Date

Joanne Wallen

Breast Cancer Ribbon

Archive for the ‘The Big C’ Category

22
Feb

Never mind the chemo, thank goodness for the gym!

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I have to admit I was feeling ratty. We had a fairly quiet weekend, during which I did feel a bit tired, but then the less you do, the more likely you are to feel lethargic, regardless of whether you happen to be undergoing treatment for breast cancer or not.

On Saturday, Martin decided to go out to work for a few hours. This left me deciding what I wanted to do with my day. I considered going to the cinema to see The Artist, but the first showing of it at our local cinema wasn’t till 3.30. I’ll pop out for a walk down to Canary Wharf, I thought, but that really didn’t inspire me. I suddenly realised that I didn’t actually want to do anything. Sometimes it’s hard for me to admit that, but I opted for sitting down and watching a couple of TV programmes that I’d recorded.

It was a good decision. Nothing wrong with curling up in front of the TV occasionally. As I’ve said before, it is still February, and that always has an effect on my mood and energy levels. I remember many a year where I’ve wandered round the vitamins and supplements section in Boots looking for something that promised an energy boost. Considering I’m over half way through chemo this year I’m probably less tired than I’ve been on those occasions.

Friends Sue and Tommy were due back from their month-long holiday on Saturday and early afternoon they called to say they’d be popping over to Canary Wharf and did we want to meet up? That was just what I needed. I could enjoy the rest of my afternoon chill out with a little sortie to look forward to. As it turned out, Martin was finished by about 4.30 and we popped down to the Grapes. Sue and Tommy abandoned their shopping plans and came to join us and we all opted for an early meal in the local Italian, La Figa. We had a very pleasant few hours but it was uncharacteristic for all of us to be pleased to part and head home at just 8.30 on a Saturday night!

The sun made a welcome appearance on Sunday and we decided to venture out for a walk. Once again, I was not feeling 100 per cent at the start of the walk but the air and the exercise always make things better. We walked through Wapping and St Katharine Docks and then over Tower Bridge to Shad Thames, a good 50-minute walk. The breeze was a bit keen and I warmed up with a cappuccino in All Bar One on the river. The walk back was broken by a visit to Waitrose and a drink in the Captain Kidd. We were home by 4 and had a pleasantly quiet evening.

Bloated

Monday morning I was still feeling what I can only describe as ratty. The French have a good expression for it, which literally.translates as “I don’t feel good in my skin”. If I’m honest, I think it was mainly because I was feeling bloated. As someone who has always had to fight to keep my weight down, I’m still very affected by feeling that it might be creeping up.

That gives me an interesting dilemma at the moment. I remember getting on the scales not long after I started chemo and thinking that I had lost a couple of pounds. For the first time in my life I was suddenly worried about losing rather than gaining weight! While I was on the first lot of drugs, AC, I seemed to need to eat more to keep my energy up and seemed to be able to eat what I liked without affecting my weight. Martin commented that he’d never seen me with such a good appetite. I loved it. I was really enjoying my food, feeling that I really needed it to keep me healthy.

It’s incredible how quickly that feeling can change. I think it must have been when they weighed me before chemo on Tuesday. Of course I might have been wearing heavier clothes and everyone fluctuates slightly, but I think my weight was up about half a kilo. Yes, I know in old money we”re talking about a pound or so, but it was enough to pull me up and make me think I still had to be a bit careful. The steroid anti-sickness drugs I take for three days after treatment do seem to make me feel bloated, and this time I could have experienced stomach cramps, so bloating ought to have been the least of my problems. But it just added to be feeling not quite right “in my skin”.

I could probably have knocked it on the head on Monday by going to the gym, but my dad goes to art on Mondays and I wanted to take this rare opportunity to spend lunchtime with my mum. It’s not going to be possible once I’m back in the office so I just have to make the most of it while I’m working from home. In the middle of the day it takes no more than 15 minutes to drive over there. I knew she’d be keen to get out and that the dangerously local Westfield shopping centre was beckoning.

The ratty me was perhaps not the best companion, but mum did her bet not to notice. In truth, we didn’t really have anything to get, but we managed to manufacture a reason to be there. A coffee and a light lunch were in order and revived me. Weight concerns or not I still needed food. It was a pleasant interlude and as I said, a privilege to be able to spend quality time with elderly parents.

By the time I got home I was in a better mood and ready to get down to writing up my story for work.

On Tuesday there was only one thing for it, a good session at the gym, and it could not have come soon enough. I woke early and set about making an online application for a Criminal Records Bureau check for Martin, who has to complete one as part of re-applying for his taxi licence.

