Rainy Monday

Golly it's a cold, rainy day here in Shropshire.  I am resisting the urge to turn the central heating on and am spending a lot of time with Cyril (the three legged monster cat) doing this:

Although I did venture out at 9am (9am!) for a heart test at the local hospital.  This is a regular test I have to check that the chemo isn't wrecking my ticker.  All part of the endless delight of living with cancer.  Things still seem OK on that front, so a bit of relief there and I was smiling despite the pouring rain.

How unlike last Wednesday when, to celebrate the other-half's 50th birthday, we spent a total of three hours in the car. which hasn't got air-conditioning, with temperatures in the early 30s touching 36 degrees at some point (thats 98 degress in old money).  Being a delicate English rose (pauses for scornful laughs)  I don't think I've ever experienced that temperature before.  I was wilting.  Thankfully there were no traffic jams if they're had been I think I would have keeled over.  

Anyway the drive was to Stoneywell, a National Trust arts and crafts style property in Leicestershire.  It was beautiful and well worth the sauna-like trip

Not so beautiful was the new look the other-half had adopted to mark his entry into his 50s:

I had a bit of a creative splurge for the other-half's birthday and produced handmade bunting and a handmade card, both of which were too shoddy to be shown here.  Even more shoddy was the birthday cake I made.  The cake didn't rise particularly well but I soldiered on and iced it and put 50 on the top in stars.  However the icing was quite runny and the 50 kept sliding off down the side of the cake.  Sis no 3 pointed out that this was quite apt as, after the age of 50, life is all downhill anyway.  I think it's fair to stay I won't be appearing in the Great British Bake Off anytime soon.

The other-half had lots of lovely presents but one, from his 5 year old godson, was a stroke of genius as those who know Nev will testify:

Apologies for the very poor photograph.  I bought the other-half a half-decent camera for this birthday so I'm hoping that the quality of photos on this blog will improve dramatically in the near future (but don't hold your breath).

Talking of holding your breath something exciting but secret is going on. I hope to be able to reveal something I think is pretty fantastic in the next few weeks.  So stand by.  Ooh I'm such a tease!

Irritations

Love letters to and from the Inland Revenue

See that picture?  That’s the correspondence I’ve had with the tax office over the last six weeks.  It’s a long and dull story best summed up as they are doing my bloody head in!  I am battling on and think I might be wearing them down as the latest letter from the powers-that-be said, amongst other things, that they were ‘sending me kind thoughts’.  Sweet, but I’d prefer it if they just got my tax right. 

I’ve got a seroma (collection of icky fluid at the operation site).  Maybe don’t click on that link if you’re about to eat.  Too late?  Oops sorry.  I had the fluid drained on Friday by the surgeon but by Friday evening it was back.  I thought I was tremendously brave putting up with it all weekend and called the hospital on Monday morning expecting them to rush me in to mop my brow and drain the gunk.  They were unimpressed.  I have to wait until Wednesday to get it drained again.  Meanwhile I’m walking around with what feels like a small water bed on my chest.  This in turn has put the kibosh on my radiotherapy planning appointment (also scheduled for Wednesday).  I spent all day yesterday (apart from the two hours I spent composing my latest letter to the tax office) trying to phone the radiotherapy department to reschedule my appointment.  The phone rang and rang and rang and rang.  No-one answered all day.

I’m still pathetically tired.  I walked for 10 minutes yesterday, had a major (and embarrassing) coughing fit in the post office then walked 10 minutes home and had to have a lie down. 

I’m persisting with the grotty post-mastectomy exercises as instructed by the physiotherapist.  They hurt and make me even grumpier.

Building work on the kitchen starts on Monday.  There is still So Much To Do Before The Work Can Start.  And Cyril (three-legged monster cat) is not helping much with the packing.

To cap it all I’ve opened a new tub of margarine when we already had an unfinished tub in the fridge.  Argh.  As John Shuttleworth says 'two margarines on the go, it's a nightmare scenario'.  See below for his musical masterpiece:

Medical update

With all the ranting I forgot to update you on my recent surgeon and oncologist appointments.  The surgeon is happy with my progress (the seroma problem is common and nothing to worry about).  Sufficiently clear margins were taken out around the tumour so I don’t have to have more surgery.  The main tumour itself was a bit smaller than expected and the other cancer in the breast found during biopsies a year ago was nowhere to be seen.  The surgeon suspects it was zapped by the chemo.  The oncologist (the one that looks like Smokey Robinson, he’s my new favourite) decided I should have radiotherapy because, although it will not help with secondary cancer, it can reduce the risk of a recurrence of a new cancer in the same area as the first.  So pretty good news all round.  I really shouldn’t be so grumpy, but I am.   

 

Boggle blues

I have given up online Boggle for Lent.  This has made me grumpy (but not as grumpy as my inability to find a photograph to illustrate my fed-up-ness with the deprivation).  The other-half reckons I was addicted, just because I used to shout at him if he dared to speak to me, or indeed breathe, during my two hour long Boggle sessions. 

Fear not though, I’m still finding reasons to shout at him even without the irritating Boggle interruptions.  The other day I informed him he was ‘relentlessly annoying’ so he told me he was giving up being married for Lent.  I should, grudgingly, also point out that he cooked a surprise Valentines breakfast (scrambled egg, smoked salmon accompanied by red rose).  We don’t usually ‘do’ Valentines Day so this was a big deal.  Mind you since then he has blotted his copybook by repeatedly pointing out that I didn’t get him anything in return and how much he would love to receive a massive Easter egg.  Dream on matey.

Since I last posted I’ve had another Herceptin top-up, a pre-op assessment (surgery scheduled for 28^th February) and an appointment with the oncologist.  Yet another new one, Smokey (he looks like Smokey Robinson).  Smokey was upbeat and even spoke about the monitoring procedure should the disease remain stable for a couple of years.  This is the first time any oncologist has mentioned the possibility of me being around in two years time so I’m a Smokey fan.  (For any long term readers Smokey also informed me that the Anti-Doogie has left the hospital and gone to Kuwait.  And he never even said goodbye).

Happily to fill the time previously taken up by Boogle I have found (via Useless Beauty) a brilliant blog called Streetmogs.  I suggest you rush there now for an immediate cat fix.