Sleeping beauty

If the fairy tales are to be believed then I should be very beautiful judging by the amount of sleep I've been getting in the last week. The mirror however seems to suggest otherwise. I also think that the large quantity of shut eye which my body has been demanding has started to influence what my brain thinks is real and otherwise. In short I am getting confused about things that have really happened and those that I have dreamt up during a drug infused doze.

An example of this fine line between imagination and reality happened on Friday morning when my overly glamourous pilot Amiga K arrived on my doorstep to say hello. As I was still in the sleepy phase post chemo, I had not long since got out of bed and so needed 10 mins to throw some clothes on and sort myself out. By the time I got back downstairs, I found Amiga K clattering around in the kitchen dressed for a night out in her patent heels, silver eye shaddow and my domestic goddess apron using every available surface to mix up some pastry and in the full throws of making mince pies.(Some people may be thinking this sounds like a bizarre kinky fantasy but believe me it is not!!) This vision of surrealness did turn out to be real as weird as it might sound but was just not a scene I was expecting particularly because the night before Mr Man and I had spent ages tidying up the kitchen as our cleaners were due to come on Friday. I don't think I hid my dismay very well, but in any case Amiga K did clear up after herself and in the nick of time before the cleaners arrived. And she left me with a tin of mince pies to feed subsequent visitors and they are very much real.

Another very real event is that Mr Man has now finished work for Christmas and so today we have escaped with the woof dog from the hustle and bustle of the city to spend a few days by the seaside in our castle. After last time we have arranged for the boiler to be serviced tomorrow so that should bean end to any nasty heating related surprises and we are hoping to get the chimney swept so we can bravely use the wood burning stove which will be very festive and cosy since it is so cold outside. Hopefully this time around we will have a more successful trip and I'll be in a better state to enjoy the fresh air and seaside scenery. Fingers and toes are all crossed.

So, our Christmas is now officially beginning. This is a very happy thought as I love Christmas and normally get very festive at this time of year. On the outside it might not look like we are too much in the spirit as we chose not to have a tree. This decision was based on the facts that we are not at home for Christmas and had planned a few days here this week, plus the obvious obstacles presented by the chemo treatment. We still have fairy lights in the trees outside and these give a festive impression to our home which is good enough for me given the circumstances. Another happy thought is that this week Mr Man and I should get to spend lots of quality time together away from home and the interruptions of his work and my hospital interventions. It should be a good chance to reconnect and relax, as well as celebrating the recent news that its not just my thighs which are shrinking as a result of all this chemotherapy. I'm looking forward to it very much.

Going up town to see the lights

So, it's one week until Christmas Eve. How exciting! Unfortunately I have spent most of this week asleep so it has sort of crept up on me a bit. I have all but one present left to buy and even that is pretty much under control now. This just leaves the normally enjoyable task of wrapping them, subject to finding some wrapping paper and the motivation to do it. Hopefully once this is done, I'll be feeling a lot more Christmassy.

I have had quite a few visits up into town recently, so I've had lots of opportunity to see the various sets of Christmas lights up and around in the west end of London. We also had a drive by past Trafalgar Square to see the famous Norwegian tree. It was on one of these Christmas light viewings that I had to have a CT scan with contrast dye. The way that this particular scan is described is as being a dynamic X-ray which feels like a 'hot flush' when the contrast dye which shows up the abnormalities. Well, whoever described it as such has almost certainly never had either a hot flush or indeed a CT scan, as to say it was a bit like a hot flush does not come close!! The best way in which I can describe the quite frankly hideous sensation which over came me would be to say it felt like my blood was being set on fire in my veins culminating in my heart feeling like it was exploding. Overall suffice to say it was not pleasant. It is no surprise therefore that even after all of my recent sleep I still needed a big lie down when I got home to get over the whole ordeal.

Despite the distress of the ordeal, we have now had the results of the nasty CT scan, and the upshot is, it's all shrinking. Everything is on track to beat this thing which is reassuring. I'm just looking forward to being awake and alert enough to celebrate this milestone. In the meantime, I'm still enjoying my naps. And believing myself healthy and pain free.

A renewed energy

So, I am now officially over 2/3 of the way through the planned chemotherapy programme having made it through four complete sessions now. Woo hoo! This is quite an achievement, especially given how terribly round three played out, which meant I was quite nervous as we started round four, especially with the added complication of a fault with my Borg port which delayed things by 2 days. Anyway, these hurdles and anxieties were overcome and I'm happy to report that I am now on the other side of round four and starting to get more energy and appetite which is a big step forward in the very rightest of directions.

