I love steroids

Since I last posted my health is pretty much the same.  The only exception being the wonder that is a reasonable dose of steroids.  My oncologist warned me that they could give me a false feeling of wellness.  But false is good enough for me.  It's better than lying poleaxed in my bed with zero energy.  I've yet to develop the puffy steroid face but my muscles have definitely been wasting (as warned) and all the skin on my arms and legs has turned wrinkly.  You win some you lose some.  You also buy expensive body lotion online and live in hope.

Although the steroids have helped massively with energy, my breathing problems remain the same.  So although I'm keen to do things, physically it's difficult.  The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak (and did I mention saggy).

Also, possibly steroid related, are my patience levels.  I have no time for what I consider to arsery of any sort.  So if you come round here be warned!   I make no apology for it, it's positively liberating. Light the fuse and stand back.

Meanwhile, of course, people have been lovely.  The mass ranks of the other-half's family did a 15 mile, very muddy, very hard sponsored walk to raise money for my local hospice.  What a bunch of good 'uns.  

The end of the walk and still standing (just)

My sisters have, as always, been troopers.  Baby sitting me, cooking, commode emptying and generally giving poor old Nev a break from me.

And as for the outpouring of messages, gifts and visits after my last blog post, well I was touched.  I'm afraid I didn't get around to taking photos of everything but thanks to everyone.  I luffs you all.  Here's a couple of pictures we received

Beautiful hand drawn artwork

 

Beautiful and very, very glittery artwork

And lest you worry that the three-legged monster cat got left out. Fear not.  Here is his  latest gift, a Bet Lynch style cat tunnel.
 

Tasteful

Despite the breathing problems I have been able to get out and about some days thanks to Nev, the wheelchair and portable oxygen. It can be a bit of a palaver but it's lovely to be outside, wheeling round the park in the sunshine.

 And even better is going down the pub in my posh new coat. 

Cheers!

We are family

Picture from here

Today, while I reclined not particularly gracefully on my sister’s sofa, the other-half’s family rolled their sleeves up and cleaned my filthy house.  Gawd bless their cotton socks!  My house is never exactly spotless at the best of times but all the recent building work has resulted in the entire place being knee deep in dust, debris and disgustingness.  So Da Family descended and blitzed Discombobulated Towers.  One of my brother-in-laws manfully cleaned windows, windows that haven’t been cleaned since I don’t when.  Give that man a coconut.  My sisters too have been in on the act, carting boxes of pictures and knick-knacks (I don’t do minimalism) from my place to clean them cleaner than they’ve ever been before (as well as all the ferrying me around for radiotherapy appointments).  I am a lucky duck, albeit a bit of a lazy one.   Thanks to all!  

As I wrote in my previous post I had a bit of a bombshell recently, not only discovering that the cancer in my lungs has grown but also that the change had been ignored by my local hospital.  I still can’t go into the full details of this story without a) boring you to tears and b) sending my blood pressure through the roof.  Suffice it to say that I’ll be sending in a formal complaint to the hospital’s chief executive.  Anyway, as I no longer have faith in the local oncology bods, and would like some action taken regarding my health before hell freezes over, I have been to see an oncologist in London.  He was very helpful and thinks I might be able to go on a trial for a new chemo drug called TDM1*.  I hope to hear from a hospital in Warwick this week with further news.  Fingers crossed.  If this doesn’t work out I can always go back to see the chap in London. By the way, after a long cold winter, it was a gorgeous day in London so, in between medical appointments, we window-shopped in Marylebone High Street and mooched around Regent’s Park admiring the blossom.

* Apologies for linking to the Daily Wail for an explanation of TDM1 but it includes a quote from Prof Ellis, the chap I saw in London. That's my excuse.  But I still feel dirty.

Snoozing on the sofa

I'm back home, being pampered by the other-half, getting meals on wheels from sis no 1 and more cards, phone calls and flowers than I deserve:

Lovely, lovely, lovely.  Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I had a couple of fantastic handmade cards, one of which was covered in glitter.  The other day Cyril (three-legged monster cat) brushed against the card and was immediately coated in spangles.  Then he went outside to hang out with his rufty-tufty mog-mates.  I was worried that he'd get beaten up for being so flamboyant, but he strutted home (as best a three-legged cat can strut) in fine fettle.  I think perhaps he is a fashion-leader, so now I expect to see the other neighbourhood cats sporting glitter encrusted coats too.  It's the new spring look.

Anyway, I'm home from hospital and and am now officially an amazon.  Admittedly I'm a bit of a delicate amazon at the moment but I'm on the mend and making the most of sofa time before a truck load of hospital appointments next week.

I'll be pestering you again shortly but thought I'd let you know that as I drifted in and out of sleep after returning from the operating theatre (where I'd just lost* a breast) I could hear the other-half droning on and on to the nurse about his backache.  No-one suffers like he does.

*OK, seeing as the departed breast contained the malevolent cocktail sausage of doom perhaps 'lost' isn't the right word.

Beware - mushiness alert

(These are the flowers I received today from a daft but lovely friend, ta M, you nutter)

Back in 1980 I lived in a shared slum in Manchester (for about 2.8 seconds when I thought I wanted to do an HND in Business Studies at Salford Technical College, what was I thinking). Anyway my fellow slum-dwellers and I had a party. And although the party was a good one, my abiding memory is of the two useless gits (never identified) who threw up in the house. One vomited into the spin-dryer (only discovered when I went to use it several days later) and the other through the letter box – from the outside in (OK, that was quite impressive I suppose but still revolting). This experience of 30-odd years ago was one of many that made me come to the conclusion that quite a lot of people are, at best, utter, utter twonks.

Since my recent diagnosis I have had to revise this opinion. I have had so much niceness from so many people that I don’t know whether to blush, cry or do a lap of honour. Both my and the other-half’s families have been brilliant, friends rallied round and even friends of friends of friends offered their help and advice (some having had the misfortune to have experienced this crappy disease themselves). To everyone – thank you. Thank you for the cuddly cat, for the soup, for the chocolate bunnies, for the visits, for the meals, for the flowers, for the booze, for the emails, for the phone calls, for offers of lifts etc etc etc – in fact thank you for being such all round bricks. That’s bricks with a B.

Just in case you think I’m in danger of disappearing into a vat of mushiness let me assure you that, although I’ve been sincerely touched by everyone’s kindness, I still think the mystery vomiters of 1980 are a pair of arseholes. So I’m not entirely a fluffy bunny yet.