The quilt of guilt

Picture from here

Building work has started on Discombobulated Towers, you should see the mess.  Predictably enough we’ve already run into a problem.  It turns out that one of the kitchen walls had been built on jelly or a plague pit or something else equally gooey and now has to be rebuilt.  Good start.

I’m happily ensconced at Sis No 1’s house for the duration of the building work.  I’m not so sure that Sis’s cat, Tuppence, is particularly happy about the ensconcing though.  Cyril (my three-legged monster cat) is being a thug, chasing Tuppence and stressing her out.  He is  an ASBO cat.  On the first day of our stay someone peed on my sister’s bed.  The jury is out as to whether this was Tuppence, Cyril or the Other-half.  Strangely, no-one seems keen on taking up my suggestion of DNA testing or calling in CSI Shrewsbury to unmask the culprit.  When we dropped the quilt off at the cleaners, we quickly exited the premises without mentioning why it needed cleaning.  The nice lady behind the counter will have a bit of a surprise when she opens up the bin bag containing the quilt.  I’m a bit scared about going back to collect it. 

I had my radiotherapy planning appointment today.  This involved a woman with extremely cold hands drawing all over my chest with a biro, running me through a CT scanner a couple of times and then tattooing me.  Now I’m all ready for the zapping process which will start in April and will mean a trip to the hospital everyday for three weeks.  Everyone assures me that radiotherapy is easy-peasy in comparison to chemo.  We’ll see.  I should think it’ll probably make me too ill to go to collect the quilt though, don’t you?

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.   

 

I live here

Note proximity of cuppa, biscuit tin, iPad and cat - all life's essentials

My life is still revolving around the sofa.  I’d no idea that having an operation would make me feel so tired.  I’ve read bits and bobs on recovering from a mastectomy and there is every shade of opinion from people who think that, at two weeks on from the op, I should be leaping around like a young and frisky gazelle to others who reckon I’ll be out for the count for up to six months (six months? bugger off). 

Apart from the tiredness all seems to be going well.  I am (as yet) untraumatised by the whole thing and while I’m in a bit of pain it’s not horrendous, nothing like having toothache or, as I can bloody well testify, stubbing your toe by walking into the clothes airer with bare feet.

I’m sorry for the extra dull post but I’ve very little to report (aside from the horror that is walking into the clothes airer with bare feet).  However, during a period of intensive research (which some people might mistakenly call faffing about on the internet) I found the only source of information anyone will ever need.  Click here to find the most useful database* in the universe (click on the dots within the table for pictures/films). 

* I hate the word ‘database’ and am a bit ashamed at myself for having used it.  I also hate ‘pantyhose’, ‘matrix’ and ‘comfy’. 

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.

Breaking news

You know how there's been endless news reports lately about horsemeat finding its way into products supposedly made from beef?  Well, the scandal is about to get much, much worse.  Today I went to Llandrindod Wells and look what I saw in a butcher's window:

Pet mince!  You heard it here first.

I'll be keeping Cyril (three-legged monster cat) well away from that butchers (although maybe that is where his missing leg ended up).

So, tomorrow is mastectomy day.  I'm beginning to get a bit nervous now but the other-half has been distracting me by taking me to Wales today, swearing at other drivers and buying bags of chocolate covered raisins (food of the gods).

On the way back from Wales we stopped at one of my favourite places.  Mitchell's Fold, a Bronze Age stone circle in South Shropshire.

More atmosphere than you could shake a druid at (if you were that way inclined)

It had been a grim and grey day in Wales but true to form the sun made an appearance as we returned to Shropshire.

View from Mitchell's Fold, told you it was atmospheric

I'm not sure how long I'll be in hospital for, but it will probably be a good few days before I next get to post here.  I bet you're missing me already.  So I'll say goodbye for now and warn you to stand by for a lot of whinging on my return.  The photo below was supposed to be a lovely shot of me waving as the sun sets.  The other-half informs me I looks like a Martian. 

Greetings Earthlings.

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. 

King of the world

Me?  Blowing my own trumpet?  Never.