This week aside from sleeping I managed to be awake enough for a visit from my very good friend Jimbo (of the jet set fame). For a boy he is not that bad at keeping in touch but we were quite appalled to realise that we hadnt actually seen each other properly since his wedding to the lovely E, which was nearly 4 years ago.... Terrible. We do speak quite regularly through the technological marvel that is Skype normally whilst he is bored on a night stop somewhere in America and texts and emails flow occasionally, but to have not spent any time face to face for long seems wrong, however as is the case with any true friend it really doesn't matter as from the second he walked in the front door this afternoon to the moment he left early this evening, we were chattering about everything and everything as if we were picking up from yesterday's tea party. It was a lovely afternoon. As well as being great company Jimbo also kindly offered to and empty the dishwasher and made tea, in addition to arriving armed with cupcakes to start with.  Plus, the first thing he said when opening the cupboard to make the tea was "what lovely mugs" on spotting a fine selection of Emma Bridgewater, so I was smiling from the off really.

And it has not just been one friendly angel who has visited me this week. Whilst i was having chemo on Friday the old goat came along for a few hours to keep me company after having had the new port put in and then having to have a full day of chemo on the hospital ward rathercthan in the day care centre. She always manages to make me laugh and so made what could have been a very dull and miserable afternoon into something quite fun. Then, in yesterday's quagmire of sleep requirement coupled with the dazedness and confusion normally associated with the post chemo haze, I had an urgent need for food and no way of getting anything suitable. One text to the brilliant G later and I soon had several cans of fruit to provide me with the necessary sustenance to sustain my self out of bed, and begin the long climb back from ball of exhausted mush, to real human being.  And then last night, my batteries ran out suddenly and I couldn't muster the energy to do anything, least of all finish changing the sheets on the bed which i had started in the afternoon. This might not seem much but given how important regular clean sheets are to me this, tied with my general frailty and lack of motivation to move caused me to have a bit of a patheticness attack, when Lil' Sis responded to my cry for help and spent her evening feeding me spoon peaches, sweet tea and most importantly put clean sheets on my bed so I could have as restful a nights sleep as possible.  So although I am still tired and in the post chemo haze where I loose myself mid sentence, get a bit confused when trying to do more than one thing at once, I am starting to come through it and sat nights good sleep really helped. 

Today's happy thought therefore is that these individuals have all delivered support and assistance to me in my hour of need, and all three have contributed to my recover in this cycle.  From talking to the old Goat,Jimbo, G and Lil' Sis I also realised that in the abyss of chemo and the distress of the last cycle i have lost track a little of what positive really looks like. It has therefore reminded me that the need to be positive has to be specific and so I am focussing on two key positive thoughts at present; I am healthy; I am pain free.  Please join me in manifesting these happy, positive thoughts to make them  a reality as soon as possible. That way we can all get back to normal and I can get back to making tea for visitors in my home rather than the other way round!!

Slight detours are part of every journey

It has been a frustrating week so far. I started off in a lot of pain and was actually sick over the weekend which is a new side effect for me, and it left me feeling pretty rubbish to say the least. I was hopeful though that once the chemo round 4 got underway the pain would recede as it has done in the past. Disappointingly, round 4 has had to be postponed as when I went for the routine bloodtests they found my so called magical port had "broken" and so they could not draw blood from it nor can I have chemo injected until it is fixed. I am currently waiting to hear when they can fix the port which will involve another hospital procedure and once I know that then I'll know whn chemo can recommence. In the interim, I have a team of pain specialists working with me to reduce the pain and sickness which I am currently enduring.

This post therefore may not be as perky or as interesting as some of my others but it is serving a very important purpose; it is letting you all know what is going on so you can keep sending positive thoughts in my direction and in turn it allows you to understand why I am not answering the phone or returning messages as faithfully as I normally do. Until I feel better and everything is back on track I will be focussing on me time and taking all the positive energy I can find to turn this little unplanned detour into a scenic diversion. Thank you all for your love, positivity and understanding.

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside

This weekend Mr Man, Barney Trubble and I have escaped from the big city in favour of sea air, country views and a taste of rural living in our castle. Due to recent events we have not been able to get down here for a while as since I cannot drive at present due to the side effects of some of the medications which have a tendency to make me a bit fuzzy round the edges, the driving is all down to Mr Man. Due to his five day a week a job and a likeness for playing hockey on Saturdays, weekends by the seaside have not happened as much as we would have liked as by the time hockey is over and we got here, we would only have 24 hours before it was time to go home again. However, this weekend Mr Man has foregone the opportunity to be spotted by the GB selectors and took Friday and Monday off so we could have some bracing fresh air, and a very much needed change of scenery.