Tedious

As is my wont these days, I sat on my bed with my iPad and went through the tedious and lengthy process of the application, leaping up and down to find the documents — passport, driver’s licence, letter from a government department or utility bill — required. I got all the way to the end without disaster, until I was presented with a screen containing a letter complete with barcodes. Please print this out and take it to the Post Office to get your documents verified, it said. But I’m on my iPad, and as far as I know, I can’t print from the iPad. I panicked, and my sister chose just that moment to phone me!!

She’s not the most technologically friendly person and she doesn’t have an iPad but she thought she was being helpful by suggesting I might be able to save the form for later. Sadly, she took the brunt of Mrs Ratty”s rattiness. And luckily, friend John, aka tech support, was on hand to save the day. Take a screen shot of the letter and email it to yourself. Simple when you know how!

Knowing that I needed a serious dose of gym I’d decided to do the 30 minute abs class followed by Pilates. I knew the abs class was a tough one and I had some doubts as to whether I was up to it. Well, I’d give it a go. I could always stop, I have a pretty valid excuse!

The first five minutes, where he had us doing planks and press-ups in quick succession were excruciating. I even thought about stopping at one point and just waiting for Pilates. But for a start, it got a bit easier for a while and also, I looked around the room and realised that almost all of the men and women in the class were suffering too. Ten minutes in I was puffing away and feeling better than I had for a week! The class finished as it had started, with more of the really tough exercises, but I coped. Pilates was a welcome relief. Tough, but in a different way.

By the end of it all, Mrs Ratty had finally been banished. I just cannot stress enough how much better you feel when you make the effort to do some exercise. Chemo or no chemo we all have to push ourselves sometimes, but I can’t ever remember a time when I’ve regretted having been to the gym. So today, power yoga here I come! I feel good in my skin again. Thank goodness for the gym!

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18
Feb

I don’t do side effects!

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I dutifully listened to the list of potential side effects from this latest chemo drug, Taxol, then parked it. I don’t do side effects! It’s all too easy to start imagining them but far better to tell yourself you’re just not going to have them and that’s that!

So far, so good. Since my treatment on Tuesday I’ve been pretty good. Not as tired as on the previous drug, AC, although even that wasn’t bad. And so far, no sign for the stomach or muscle cramps that I might have had. As I say, I don’t do side effects, my new mantra!

Not knowing what to expect this time round I didn’t make ambitious plans for the day after chemo, but my old school friend Franny came round for lunch and actually I felt fine. We had a good natter over a light lunch that I actually made myself! Anyone who knows me and knows that Martin does all the cooking thinks I’m actually incapable of preparing food. Not true but suits me to let them think it!

Thursday I decided to push myself out to the gym. Power yoga was a little challenging to start with but then it was six days since I’d done any exercise and it could have felt tough under any circumstances. As always I felt far better for having done it. Lunch with friend Gilly and a little tour of the Museum of London for a change before returning home a little tired to work. The girlfriends are really rallying round and time with them is much appreciated, especially since working from home could otherwise be quite isolating.

On Thursday evening we went over to mum and dad’s with Lou and Bev to celebrate dad’s 85th birthday! He’s doing pretty well considering but could well have done without having to worry about his eldest daughter yet again! A pleasant evening was had by all with plenty of laughter and giggling. It takes years off my mum when she starts giggling like a schoolgirl.

Friday morning went well work wise. I spotted a story nice and early and managed to interview the relevant parties before midday. It rarely works that smoothly. Another interview was carried out en route to meet yet another girlfriend, Dena, for lunch before she and husband Trevor left for the Caribbean the following day. We had a lovely healthy salad lunch and plenty of chatter at Rocket in Mayfair. The location, Lancashire Court, was a revelation to me. Never even knew it existed. It’s a little warren of alleyways with restaurants and boutiques just off New Bond Street. That’s London for you. Always places that surprise no matter how long you’ve lived there!

I headed back home on the riverboat and got down to writing up my story. In the evening we popped down to the local, The Grapes, for a pleasant hour or so, before eating another of Martin’s tasty and healthy dinners — salmon, rice and sun-dried tomatoes on this occasion.

We are having a rare weekend in London with no particular plans. Makes a change occasionally but I’m not good at doing nothing. Martin’s popped out to work for a few hours and I’m starting to twiddle my thumbs. Think I’ll have a wander down to Canary Wharf. It’s day five and I’m feeling good. I don’t do side effects!!!!!

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15
Feb

Chemo day — a bit of a marathon!

