In the wars

Remember the mystery (and huge) gnome that appeared in my garden last spring?  Well I'm afraid some recent windy weather has taken its toll.  And the gnome isn't the only one who's been through the wars lately.

I've been complaining about breathlessness for ages and it's got worse and worse.  I went to The Christie (the specialist hospital I've been attending in Manchester) a week ago for scan results.  The scan was good - no change, but the doc was not at all happy about my breathing and admitted me.

I spent a week in hospital with the poor other-half having to trek backwards and forwards to Manchester (a one hour forty minute drive each way on a good day) to visit me.  I have no complaints whatsoever about my care but, as I'm sure you know, hospital wards are not peaceful, restful places so it was all a bit of a strain.  Added to that I couldn't walk a step without becoming very breathless so commodes behind the bed curtains were the order of the day.  Necessary but not very dignified.

While all this was going on, the three-legged monster cat was safely at home.  Lounging on his special cushion, dignity intact.  Lucky blighter.

Lord Muck

During my stay the medical bods did a high resolution CT scan and still found no change in my lungs since May, so no obvious reason for the breathlessness.  

During some regular observations the nurse found that my heart was racing alarmingly. Within moments I was surrounded by medical staff and advised that it would be a good idea for Nev to return to the hospital even though he'd only just got back to the Midlands after visiting.  Two of his sisters kindly drove him back and he arrived in time to find that my heart rate had, thankfully, slowed.  

So the focus of attention moved to my heart. An echocardiogram revealed that there seemed to be some sort of pressure there so I was prescribed beta blockers and arrangements were made for me to have a cardio MRI in a hospital a few miles away from the Christie (cue a trip lying flat in an ambulance - but no nee-naws).  Before leaving the Christie I asked the medics to tell me straight what they thought the scan would reveal.  Their opinion was that it was likely that the cancer was pressing on my heart, in which case all treatment would cease.  I asked how long they thought I had but they were unable to say before seeing the scan results.  At this stage I had them draw the curtains around my bed and had a good blub.  

However, the cardio MRI revealed no problem with my heart.  This was good news obviously but it's pretty frustrating to be a medical mystery.  It felt like my life was turning into an episode of House.

So the next thing was to try steroids to ease the breathlessness.  This has worked to a small degree and finally, after a week in hospital, I was allowed to leave as long as I had oxygen at home.  I cannot bear to go into the frantic organising that went into ensuring that oxygen was installed on a Friday afternoon - but thankfully it was done.  Me stressed?  Never.  What a week!

Being back at home is wonderful.  I was absolutely exhausted so the peace, quiet and loveliness of my own bed, not to mention the total disdain of the cat, were blissful.

Yesterday I went back to Manchester again to see the docs. They have had conversations with the head honchos of the clinical trial I'm involved in and the consensus is that I have chemo-induced pneumonitis.  This means that I have to come off the trial.  On the one hand this is a bugger as it was working to control the cancer, but on the other that's not much use if I can't breathe.  The hope is that my breathing will improve as the chemo leaves my system and I've been prescribed a decreasing course of steroids to see me through.  

In a couple of weeks I will consult oncologists at both the Christie and my local hospital to see what, if anything can be done next.  There is at least one chemo I might be able to try but I have to be well enough to handle it.  Time will tell.  At the moment I'm just taking one day at a time and trying to put some weight back on.  At the risk of being totally shallow, as well as all the health palaver, I am not particularly enjoying rocking the scrawny-eyed wassock look.  Some fat, hair and eyelashes would be much appreciated.

At this point, at the risk of sounding like a tearful Oscar winner, I have to thank the other-half, his family, my wonderful (yes I did say that) sisters and friends for their concern, lovely messages and practical help during all this.  I even had fellow metastatic breast cancer pals from my online support group popping in to see me.  You're a lovely bunch you really are.  I appreciate everything even though I don't always show it.

Let's end on a brighter note and totally change the subject.  We have a new addition to the family.  Sis no 1 has adopted a second cat.  He's an elderly gent and doesn't do much other than enjoy being out of the shelter and in a warm, comfortable home.  But honestly, with looks like this, he really doesn't need to do anything.  Ladies and gentlemen I give you ..... Murphy.