We arrived on Friday afternoon, although it was very dark when we got here. This was partly very noticeable as the sun had set, but also the lack of orange glow from street lights made the night sky look even more black than it ever does at home. When there is a clear sky the star gazing opportunities are phenomenal and I could spend many an hour getting a crick in my neck trying to identify the plough and Orion which are the only two constellations I can pick out with any degree of certainty. After settling down for the evening feeling very pleased that we were inside in the dry whilst it was pouring down outside and very big rain was hammering in the conservatory roof, it became apparent that whilst we may have been dry, we most certainly weren't warm. We had no heating. Terrific. According to the thermostat it was a toasty 12.5 degrees Celsius and no amount of switching it on and off again was going to get the boiler to heat the radiators. We have recently had the bathrooms refitted and so have been aware of the delicacy of the boiler with regard to hot water, but the heating issue was a new problem. Friday evening was spent shivering under blankets and I ended up going to bed dressed as if I were spending a night at the ice hotel. I even opted for my eye mask as although it was plenty dark enough, it provided added warmth to my face. This morning, therefore, I was surprised at how easy it was to find a local heating plumber who was very helpful and able to come out this afternoon to rectify the issues. You would certainly never get such efficient helpfulness in London and certainly not from someone found essentially through the yellow pages. Anyway, boiler expert Lee arrived this afternoon and within about 20 minutes had the heating working and hot water coming out of the taps. He identified the problem which requires some specialist spare part and has recommended someone also local who is an expert in our sort of boiler and so hopefully we can get it fixed and functioning for good. Result. So at the time of writing this I am at least warm.

Earlier on today we took the woof dog out for a walk over the hills to the South west coast path where we had the misfortune to come across what can only be described as several hundred nutters participating in a range of long distance running races along the SouthWest coastal path. The definition of nutter, and my classification of the situation as misfortunate can be understood by thinking about the width and incline of the southwest coast path (it's about 50 to 100cm wide in places and very steep and ondulating given that it follows the Jurassic coast throughout Dorset) and then recalling the amount of rain that fell the night before (a lot). This all lead to basically a mud slide in places which is manageable when tackled slowly and whilst wearing the appropriate footwear (Wellies) but made a lot worse by idiot runners wearing trainers and trying to overtake other users of the public footpath between gorse bushes and over slippery bridges. It wasn't long before I was quite irritated by these people who seemed to assume that we would just get out of their way so they could hurtle past us on the narrow paths because they had shouted 'coming through' as they approached us panting and sweating from behind. The key issue was that due to the narrowness of the path there was no where to get out of the way to , a fact which seemed to have escaped most of these Lycra clad sadists. Barney did his best to trip a few of them up, but in short it was disappointing that they managed to ruin what was an otherwise good walk.

So, despite the initial cold snap and the mud bath of a walk, it is super to be able to have a change of scenery and some brisk sea air, which is a tonic all by itself. And if that is not positive enough, I just have to recall the look of misery on some of those mad runner's faces as they slipped their way along the Jurassic coast, and be very grateful for my hunter Wellies.

Happy Christmas Team Project Nicola

Apart from to Mr Man, I don't send Christmas cards anymore .  This might seem odd from someone who is so excited about Christmas and who has talked in this blog about her love of writing and sending cards, but the logic is this;  Rather than spending money on buying and posting cards, in which you do not have the opportunity to write a proper letter type message, why not spend the same amount of money on making a charitable donation of some sort in lieu of cards and telling people this is what we have done.  I know that not everyone shares this view.  BF imparticular gets quite cross that I have not sent her and her family a card, but as I have told her before and will tell her again, it is my choice.  Plus she still gets a present which is much more exciting.

So here is it..... in case your email gets lost in the ether somewhere this is my Christmas card to all of Project Team Nicola.  Mr Man and I have bought you a pair of goats, but don't worry they wont make a mess on the carpet.  I hope you like them.

http://www.oxfam.org.uk/shop/ECard/ECard.aspx?P=3dbd586e-ef07-4d79-bf7c-a43cf8535da4&U=ffa66cac-a7f0-4df4-a1c9-b1739e9de621&L=92601b1a-90ec-42c1-94db-75231dc6118e

And as for writing proper cards, this way I can continue with proper correspondence throughout the festive season.  Every one is a winner.