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We had to be in Harley Street for 11am for my echocardiogram. I needed this to check my heart prior to starting a new drug, Taxol. Lou and Bev had unquestioningly offered to accompany me again and as my sister won’t use the tube they drove to me and arrived at 8.45. We got the river bus and then a bus up to Oxford Street and arrived in time to grab a coffee before my scan.

The scan took about 20 mins and the results were in my hands five minutes later. We then had and hour and a half before my appointment with my oncologist, Dr Alison Jones, so we headed to Marylebone High Street. The safest (financially) place for us there was the Oxfam bookshop, where we bought family birthday cards and had a good giggle at some very funny cards on display.

With time for an early lunch we went to the excellent Marco Polo cafe which offers delicious food at decidedly non-Marleybone High Street prices. I had a lovely avocado salad, Lou had falafel salad served with humous, tabbouleh and much more and Bev had a classic mushroom omelette.

Dr Jones was her usual charming self and seemed pleased again with my progress. We talked about me going to see my surgeon, Mr Robert Carpenter, soon, and I asked her for suggestions of worthy breast cancer charities I might support in future. One of her two lovely secretaries greeted me warmly, booked my next appointments and even phoned Mr Carpenter’s secretary for me to coordinate my appointment with him and a blood count test.

We then had a 40-minute wait for my scheduled chemo time at 2pm. We knew in advance that these next four sessions of chemo would take quite a bit longer than the first four. The Taxol takes about three hours to administer where the last lot took only an hour and a quarter. But a delay in getting my blood results did not help matters. I was told initially that the analysis machine at the clinic wasn’t working and the samples had to be sent round the corner. But I think there may also have been a query over one of my levels, which was a bit high.

It must have been at least 4pm before my lovely nurse Emma, who has looked after me for three sessions now, came and started my pre-meds and it was 5pm before the actual chemo started. Luckily, you really don’t notice the time pass when Lou’s around. We spend most of the time giggling (which belies her nervousness. She did not relax until my blood results were back, fearing there was a problem. She does the worrying so I don’t need to!).

About 1% of people get a bad reaction to Taxol. I realised that there was therefore a very low probability that I would, but it was still a bit of an anxious time waiting for the first 50ml to run through, by which time it was highly likely I’d be fine. Emma waited with me until I was in the clear and Lou stood glaring at me as if to say, “You definitely won’t have a reaction!” Whatever it was, it worked.

Apart from just chatting and giggling, we passed the time doing the Times jumbo crossword and at about 5.30 I had another wonderful 30-minute reflexology treatment while Lou and Bev popped out for some well-deserved fresh air. One member of staff commented on how infectious our laughter was and a visitor in the next booth came past when she was leaving and said how wonderful it was to see us all laughing and eating and chatting.

Lou and Bev are very organised. They’d come prepared with a little picnic, so we had chicken wings and miniature scotch eggs for sustenance and plenty of tea and coffee from the clinic to keep us going. Despite Emma’s very best efforts were were not ready to leave until 8pm. Martin stayed out working and was there to pick us up. He’d parked the cab a bit earlier and popped to Marylebone High Street, where he’d found the butcher still open. He bought some wonderful calves liver for our late Valentine’s dinner and a goodie bag of deli stuff for Lou and Bev, knowing they’d be even later home than we would.

We were all pretty tired after such a long day but relieved that all had gone so well. After a delicious dinner and a short rest I got to bed at 11pm, took a Nytol to counteract the steroids, and had a pretty peaceful night’s sleep. Onwards and upwards!!!

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13
Feb

Friends, family, bankers’ bonuses and Valentines

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I’ve always thought Valentine’s Day was a waste of time, or, when I was younger, a disappointment at the very least. Even on the very rare occasion when you received a card, you didn’t know who it was from and could only guess that it must be that geek who you’d accidentally talked to once and clearly given the wrong impression.

Once you’re with your long-term partner, Valentine’s Day just becomes a rip-off. Red roses that triple in price for the occasion, contrived restaurant menus at heart-stoppingly inflated prices and expensive cards that defeat the object because it’s pretty obvious who sent the “For my wife on Valentine’s Day” card. It’s not that we’re unromantic. But we would normally settle for a quiet night in with a nice meal, cooked as always by Martin. He might well light candles, but that’s as far as we need to go.

There’s no reason why we shouldn’t do exactly the same tomorrow. Except that it will have to wait until he brings me (and my sister Lou and her partner Bev), back from my chemo session. Tomorrow, 14th February, I will spend most of the day in Harley Street, starting with an echocardiogram followed by an appointment with oncologist Dr Alison Jones and then chemo at 2pm. This will be the first of a different drug and will take longer to administer than the previous lot. Lou and Bev will therefore also spend the day with me in Harley Street. Very romantic, but then I guess that’s the least of all our worries. For Lou and Bev it’s a minor sacrifice in the scheme of what they’d be prepared to do for me if they had to.

