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.

Unreliable

Oh dear.  I had hoped to go to Birmingham today to have a mooch around the shops before they get too relentlessly busy but instead I'm taking a leaf out of the cat's book and lounging around on the sofa doing a lot of this

I'm not sure if today's lethargy is chemo related or due to me having a flu jab yesterday.  All I know is I'm not firing on all cylinders.  In reality, compared to what some people suffer on chemo, I'm having a pretty easy time of it on Eribulin (so far).  But it does make me tired and also sends my temperature a bit haywire at times.  As a result I've had to bail out of a few recent social events, which makes me grumpy.  I hate being an unreliable friend but when I'm tired and grumpy it's probably best for everyone if I go into hermit mode.  The good news is that I've got a week off chemo at Christmas time (I wrote a begging email to my oncologist and laid it on with a trowel) so I'm hoping to be full of beans for the festivities, especially as a big family getaway is planned.  All I can say is watch out Hampshire.  You have been warned.  

The other-half and I have risked divorce and done some cooking together in preparation.  You wouldn't believe the blood, sweat and tears (and booze) that have gone into this cake.

We've yet to ice and decorate the cake - so the story continues

Anyway, unreliable as I am, constantly failing to turn up to planned shindigs, I cannot compare with my paternal grandfather.  Sis no 3 has been doing lots of work on the family tree but until recently my grandad was a bit of a mystery.  

The last known picture of my grandad (picture from here)

He walked out on his wife and four children (including my dad) in the early 1920s and was never heard of again.  I had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt over this behaviour (which caused a lot of hardship to his wife and kids) but my sister has finally managed to find out what happened and it's not particularly edifying.  Apparently he ran off to Coventry, Coventry I ask you, (apologies to any Coventry bods reading this).  Other highlights of his life include

• Entering into a bigamous marriage and having another family
• Somehow getting his name on a war memorial in Cardiff as having been killed in action in 1918
• Claiming (and receiving)  the old age pension two years earlier than he should have
• Being convicted of bypassing the electricity meter in his house and thereby defrauding the electricity company

What a total ratbag.  The other-half is dismayed at what sort of family he has married into.  

To finish on a brighter note, the other-half's six year old godson was chatting to us the other day and informed us that he was going to be an indicator in the school play.  Much confusion followed.  Turns out he's playing the innkeeper.

Lyme time

So the October pinkfest (also known as Breast Cancer Awareness month)  is nearly at an end.  Hurrah.  Don't worry, I'm not about to burst into another mega-rant, but would just like to sum up my feelings with 

a) this picture (nicked from the excellent Sarcastic Boob's Facebook page) 

and b) this on the last person finally made aware of breast cancer, which made me smile.

OK, that's enough of that.  Let's move on.

I've been to the seaside.  Yes again.  This time I went to the Lyme Regis area for a few days.

 We had lots of lovely autumn sunshine so we mooched about in picturesque towns,

 

I resisted going inside as I'm currently operating a ruthless one in one out book policy

visited quaint villages and strolled on beaches.  As it was out-of-season it wasn't horribly busy. 

See what I mean?

 This part of England is known as the Jurassic Coast and there are, apparently, loads of fossils to be found.  Not by me there weren't.  Here's the other half searching, unsuccessfully, for pre-historic remains

He keeps telling people it doesn't matter that he didn't find anything as he already lives with an old fossil.  Oh how I laugh.  He also keeps getting confused and tells people we've been to Jurassic Park.  Idiot. 

Of course, there were cats around, some floppy and affectionate,

 others mildly irritated

Sadly we did find there to be a bit of a gang problem in Lyme Regis.  Here are some of the more intimidating characters

However, we managed to stay out of trouble.  Well that is if you a draw a veil over the evening I spilt red wine over a friend's white fabric sofa.  Oh the horror! (Although my friend was very gracious about it.)  The following day I also managed to get the contents of an egg mayonnaise sandwich up my jacket sleeve.  I shouldn't be allowed out.

Talking of trouble, no sooner had I come back from Dorset than I found myself in hospital for a CT scan.  Yep, it's scan time again.  I get the results next week.  The usual anxiety abounds.  Still I'm planning some diversionary activities including having all three sisters in the UK at once.  Let's get ready to rumble!

There and back again

Before I launch into a 'what I did on my holidays' blog post, just let me show you this

This is what the other-half prepared for his lunch recently.  It's cold shepherds pie and cold mushy peas on toast.  Yes really.  There are no words but I had to share the horror with you.

Moving on, I've just spent two glorious weeks in France.  Eygalieres to be precise, down in sunny Provence where the food was a great deal better than anything the other-half could dream up.

But by golly it was hot.  When we arrived it was 41 degrees C (that's 105 in Fahrenheit) and it rarely dipped below the mid to high 30s for the duration of my visit.  Given the mostly cold and rainy summer we're having in England it was a welcome, if sometimes draining, relief.

Anyway we had a good mooch around the area and it had a kabillion picturesque streets,

 

more lavender and Roman ruins than you could shake a scented centurion at,

fountains and hill-side towns,

markets and shops filled with fabulous food (no cold mushy peas in sight),

and seriously big fuck-off castles.

Sorry for the language but whilst I'm lowering the tone here's a picture from the house we stayed in.  Sis no 3 said it looked like a donkey's arse.  We somehow resisted the temptation to play pin the tail on the donkey.

We also visited the asylum where Vincent Van Gogh spent some time, which was a surprisingly uplifting and tranquil place.

