kept awake by the sound of people coming back from hen/stag nights and other weddings, so for the most part although they were noisy they were jolly.  Not so on the third floor however (we were on the second floor which obviously attracted a better class of drunk).  One of my sister-in-laws* was on the third floor (say no more) and she had the thrill of listening to a drunken argument taking place in the next room at daft o'clock in the morning complete with random door knocking and the added delight of the row continuing when the guests woke up in the morning.  Deep joy.

(*You may have noticed that I allocate my three sisters numbers, nos 1, 2 and 3.  It may seem odd that I don't extend the same 'courtesy' to my sisters-in-law, but there are seven of them and it gets a tad confusing to say the least, especially as they won't keep still for five minutes).

After our sleep deprived night, we went on our weary way to Cornwall, where we stayed in a holiday cottage for a few days with two of my sisters-in-law and their husbands.  Those of you with no lives of your own will remember that I did the same last year.

Last year the weather was spectacular.  This year we feared the worst.  Monday was cold, rainy and increasingly stormy as the day wore on.  To add to the meteorological drama I decided to throw in some excitement of my own by suddenly feeling like, to use a medical term, a bag of bollocks, feeling incredibly cold and developing a rapidly increasing temperature.  The other-half rang my local chemo helpline and they said he should call an ambulance to get me to the local hospital.  He sensibly pointed out that we were in deepest rural Cornwall and it would be much quicker if he took me to hospital himself.  

This might sound a bit over dramatic but one of the problems with chemotherapy is that it can impair your immunity so infections can take hold very quickly and sometimes very nastily with the risk of neutropenia.  

So the other half and I and one of his sisters (riding shotgun) headed off for Truro hospital.  I did feel somewhat let down by said sister-in-law refusing to stick her head out of the car window as we drove along in the teaming rain and shout nee-na-nee-na like an ambulance siren.  Some people are just so unhelpful!

Anyway, we got to the hospital and I had urine and blood tests, an ECG and a chest x-ray.  But other than low pressure and a slightly high heart rate they could find nothing.  They suspected an infection of some kind but couldn't trace its source.  My white blood cell count was OK so thankfully they didn't keep me in but sent me home with a bucket load of antibiotics.  In fact the doctor looked at me and said "Hmm, if you were on a desert island I wouldn't bother having you airlifted off".  I'm still not sure if that was meant to be disdainful or reassuring.  Anyway, on the whole, the way and speed with which I was treated at Truro A&E was impressive. 

So we drove back in the dark and increasingly stormy night to the holiday cottage.  By this stage I was already feeling much better and let myself be plied with tea, toast and sympathy.  It was almost worth having felt grotty and enduring the scary car journey home.

The next day I felt fine.  The weather had transformed itself into warmth and sunshine, so we set off on a walk where we came to a beautiful deserted cove

complete with seals

and gorgeous wild flowers.

The walk ended up in the local pub, which is where it all went a bit haywire.  I'm afraid alcohol was taken, and quite a lot of it by me.  If I tell you I ended up playing pool and being a right old sweary Mary at the same time I'm sure you'll get the picture.

The next day was, of course, hangover hell.  Eventually I managed to get outside in the sunshine and walked (in a rather fragile manner) through a stunning meadow of buttercups

and along colourful roadsides

Seeing farm animals who clearly felt much like I did

(don't worry he wasn't dead, just having a snooze).

Sadly, the next day was time to come home (for a pre-arranged hospital appointment, big sigh).

Since coming home, as well as treading the straight and narrow, I have been lazing about (much like the pig only not in a cute way)

(please note that is WATER in the glass),

pottering in the garden with Cyril (the three-legged monster cat) taking residence, not very helpfully, in a seed tray.

Home isn't such a bad place to be.  Cornwall is stunning but, if I say so myself, I'm pretty chuffed just sitting and looking at my tiny garden 

I know it's too chaotic for a lot of people's taste, but it's exactly my cup of tea.

Hoping now for a couple of quiet-ish weeks so I can regain a bit more oompf to carry on with more summer shenanigans.  Ta ra for now.