With all the ongoing furore about bankers’ bonuses, it got me thinking about the value of such obscene sums of money compared to the value of the sort of support and pleasure I am getting from all my friends and family. Even if Stephen Hester at RBS or Bob Diamond at Barclays did have the sort of support I’m getting at the moment they’d probably, deep down, wonder whether people wanted them for their money above all else. But I suspect many of these overpaid “masters of the universe” have few genuine friends.

I, on the other hand, continue to be surprised, delighted and humbled by the ongoing concern shown and support from my friends and family. There is no price than can be put on that. People with busy and often stressful lives are finding time to phone, text, email or Facebook me to find out how I am or to wish me luck for my next treatment. They are taking the time and trouble to read this blog. They are all amazing and priceless.

On Friday evening we spent a pleasant couple of hours with various friends in The Grapes. Then on Saturday, after a leisurely start to the morning we drove down to Ramsgate, stopping for our usual drink in the Belle Vue at Pegwell with its lovely garden overlooking the bay. The wind was a bit biting even though the sun was shining and we ended up sitting inside and chatting to someone we know.

We then drove over to Palm Bay to see the grandchildren and take them out to lunch. Three year-old Olivia and her parents, step-son Mat and wife Claire, were busy but we took Eve, Josh, Fay and their dad Russell to the Fayreness on the cliff top not far from where they live. There was still plenty of snow lying en route, which gave the children the chance to wage a snowball war on granddad, who, they insisted no doubt correctly, started it!

Clearly traumatised from his battle, granddad left us early to get back over to the Ramsgate yacht club for the England rugby match. I spent another couple of very enjoyable hours with the children before finally managing it prise myself away around 6pm.

I just had time to get round to friend Stuart’s — who’d as usual unquestioningly agreed to let us stay the night rather than stay on the boat in the freezing conditions — before a taxi arrived to take us into Broadstairs for a meal. A quick change of clothes and I was ready. It was not the most inviting weather to go out in but I’m pleased we did. Unusually, it was just the three of us. We had a pre-dinner drink in the Tartar Frigate down by the little harbour and then a lovely meal in 54. A taxi back to Stuart’s and we were ready for a relatively early night.

On Sunday we popped down to the boat to check on her and to see the new loo that friend Chris has just installed — thanks Chris! Had a quick walk and popped to the shops before heading back over to Palm Bay for grandchildren part 2. We all descended on Matthew and Claire and spent a noisy but lovely couple of hours with all four children. What a blessing they are.

It was then time to head back to Ramsgate to meet Stuart again and friends Ian and Myra and their son and daughter-in-law Fraser and Sharon and grandchildren Charlotte and Fraser. We left Ramsgate at around 3pm after a full and fulfilling few hours and headed home for a quiet evening and a good meal.

So we might not be having the classic Valentine’s Day celebration tomorrow. But we have more love around us and between us at the moment than some people will ever know in their lifetime. And you just can’t put a price on that!

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10
Feb

Preparing for round two!

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I’m having a little battle with myself at the moment. Next week I start the next lot of four chemo treatments. The first four have gone really well considering. There is no real reason that the second four should not. But it’s a different drug (the first was AC and the next will be Taxol) and therefore a possibility of a different reaction to it. In another two weeks I will also start on Herceptin.

My oncologist, Dr Alison Jones, told me last time that she didn’t want to start two new drugs at the same time in case I had a bad reaction to one and she would not know which one it was. Perfectly logical and I know you can have a bad reaction to any drug, but most people don’t. So my main problem this week is to stop worrying about the vague possibility of a bad reaction. It’s all too easy in these situations to start imagining symptoms, which is the last thing I want to do. It really won’t be helpful. Have just spoken to sis about it and she’s been firm with me. “You’ll be fine,” she insists, and I’m sure she’s right.

This week has been a pretty normal one, well the new normal anyway. I’ve worked from home, been to the gym twice, and had two lunches. The first was with sister Lou and her ex-husband Hugh. That may seem odd to some, but they have remained good friends since they separated more than 20 years ago and I have kept in touch with Hugh too. He’d been living in the States for years with his American wife and they’re now in Edinburgh.

Hugh took the opportunity of coming south to see one of his sisters and an old friend to come to London and buy us lunch. We had a wonderful Tapas at Comino’s on Canary Riverside. Plenty of friendly banter and a very pleasant interlude.