We also went to the moon

Not really (had you fooled there didn't I).  This is the top of Mont Ventoux, which forms part of the Tour De France.  There were lots of cyclists around the day we drove up too, I've never seen so many enormous calf muscles in one place.  Here's the other-half and I posing in the clouds at the top

Naturally I tried to befriend any cat I came across.  But they were mostly rather aloof and haughty.  I won this one round though by sharing a ham baguette with him.

I have about 300 more photos but I will spare you and just finish with a picture of me, out of my tree on wine at the local Bastille Day celebrations looking like I'm attempting a Gallic shrug (I hadn't been on the abisnthe, honest).

Anyway, I'm back in rainy old blightly and this week has seen a return to reality with a rash of pre-planned hospital appointments, including a CT scan.  Yes it's CT time again and also time for the agonising wait for the results to find out what the sodding cancer is up to.  Here's hoping my current chemo is still keeping it in check.  Fingers crossed.

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.

Relief and shame

I got my latest scan results yesterday and, considering what I was half-expecting, they were a mighty relief.  

The scan of my head revealed nothing.  Oh shut up.  I do have a brain in there but, hurrah, there was no sign of cancer.  My bones although showing a couple of iffy bits on my ribs (which have been there for at least two years) are OK, in fact the iffy bits have improved so the oncologist still doesn't reckon it's cancer.  My liver (cancer detected there last year) has improved and my lungs (which have had cancer ever since I was first diagnosed just over three years ago) are stable.  The onc reckons my dizziness is due to low blood pressure and my back ache to old age.  Never have I been so happy to have someone tell me I'm an old crock.

This means I carry on with my current chemo, which although causing me fatigue and sometimes an exciting dash in the direction of the bathroom, hasn't caused hair loss or major sickness.

As I was very concerned about the outcome of the latest scans I haven't been planning ahead massively, but that's now changed and already today I've been out and bought some summer clothes and, now I know I'm not going to lose my hair in the near future, have booked a haircut.  My thoughts are now turning towards summer holidays.  Watch out world, I'm on the rampage.

In order to distract me from chewing my non-existent finger nails, the other-half, sis no 3 and I headed out to Cheshire on the day before I got my results to visit Bluebell Cottage Gardens and Nursery.   It was glorious, look

However it's not all joy and bluebells at Discombobulated Towers I'm afraid.  On Wednesday evening Cyril (the three-legged monster cat) caught his first bird.  Thankfully I don't have any pictures as Cyril took his prey next door to give it a good munch there.  He made a quick exit from our garden due to the other-half yelling 'drop it' at him as if he was some kind of obedient dog.  So, I have raised a bully and a murderer.  Where did I go wrong?

Gadding again

I’ve been gadding about all over the countryside again.  That’s my excuse for not posting recently. 

Apologies for anyone left in the lurch about my latest CT scan results (although I did plaster it all over Facebook).  I've seen the oncologist and there was no change in the cancer, in other words I'm classed as stable (for now) and I can carry on with my current treatment.  This made me very happy.  I would have been even happier if the cancer had shrunk but that’s just me being greedy.

I recently posted a blog entry for Vita, Breast Cancer Care’s on-line magazine, you can read it here.  However, it’s mostly just me whinging on about waiting for scan results which, if you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you will have already endured several times.  So, here’s a get-out-of-jail-free card, you are excused reading the Vita blog.  I’m good to you, I really am.

Anyway, since getting my latest test results I’ve been here, there and everywhere. Well, Birmingham, Yorkshire and Cornwall to be precise.

I went to Birmingham to meet up for lunch with several other women with secondary breast cancer.  It was great to put faces to names (we knew each other from an on-line group) and chat about this, that and the other – and not solely cancer.  While I wouldn’t wish this sodding disease on anyone it’s a blessed relief to talk to other people who know exactly what this whole stage IV cancer malarkey is like.

After that I went up to Yorkshire and what a lovely county it is.

Aysgarth Falls (bloomin' lovely)

First of all we went to the north bit of Yorkshire for a very happy, joyous wedding.  I can safely say this was the only wedding ceremony I've attended where the vicar (a Benny Hill look-a-like) threatened to kill the bride for laughing.  Then on to the west of the county to see my aunty and cousins.  It was a fantastic visit and I hope to go back  again soon to inflict myself on my long-suffering relatives some more.

Then there was just time to squeeze in some hospital appointments (physio and chemo) before dashing off again, this time to Cornwall, where the sun shone and I did lots of Cornwally things which included visiting lovely villages like this one,

I think this was Ruan Minor or maybe Cadgwith

buying a picture at St Ives, eating a pasty, drinking cider and, oh bliss, a cream soda float,

Food of the Gods

getting serious, serious house envy

want one, want one, want one!

and making childish jokes about gardens.

The photo above was taken in the stunning gardens at Trebah.  There's a number of huge plants called gunnera there.  You could walk though a tunnel of them.  This walkway was named 'gunnera passage' which really does sound like some kind of embarrassing disease that you'd put off going to the doctor about until the itching really was unbearable.

I was in Cornwall with the other-half, two of his sisters and their husbands.  I'm afraid they led me astray and drink was taken.  I had a brilliant time, the sort even having just one toilet between six adults can't spoil (Bear Grylls has got nothing on me).  I'm not sure whether the highlight of the stay was the other-half slumping over the stable door to our cottage in an effort to make passers-by think he was dead or the time when he, half-cut, decided to drop his trousers to show off his knees - which were stained a patchy rust-brown by his cack-handed and ill-advised use of my self-tan lotion.  Happy days.

Anyway, I'm now back home surrounded by sisters (all three of them are in Shropshire at the mo) and enjoying the sunshine.  Don't worry I'm sure I'll revert to my normal moaning for the next post.  Later taters.