No lack of fat, hair or eyelashes there.

Bracing myself

Picture from here

Before I launch into the latest codswallop, a quick word for readers in America.  The above picture shows Bobby Ball (don't ask) wearing braces.  That's right, braces not suspenders.  These are suspenders (and don't give me any of that garter belt nonsense).

Picture from here

If you don't believe me check here.  

Anyway now you understand the linguistic differences you can appreciate that my selection of the picture of Bobby Ball to illustrate this post is very funny.

Right, back to business.  In my last post I bored you with my trip to The Christie and my consultation with the doctor who looked just like Eddie Redmayne.  Well Dr Eddie has been in touch and I'm pleased to report that over the next couple of weeks I'll be making trips to Manchester to have a variety tests to check my suitability for a clinical trial.  So the ball is rolling.   

One of the tests is a lung biopsy, which I am not looking forward to one little bit.  However needs must.  Also a couple of friends, who are in the know, have assured me that it's not that bad.  However, if these friends are lying I will have my revenge.  This will possibly involve the appearance of large and tasteless gnomes in their gardens.  You know who you are and you have been warned.

So I'm bracing myself for the tests and the results and hoping like mad that I get on the trial, as the coughing and breathlessness continue ad sodding nauseam.

As if all this testing malarkey wasn't enough to be getting on with, last night I foolishly made a nod towards the twenty-first century and bought a modern mobile phone.  What a palaver buying it was.  The process seemed to take a thousand years and the young salesman was flummoxed by my total lack of interest in different types of phone (they all look completely bloody identical) and my blissful ignorance of all things technical.  The other-half was with me (getting a phone too) and he is even more of a luddite than me.  I've spent more exciting evenings cleaning out the cat's litter tray.  Anyway the purchases were made and now two brand new phones are sitting on the kitchen table  Neither of us has the heart to try to find out how to use them.  I wonder if the litter tray needs cleaning.
 

No place like gnome

I went to see the oncologist's (very nice) underling today.  She was a bit concerned that I hadn't yet been given an appointment to see an ophthalmologist (after all the hoo-ha when an optician spotted a variation in my pupil size a few weeks ago).  Bugger.  I'd been feeling fairly relaxed about the whole thing since the CT and MRI scans of my brain came back clear.  It seems there may still be cause for concern. 

I'm also going to have a chest x-ray next week (in addition to the scheduled CT scan at the end of the month) as I'm coughing quite a bit.  Hey ho.  Luckily I'm still suffering from jet lag after my Easter trip and that means I'm too knackered to get worked up about anything at the moment.

'Jet lag' I hear you cry in uncontrollable excitement, 'oh what wondrous foreign climes have you been exploring Disco Del'.  Well, let me tell you.  Pembrokeshire.  And going by how I feel today I can caterogically state that it is possible to suffer jet lag after a three and a bit hour drive from South Wales to Shropshire, so don't try to tell me otherwise.

Pembrokeshire was lovely.  Look:

Atmosphere in bucket loads

Spring time arrived (just)

Sunny Solva

We went with friends and their little boy.  So there were Easter egg hunts, football on the beach (although I was more of a spectator for this due to my lack of puff) and colouring in as well as the usual booze and sight-seeing.  So it was a brill holiday.  And lest you think I've gone soft in my old age ... if it's wrong to laugh at a six year old falling over and getting a proper drenching in a very cold sea then I don't want to be right.  Oh don't look at me like that, he was fine, if a little soggy round the edges.

True to form I kept an eye open for cats and found a humdinger up at the local church

Hiya Handsome

Then we returned home to an intriguing mystery.  A three foot tall plastic gnome has appeared in the back garden.  I've composed a short list of possible culprits which I'll be passing to CSI Shrewsbury shortly.  Here he is - I'm just hoping he doesn't invite any mates round.

And if anyone has any information on who placed him in the garden I'd be delighted to hear it.  Once I discover the identity of  the evil genuis behind this crime I will have my revenge.