Yesterday I met friend and near neighbour Jud for lunch at Plateau in Canary Wharf. She knew I was working from home and might need some company occasionally and kindly offered lunch. We had a very pleasant lunch and chat and reckon we’d put all the world’s problems to right by the time we’d finished.

Meanwhile, I’ve been I touch with both girlfriends who are also fighting breast cancer this week. The three of us were at secondary school together. Elaine was diagnosed last June and is coming toward the end of her treatment. Diana was diagnosed on,ya couple of weeks ago and had a lumpectomy this week. She has to wait a couple of weeks before she finds out what’s next but hopefully, as hers was caught very early, it won’t be chemo.

Scary though to think the three of us should be going through it at the same time! They made us tough at Wanstead High though and I’m sure we’ll all come through with flying colours!

Will make the most of the next three days despite the best efforts of the weather! Going to the gym to do abs and Pilates today and hopefully going down to Ramsgate tomorrow to see friends and catch up with all the grandchildren. Just hope the ice and snow behave.

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7
Feb

What is it about me and the Queen’s Jubilees?

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I was talking to my friend “D” last night, hoping to reassure her ahead of the lumpectomy she’s having today. She sounded a lot calmer and more positive than the last time I spoke to her but understandably just wanted to get the op out of the way and to find out what treatment she needed next.

If all goes well for her, she will have far less to go through than I will. But that doesn’t make it less scary for her, and as something of an (albeit reluctant) expert in having surgery, I was doing my best to reassure her. Techniques are so much better now than they were 35 years ago. Anaesthetic is much easier to tolerate, scars are barely visible (I have a 35 year-old corker that runs the length of my stomach).

As part of the procedure today (she went in at 8am and expects to be out within 24 hours), D will have a biopsy. I had a fine needle biopsy a few weeks ago when I was first going through my recent tests. It was minimally invasive. A little local anaesthetic and a small procedure carried out in front of me by a lovely young female doctor. Very different to the biopsy I had 35 years ago, I told D. Then, I was in hospital for three days and it was a full-blown operation under general anaesthetic.

And that took me back to 1977. On February 6th 1977 Queen Elizabeth II marked the 25th anniversary of her accession to the throne. Yesterday, she marked 60 years. Public celebrations however take place in June to coincide with the Queen’s “official” birthday. On 7th June 1977, even the most cynical people living in streets where people had never spoken to each other before, arranged street parties. My parents had lived in our road since 1956 (they still live there to this day), yet we knew no more than half a dozen families there, some of whom had moved out by 1977.

It was therefore a complete revelation to find that the whole street mucked in and turned out for the street party. Truly unprecedented and a great day. A great day except for the fact that the very next day I had to go in for my biopsy. In fact, 7th June 1977 was the last day that my body was in tact, not yet violated by the surgeon’s knife. On 8th June I had the biopsy, which diagnosed Hodgkin’s Disease and on 24th June, the day of my 18th birthday, I had a laparotomy, a major operation in which my spleen was removed and samples were taken of other major organs.

Here I am in the year of the Queen’s diamond jubilee, going through chemotherapy and facing yet more major surgery. Mine is not the only link with Queenie and her anniversaries though. Mum and dad were married on 15th June 1952, the year the Queen acceded to the throne. This year then, with luck and a fair wind, they, like the Queen, will celebrate 60 years, in their case of marriage.

So here’s my plan. In 1977, the Queen’s Silver Jubilee marked the start for me of fighting a serious illness. In 2012, I plan to make the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee the end (or at least the beginning of the end), of fighting another one. And our celebrations for mum and dad’s 60th may not be as big and public as the Queen’s, but they’ll be no less important or poignant.

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5
Feb

It’s not chemo, it’s February!

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If I’m absolutely honest, this has not been my best week. It could of course have been far, far worse. But I have struggled a bit. Chemo on Monday went fine. That’s what really matters. Tuesday, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, was a tired day spent at home. Wednesday and Thursday, I went to the gym, managed power yoga quite easily, popped into the office on Thursday afternoon, but it all felt a bit of a struggle. The weekend, while very pleasant, also felt a bit difficult at times. And then I realised, it’s not chemo, it’s February!!

I have had a problem with February long before I ever heard the phrase: “SAD syndrome”, or seasonally affected disorder. I can remember a February spent in Bordeaux when I was 21 and living there for the year as part of my French degree course. Bordeaux in Feb was grey, chilly and depressing. Only a skiing trip to the Pyrenees could alleviate the gloom, but coming back felt even worse.