I have been doing battle with my ex-employer (the local council) and I have emerged victorious, yay me.  The ratbags* decided to make deductions from my notice-period salary as I was also receiving a state benefit (Employment Support Allowance).  I checked with the Benefits Bods and the Citizens Advice Bureau and both advised me that my employer was wrong, wrong, wrong.  There followed an exchange of emails between the ratbags and I, where I gamely bandied about phrases like ‘custom and practice’,‘unlawful deductions’ and ‘employment tribunal’.  After some initial resistance, a white flag has been waved and I will be getting a full refund.  Disco Del 1 – Ratbags 0.

(*I should point out that my ex-employer was only a ratbag about this one particular thing.  When it came to sick leave, sick pay and early retirement they were helpful, kind and cuddly.  So they’re not all bad.  Look at me being all magnanimous in victory.  I hope you’re wearing sunglasses as my halo must be dazzling.)

Anyway the refund will go towards the new kitchen.  If it ever happens.  We are still waiting for quotes from a couple of builders.  If they went any slower they’d be going backwards.  Makes you wonder how long it will take them to actually build if merely quoting takes this long.  The other-half is tearing his hair out.  I am rising above it.  Although it’d probably be more truthful to say that I haven’t got enough space in my addled brain to worry about builders and my forthcoming surgery.

My latest brain melt down has seen me lose a whole box of Tamoxifen on my way home from the chemist on Friday.  So I have been without medication all weekend.  I’ve phoned the doctor and groveled and hope to get a replacement prescription this afternoon.  I will guard it with my life.

In other tales of stupidity, all my previous talk of healthy living came to naught over the weekend, when I slid off the wagon.  A friend rather selfishly had a birthday (you know who you are!) so I had to drink champagne and red wine, it’s the law.  The next morning was not great.  I am back on the wagon again.

It’s still chilly here but on Saturday we put on a thousand layers and went for a stroll.  And look, the snowdrops are out!    

 

So maybe spring is just around the corner.  But just in case it isn’t and you’re in need of cheering up, here’s my latest YouTube find.  The best clip of a cat riding on a sheep’s back you’re ever likely to see.  Enjoy.

Trying to find a balance

Oh alright the photo's a bit dark.  The lighting crew were on lunch break.

The trouble with my Attacking-Cancer-on-all-Fronts scheme is that it can end up making my life all about cancer.  Or, to put it another way, I'm in danger of doing my own bloody head in. In between meditating, visualizing (and I visualize my main tumour as a sort of malevolent cocktail sausage just in case you’re interested), juicing, cooking from scratch, reiki-ng, taking the medication, reading up on the disease (which includes a lot of trying to sort the wheat from the limitless bloody chaff),there doesn’t seem to be a lot of brain-space left over for other things.  Like cat-worship, husband-baiting or continuing my bitter feud with the allotment Nazis.  I just did some on-line shopping but even that was for pyjamas for my hospital stay (mind you that was essential as I don’t want to disgrace myself by wearing my usual threadbare jim-jams). 

I can imagine you rolling your eyes and saying ‘well stop doing all the cancery stuff then idiot’.  But ‘aha’ I reply, ‘there’s evidence in something I read somewhere (what do you expect? Academic footnotes?) that patients who do more than sit back and leave everything totally in the hands of the medics survive for longer’.  So I’m between a rock and a hard place and on the horns of a dilemma.  It’s a good thing I’m wearing reinforced knickers.

Have you noticed the new, improved blog design?  Actually I’m not sure that it is improved but it’s different anyway.  My apologies to anyone who saw it during its change in a brief putrid peach incarnation.  I hope you’ve managed to get the vomiting under control and that you find dreary grey less distressing.

And now, in an effort to restore some balance to my life, I am going to do a rash, dangerous and non-cancery thing.  I’m going to Tidy The Cupboard Under The Stairs.  Here’s the magnitude of my task:

Somewhere in there is the camera charger.  I hope.

 Wish me luck.