Since those days I have always struggled. Each year I get through January relatively unscathed and think I’ve cracked it. Then suddenly, I’m feeling tired/ratty/fat/ugly, you name it. A few years ago it became so obvious that Martin insisted we book a holiday to the sun at this time of year. Two years ago we had a lovely week in Dahab, Egypt, on the Red Sea, learning to windsurf! The sunshine and exercise were a powerful tonic. Last year we treated ourselves to two weeks in Key West, Florida. We went out with our friend Jill, whose daughter lives there, and stayed on a boat for the two weeks while cycling around key West and generally chilling out in the sunshine.

This year, for obvious reasons, our plans of escape are on hold. I did not think I minded. Escaping for a week’s sunshine was the least of my worries. Besides, the, dare I use the word, “novelty” of my situation, the sheer adrenalin needed to cope with everything that has recently been thrown at me, seemed to have protected me from the ravages of a UK winter. Until this week, that is.

This weekend, we decided to go down to Poole, where Martin comes from, both for a break and to see our brother, sister-in-law, niece Kimberley and her one year-old son Harry. When we arrived on Friday, the sun was still shining. I worked in the car on the way down and when we arrived, leaving Martin to get us out of London before the Friday rush.

We headed for our favourite spot, The Haven Hotel, Sandbanks. We even managed to sit outside by the water for a while enjoying a dose of early February sunshine. Then a walk along Poole quay and we were feeling quite restored. But Saturday morning was cold and dull. I’d not had a great night but I was not the only one feeling tired and lethargic. The four of us ate breakfast, sat watching Saturday kitchen and generally couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for anything dynamic. Eventually, Mary decided she needed not pop down to the local Tesco and we all realised that perhaps a little walk would do us good.

Fortunately, once clad in our many layers, Martin suggested that since we were out, why not have a longer walk? So we set off for Poole Park, Baiter and the quay. For the first 20 minutes or so I felt peculiar. It was a strange, spaced-out kind of feeling that I remember having after the first chemo session but not really since. The air and the exercise though were just what I needed. Gradually, the odd, foggy feeling started to lift. We stopped off on the quay for a drink and then made our way home. We must have been out for at least two hours and everyone felt better for it.

Kimberley and Harry were there by the time we returned and we all had a pleasant afternoon eating lunch and chatting. Foiled by the weather again though, we decided to stay in for the evening, when we ate some more and watched TV. It did not help any of us with our feelings of lethargy and my 10pm I was ready for bed.

On Sunday morning, Kimberley came to the rescue like a little angel. She is a beauty therapist working in a Clarins salon, and she offered to give me a facial. I’m pretty sure I’ve only ever had one once before and that must have been years ago. While Martin and Paul took Harry out for a walk and Mary busied herself with tidying up after us all, I was treated to a most wonderful hour of facial and massage. Not only is Kimberley highly qualified, she has a really wonderful touch. Even more importantly, she had so generously offered her time and expertise to her aunt at a time when she needed it most. By the end of the hour I felt better than I had done all week. What a wonderful gift!

Martin had suggested extending our weekend away by stopping for the night in a hotel on the way back. We considered trying a boutique hotel in Sussex that had been recommended to us. But frankly, I think it would have been wasted. The combination of the weather (London has had its share of snow) and that February feeling meant that what I really wanted to do was just get home.

We may consider going somewhere different next weekend. My next chemo is not until Tuesday 14th. By next weekend the drugs will be out of my system and I should be feeling much more “normal”. But it will still be February when all’s said and done and I must remember that. Don’t blame the chemo, it’s doing just what it’s supposed to do. And so is February. Just hang on in there. The days are getting lighter after all!!!!

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2
Feb

Four down, four to go

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Had my fourth chemo session on Monday. That was the last of the drug AC. The next four will be a different drug, Paclitaxel, or Taxol. So far, so good. I’ve had the odd day of feeling a bit tired, but nothing drastic. This week, Tuesday, the day after chemo, I did feel quite sleepy. It was very cold and dull out and I allowed myself a day in doing very little. Mum and dad had offered to come up to see me and we nearly changed the plan because I was tired. But while they are both still capable of getting on public transport and coming under their own steam, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. They came for a couple of hours and it was great to have them here.

My mum was due to have come with me to chemo on Monday but unfortunately had been in agony over the weekend with what appeared to be a trapped nerve in her shoulder. It must have been bad for her to suggest not coming. On Sunday we went round to mum and dad and Martin cooked us all lunch. Lou and Bev popped in for a while too. Family time is extra special these days!

The chemo sessions are not in any way scary. Everyone who works at the clinic is lovely and friendly and having the port in makes the whole process from taking blood to administering the chemo so simple and painless. Half the time there is spent waiting for the blood results and the waiting for an anti-sickness drug to kick in, which takes an hour. So having company is not essential, but it is undoubtedly pleasurable and helps pass the time. My sister Lou has been with me every time until this week and has insisted that if no one else is coming, she will. This week friend Gilly was available and very kindly offered to come with. We met at Harley Street at 1.30 although I wasn’t called down until 2. We spent an hour and a half drinking coffee and chatting until Gilly had to leave to get over to Holborn for an acting class she’s signed up for.

No sooner had she left than my reflexologist turned up for my 30 min session. Lovely! At one point I was lying back in my reclining chair with the reflexologist gently working my feet and my lovely nurse Emma administering the chemo. One could get used to being waited on like that — well perhaps not, but it does ease what might otherwise be a daunting experience.

Yesterday, two days after treatment, I’ll admit feeling a tiny tad nauseous when I woke up. It’s probably the first time since I started the chemo and it was only mild. I forced myself to eat some porridge for breakfast and then decided that some fresh air would do me good. It was a cold but sunny morning so I wrapped up in several layers including a scarf and sheepskin hat for my head.

My plan was to pop down to the post office collection office to collect whatever it was that someone had sent me with underpaid postage and then see how I felt. I had in mind to go to yoga if I felt up to it so took my gym kit with me. In the event the cold sunny air did me good. I have found throughout this that getting out for a walk however tired or wooly you feel is the best cure.

I paid the £1.36 charge to collect the letter that one of my specialist’s secretaries must have forgotten to frank or stamp! £1 of that is Royal Mail’s “handling charge”. I should charge them a handling charge for all the undelivered mail I never receive!

I headed for the Docklands Light Railway and went to the gym for a 45-minute power yoga class. Like walking, you always feel better for doing a class. I didn’t want to overdo things though so walked back along the river to Tower Pier, still in glorious sunshine, and took the river boat home.

Refreshed from my walk and yoga I was able to get down to writing up an article for work, which also made me feel better. I then sat and watched the film “Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day”, which was sweet but did not do justice to the book, which I’ve recently read.

Shortly after Martin came home I went into the bathroom and, washing my hands and looking in the mirror, I had a moment. I’d read about women going through chemo who said they just wanted themselves back. So far I’ve really had no problem with my hair loss or with the mild side effects I’ve had so far. But for just a second, looking at my little bald head in the mirror, I did think I wanted me back. Then I realised I haven’t gone anywhere!!

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30
Jan

It must have been a shock?

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I met a friend at a party on Saturday who I hadn’t seen for a few months. Barbara used to be the landlady of our local pub, the Grapes, and moved back to her flat on the other side of town in September when she sold the lease to Grapes neighbour Sir Ian Mckellan and his partners in the venture, theatre director Sean Matthias and Evening Standard owner Evgeny Lebedev.

Barbara didn’t know about my breast cancer and she was quite shocked and sorry to hear about it when we met. In the cold light of the following day she emailed me, reiterating how sorry she was. “It must have been such a shock,” she said. I thought about that. My girlfriend who was diagnosed last week and who has been caught very early, broke down I tears when I spoke to her. “I’m really sorry,” she said, knowing that in the scheme of things hers was considerably less serious than mine, “It’s just that I only found out a few days ago and it was such a shock,” she said by way of justifying the tears.

Had it been a shock to me? I wasn’t even sure. On one level, it must of course have been. The only things that would have mitigated that shock were the fact that I knew there was something wrong myself, and I suppose the initial shock came when I got a recall from my mammogram, confirming my own worst fears.

I know it was a huge shock to Martin when I came out of the first consultation with the specialist, lent into the cab on my way across the road to see the secretary about booking all my tests and told him: “I’m afraid he’s pretty sure it’s the big C.” But from that moment, I went into overdrive.

When Martin asked if I still wanted to go down to Ramsgate for a party that weekend, I said, of course. We had to carry on as normal until something stopped us carrying on as normal. And that it precisely what I have done so far. In the nine weeks since that day I have carried on as normally as possible. I am actually having my fourth chemo session as I write this. I suppose there have been moments when the “shock” did start to filter through. But not many. Which led me to consider, when Barbara suggested it must have been such a shock, whether in fact I was still ‘in’ shock.

Ironically, we have just watched the film “The Bucket List” with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman about two terminally ill men who write a list of things they want to do before they kick the bucket (I am home now after chemo, which all went well and to which I was accompanied by my friend Gilly, thanks G, and once she left I had a lovely reflexolgy treatment).