In the wars

Cyril after the fray

Cyril (the three-legged monster cat) is being tormented by a bully.  My money is on the culprit being Big Bad Brown Fluffy Cat (BBBFC), the local thug.  I know Cyril doesn’t look too distressed in this photo, fast asleep propped up on velvet cushions, but look at the gash on his nose.  I’m thinking of getting a second cat to act as minder, maybe one like this:

Picture from here

Our lack of heating and hot water saga continued, with the brand new boiler not working when it was finally fitted.  I'll spare you the long tedious story but suffice it so say that all is now sorted and warmth reigns at Discombobulated Towers.  Which is probably why the other half and I have come down with the lurgy and are coughing, spluttering, sneezing and generally being pathetic.  I'm sitting in bed in a lemsip haze.  I'm one of those weird people who love lemsip so things could be a lot worse.

Before being struck down I'd been as busy as anything with a panto, a party, the cinema and meditation class to name just a few of the highlights of my exciting life.  I can really recommend this early retirement lark.

I've also been to see the breast surgeon and it's all change on the treatment front.  As the crap in my lungs doesn't  seem to be growing at the moment (a relief after the scare from the last but one CT scan), the oncologist and surgeon put their heads together and decided to go ahead with surgery.  So I'm booked in for a mastectomy and full node clearance at the end of February.  Being a wonderfully deep and complex person, this feels me with horror and relief in equal measure.  At the moment I feel pretty calm about it all, but then it is a month away.  I reserve the right to go into meltdown as the operation day approaches.

Meanwhile my attacking-this-crappy-disease-on-all-fronts continues.  So as well as Herceptin,  Tamoxifen and shortly surgery, I'm meditating, visualising, reiking and experimenting with clean living.  The clean living thing went a bit haywire at the panto when I sat and scoffed my own body weight in popcorn and jelly babies, but I'm viewing that as a blip.  In fact my attitude to it all can be summed up as below (image nicked from a friend's FaceBook page, ta C).

Dark days of winter and a chink of light

My central heating boiler, which had been temporarily fixed, spluttered to final leaky stop on Saturday and left us without heat or hot water.  I have been welded to the log burner ever since in an effort to keep warm.  Meanwhile outside the weather is like this:

The figure in black is me, practising for my artic expedition

These pictures were taken during a bracing walk at Attingham Park, but mostly I’ve been in front of the fire keeping warm.  It's jigsaw weather so, just like last year, Cyril (three-legged monster cat) has been lending a helping paw:

Thanks for nothing matey

 A new boiler is being fitted tomorrow, a day of national celebration is planned.

I went to the lovely warm hospital today for my three-weekly dose of herceptin.  The nurse gave me a sneak preview of my CT results from the scan last week.  No change.  While I'd love to see some shrinkage, no change is the next best thing, especially given that there had a been a question mark over the previous scan as regards possible increase in the growths in my lungs (or, to give it its medical term 'lung crap').  So, although I won't get an official update and future treatment plan until I see the oncologist next month, I am feeling pretty relieved.  I marked the occassion with spaghetti hoops on toast.  Jigsaws and spaghetti hoops, I'm living on the edge.

For cat lovers only

Actually I don't why I've entitled this post 'for cat lovers only'.  Surely everyone has realised by now that the internet's sole purpose is the distribution of cute cat photos.  If you don't like cats you really have no business using a computer. 

I was on Twitter this morning (never let it be said I am frittering away my time) and came across this helpful chart on cat petting.

I can endorse the findings of this chart and have the scratches to prove it

The tweeter is Tom Cox, whose blog I follow.  For those (surely everbody) who'd like to see another cat picture I reccomend this post in particular. 

I am now off to do Something Worthwhile.  Like eat crumpets (it's still freezing here).

Apologies to all Australians but ...

Time for the thermal undies

I know, I know, you Aussies have got temperatures so high that I can’t even begin to imagine what it's like, but it’s bloomin’ freezing here. 

It wouldn’t be so bad but my heating broke down on Sunday and the heating engineers have been so run off their feet that they haven’t been able to get out to me until this morning.  They’ve fixed the problem temporarily and have placed an order for a new thingummy for the do-dah, which will solve all my problems.   Anyway I have central heating again at last.  This means I can stop wrestling with Cyril (three-legged monster cat) for the prime position in front of the log burner and use of the hot water bottle.

The local cancer centre (I’m sure there’s a nicer description than that but I’m too idle to think of it) is running a free meditation course.  I was due to go for my first session today but it’s still snowing, snowing, snowing out there so I’ve wussed out this week.

However, as part of my new attack-this-crappy-disease-on-all-fronts scheme, I did try Reiki this week.  It was a very strange and pleasant experience.  I will be going back for more.

On a more conventional note (and conventional medicine is always going to be my first port of call) I had a CT scan this week but have to wait a bit for the results.  Cue chewing of finger nails.  If only I could console myself with sherry.  However, I am staying strong (and boring) and am remaining a booze free zone.  Although I do feel deprived.

Last weekend I went to an antiques/junk fair and bought an old bottle.  

Looks prettier in real life, honest

The chap selling it told me it was an absinthe bottle from around 1910.  Yesterday I took the stopper out and had a good sniff to see if there were any traces of absinthe left.  Not that I'm desperate or anything you understand.  I couldn’t detect anything but if I suddenly go blind and/or mad you know what’s happened.

Anyway, Australian pals, I hope you get the forecasted dramatic drop in temperature and I leave you  with a picture of a three-legged, half-tailed cat being very unimpressed with the snow.

A nanosecond after this picture was taken Cyril was back indoors

It's been a funny old day

I went to The Haven in Hereford (a centre for people with breast cancer) to meet up with some fellow secondary breast cancer bods.  It was a mixture of interesting/reassuring/little bit scary, but I’m glad I went.  That wasn’t the funny bit though.

The train journey to Hereford was interesting.  Firstly the guard was unusually jolly when checking the tickets.  Then the cleaner came along and asked if we wanted our table cleaned.  When I said “yes please”, he handed me his spray can and cloth and said “I only asked if you wanted the table cleaned, I didn’t say I’d do it”.  Then the refreshment chap pushed his trolley through the carriage crying “snake venom, albatross, squirrel on a stick”.  Truly it was the comedy train.

Then to finish the day off on an even higher note I came to find a belated Christmas present had been delivered, and here it is …

Yes, really.

Watch out anyone with a birthday soon, you'll be getting your very own cat hair finger puppet.

And now I'm off for a lie down.  Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Cheers!

This picture doesn't do the true murky-green-brown colour justice

As I said in my previous post I have taken up clean living for the New Year.  I've starting juicing again (including sensible vegetables like broccoli and spinach as well as the yummy stuff like apples and pears), making (most) meals from scratch, abstaining from the demon drink and generally being as dull as dish water.   I did warn you.

Clean living does not, however, seem to have improved my capacity for rational thought.  I ask you, what sort of dimwit orders two new sofas, signs on the dotted line, pays a deposit and then goes home to measure up only to discover, predictably enough, that the sofas would be way too big?  I'll tell you what sort of a dimwit does that, me.  It's all sorted out now (different sofas ordered) but it was embarrassing going back to the shop to explain myself.  I thought they might make me stand outside the manager's office to think about the error of my ways and how I'd let myself down.

On the health front it's a CT scan next week.  Then I have to wait the best part of a month for results.  Although I have been promised that should anything needing urgent attention turn up the hospital will call me in earlier.  I'm a bit worried about this as the last scan, in November, revealed a possible increase in the size of the little buggers in my lungs.  I shall wait a week after the scan then start making a nuisance of myself by phone.  Well, being a nuisance is as good a hobby as anything , and one at which I feel I can excel (unlike knitting).

Beards, boxes and bombshells

It’s been a memorable Christmas. 

It was the first Christmas in thirty-odd years that my three sisters and I have spent together. Amazingly there were no fights or fallings out, even though large quantities of alcohol were taken (mostly by me).  A good time was had by all (as far as I can remember).  My cockles were thoroughly warmed.