The film had some pretty awful reviews when it cam out, ( see this one for example, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/3671168/Film-reviews-The-Bucket-List.html) but I thought it was excellent, if a little poignant in my situation. I mean, Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. They could read the telephone directory and it would be fantastic. Anyway, whatever its merits, when they first found out about their illnesses they talked about the five stages of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I thought, am I in denial? But I don’t think so. I had Hodgkins Disease at 17. It happened, I dealt with it, I got through it.

The same will happen this time. But that’s not to say I sit around dwelling on the idea of having cancer. I’m too busy communicating with and seeing friends and loved ones, keeping fit, working, oh yes, and having treatment and getting healthy.

So yes, it was certainly a shock for Martin and my parents and sister and all my family and friends. And I suppose it must have been a shock for me. But shock is not a productive state to be in. I have far too much to do in the next six months or so to entertain it. When I’m successfully through it all, it may creep up to hit me. But not now.

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28
Jan

Positive thinking, positive outcomes

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People seem to be impressed or amazed at my positive attitude. Frankly, I’m probably too cowardly to do it any other way. I just can’t let myself think about anything other than positive outcomes. And it would be pretty miserable to be sitting around feeling sorry for myself. Fortunately, there is a wonderfully virtuous circle that is created when you’re positive. You attract positive reactions from other people. And I’m certainly getting more than my fair share of those.

This week has been full of positive interactions with people and quality time with friends, family and even work contacts. On Monday I had to email or phone a number of contacts for a couple of stories I was working on. I decided to tell them that I was working from home and why. The reaction from all of them was kind and sympathetic and genuinely caring. At lunchtime my good friend Jackie came up. Her husband Geoff dropped her off but did not stay, so we had some rare one-to-one time and a lovely ladies’ lunch down at Zizzi’s, Canary Wharf (I might end up with my own table down there at this rate!).

Tuesday was sister Lou’s partner Bev’s birthday. They had the day off and were going to spend the afternoon at the new casino at Westfield, Stratford (Lou’s got the gambling gene that runs through one side of the family and, thankfully, passed me by!). Prompted by the fact that I’d forgotten to get Bev’s present over to her before her birthday, they offered to pop up on their way to Stratford for a coffee. As it was going to be around lunchtime, coffee became lunch, at, you guessed it, Zizzi’s. We shared whatever is the Italian version of tapas, which was delicious. Even though I (famously) speak to Lou several times a day, we rarely get to spend that much time together, particularly without a lot of other people around. But since my diagnosis, there’s been more time together. Another positive from a negative!


On Wednesday, I had, some time ago, arranged to meet my old school friend Fran, for lunch. But I really needed some time to myself to focus on work and I just had to apologise and cancel our arrangement. At lunchtime, I managed to get to the gym for a power yoga class. The teacher, Rebecca, does a lot of travelling and yoga training in India and California, so often has others to cover her class. But she was there on Wednesday, which was great. She brings a really calming and spiritual element to her yoga practice which, at the same time, is pretty demanding. Some twelve days after my last chemo session I was feeling great and more than capable of getting the most out of my yoga practice. I was wearing a little skull cap, so it was obvious something had happened to my mass of long curls. After the class, I went to say a few words to Rebecca and we ended up having a lovely little chat about things. You almost feel she’s healing you just by looking at you and talking to you!

Thursday was the closest I’ve come since all this started to a “normal” working day. I had a conference to go to in the afternoon. I started work from home, then went to the gym for another power yoga class, the dashed from yoga to the conference, which was about the ‘At Retirement’ advice market.’ It was organised by the Tax Incentivised Savings Association, or TISA, an organisation I know very well as I attend a lot of their conferences and seminars. At the end of the afternoon the chairman, director general and another director all came over to chat to me and find out how I was doing. Anyone who’s been in business for a while knows that most work relationships are transitory and based on what people need out of them at the time. So I have found the genuine concern shown by some of these people particularly touching.

And talking of transitory work relationships, many with colleagues do not survive one or other leaving a particular job and moving on. Some do. On Thursday evening, my former colleague Tina, who I worked with at my previous company, Citywire, came over with her husband Nigel for a drink at our local, the Grapes, and a meal in La Figa, a great Italian jut up the road. Tina and Nigel now live back in Tina’s home town of Hull, but she still has a flat in London and it was great to catch up with them again.

If the rest of the week had been about positive encounters with friends, family and colleagues, Friday was the ultimate end to a positive week. I had an appointment with my oncologist, Alison Jones, ahead of Monday’s chemo. As well as having a lovely chat with one of her lovely secretaries after seeing her, the highlight of the week in terms of positivity has to be what Dr Jones had to say after examining me. The tumour had shrunk significantly! It doesn’t get more positive than that!!

 

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