But let us remember the true spirit of the season.  Soppy family stuff has its place but, let’s face it, what really counts is the presents.  Here are some of the highlights:

The other-half received a fetching beardie hat:

Coming to a park bench near you

The cat received a new box:

What you looking at?

But perhaps I was the luckiest of all.  Look what I got, gift-wrapped of course:

My cup runneth over (but at least I can scrub it clean)

The scourers were a present from the other-half.  He will be sleeping in the shed for the foreseeable future.

Next stop New Year's Eve.  Have a good one everybody.  After that I will be back on the herceptin and taking up Clean Living.  Stand by for some very boring posts.

Christmas preparations

I had a sudden rush of blood to the head and washed the grimy sofa covers in time for Christmas.  Cyril (the three-legged monster cat) has just let me know what he thinks of my hard work.



I suppose it would've been worse if he had four legs

  
Anyone want a cat?

Other than sweating over a hot washing machine I've been out and about doing Christmassy things including, of course, drinking mulled wine (I see it as my Christmas duty).

We've had builders and a structural engineer round today working out how our kitchen can be transformed from a hovel to a place of grandeur.  I've never had building work done before so I'm feeling very grown up.  Work should start at the end of January, so I'll have something new to whinge about then.

In the meantime here's something that made me laugh,but then I'm a simple soul.

Spot the difference

My hair is growing slowly, slowly, everso-bloody-slowly and so far it's remaining unruly.  Sigh.  I told the other-half that I thought that I looked like a certain sporting celebrity.  Much to my dismay (but not surpise) he agreed.  So here you are:

Bradley Wiggins (picture from here)

Me, smirking in a sinister fashion

But the other-half isn't really in a position to laugh, as he too looks like someone famous.  He's been grinding his teeth in his sleep and so the dentist has supplied him with a mouth guard to wear at night.  Here he is sporting his new look.

Picture from here

And here is the celebrity he looks like, the Were Rabbit from Wallace and Grommit.

Peas in a pod.





I've had a top-up of herceptin today and all went well.  I've got a heart test on Monday (to make sure the herceptin isn't doing any damage) and then I've no more hospital appointments until after Christmas.  So, I've started feeling festive.  Today we put up our Christmas Twig (we're channeling Scrooge and not doing a tree this year).  Cyril is showing an interest.  Which is a relief as the poor little blighter has been off colour for a few days and had a trip to the vets this morning for antibiotics and something unmentionable with a thermometer.  Hopefully he's on the mend now.  I'm having to starve him for 24 hours too.  This could be a long night.

Feed me now or the twig gets it.

Woozy woes

Oooh I want to get off (picture from here)

Rhubarb.  I’m not 100% today, so I missed the last knitting lesson in the course.  I keep feeling slightly woozy woo and unsteady.  I’ll check this out with the medical bods (seeing surgeon and also getting a herceptin top-up soon), but it seems to be a fairly common side-effect of Tamoxifen.  So hopefully, there’s nothing to worry about other than the risk of stumbling about in the street and disgracing myself in public.  Although it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that (and it wasn’t Tamoxifen that was to blame either).

I’d been pretty smug about the lack of side-effects from Tamoxifen which was stupidly cocky seeing as I’ve only been taking it for a couple of months.  Another possible side effect (oh joy of joys for my family and friends) is mood swings.  That might account for my recent knitting-related temper tantrum when I ended up completely unraveling a nearly completed hat due to a couple of dropped stitches and unexplainable holes.  Oh well I suppose at least missing knitting class today meant that I didn’t have to confess my hissy fit to teacher.

In other news Cyril (the three-legged monster cat) is still exploring the neighbourhood.  This means he’ll have to wear a collar and address tag.  I spent some time selecting a collar.  I quite liked the diamante studded ones but I didn’t want his cat pals calling him a sissy, so I selected something a little more butch (red with gold stars and moons).  I hope it passes muster with his gang as they are definitely a bit of a rum sort.  Suffice it to say I’ve had to treat Cyril for fleas.  Oh the shame.