My inner womble

So after a few days of uncomfortable home bound containment, I today managed to leave the house and venture as far as the post office to collect a parcel.   Despite feeling a lot better today than yesterday and having managed a full night's sleep rather than waking up every two hours, I still was not taking any chances and so took Lil Sis's house keys along with me (her house is en route to the post office) in case I needed an emergency stop. Fortunately I did not, but always better to be safe than sorry.

I also took the opportunity to wrap up warm and benefit from the blustery weather and chilly temperatures which we are now enjoying. To be honest, I think just standing outside and letting the natural elements blow away the cobwebs was on its own enough to make me feel better after so long inside, but I very much enjoyed my brief walk as well.

Whilst I was out I did notice a rather disturbing amount of litter which appeared to be decorating the pavements, gutters and roads in our area today.  I also followed a woman along the road pushing her mandatory buggy complete with surf board thing on the back for the school age child she had in tow, and was extremely disappointed to observe that both she and her child just discarded their sweet wrappers on the pavement rather than find a bin (there are lots, it is a main shopping road) or put it in their pockets until they got home.  I was a bit too far back to say anything as by the time I caught up with them the bravery had left me, but I wish I had said something now, not least because the child's book back she was sporting on the buggy was one from one of the allegedly better school's in the area. She should have known better. Not only is this unsightly and potentially unhygienic I find it very sad that people in general think it is acceptable to litter.  There was an article in a magazine a couple of weeks ago about some towns in Britain which have taken a hard stance against litter bugs and quite rightly too.  It is now illegal to drop a cigarette butt on the pavement as this now counts as litter (about time too), and apparently it costs every citizen in the UK £5 a year to pay for the street rubbish tidy up services.  So next time, I see someone littering, I think I will make more of an effort to stop them seeing as it is my money they are wasting.  To compensate for my cowardice in the face of a litter bug however, I did pick up several pieces of rubbish which ironically seem to have been scattered across our road as a result of the bin men emptying the recycling today, and so I feel I have done my bit to make East Dulwich a cleaner place for today.

So, onto the positive thoughts for the day.  Well, firstly I am feeling a bit better than yesterday and have managed to leave the house, as I have already said, and secondly today I received a card from an old university friend of mine who although I do not see or speak to her very often, I think of very fondly and so was delighted that she got in touch as I had not heard from her throughout this whole ordeal and just a note to say she is thinking of me means a lot.  Thank you.  And finally, I have contributed to a cleaner society by picking up some rogue litter this morning.  It may not be a lot in the grand scheme of things but every little helps and so hopefully if we all do the same each day then those £5 can be spent on something more important than picking up litter.  It must be my inner Womble.

Home Alone

So I am still oscillating between the two extremes of gastro-intestinal function, which means I am still disappointingly rather housebound as the new week begins.  This is rather annoying on a number of levels but not least because it is now finally cold enough to need to wrap up warm when venturing into the elements and my winter woollens, coat and boots are starting to get impatient.

As I spent the weekend chez moi, I was fortunate enough to have some kind visitors to come and pass some time with me and act as intervals to my television viewing schedule.  After Mr Man left on Friday lunchtime, G came round in the afternoon and she very kindly collected my prescription from the chemist for me (this was quite an ordeal for her as the chemist in question is quite frankly inept and has clearly been helping herself to the doolally drugs for some time).  Baby A was quite happy watching Top Gear and so there was no screaming from him on this occasion, and we had a nice chat and a cup of tea. On Saturday, lil sis and BIL popped in during the afternoon to fuss Barney mainly, and then came back in the evening to watch Saturday night TV with me.  We made BIL watch Strictly Come Dancing (to which I think I am now officially addicted) and so it was only fair that when it came to choosing a film afterwards it was one that he would like.  Despite Virgin Media having access to over 300 films I can never find one I want to watch, but we went for Attack the Block mainly because it had the quite funny bloke who normally makes films with Simon Pegg in it, and having liked Hot Fuzz and Paul a lot I think my logic was that if it was only half as funny than that would be ok.  Sadly, despite having a few amusing bits in it, it was not a great film as despite being very surreal and clearly made up, it seemed to advocate kids on estates carrying weapons and mugging innocent people which are two things I am particularly adverse to due to past personal experience.  BIL however was happy enough and he had been to the shop to get me some salt and vinegar french fries to aid my recovery and so on balance it was not a bad evening.

Essex Girl came over yesterday afternoon, leaving CS at home alone in charge of the children and with sole responsibility for a roast dinner.  I dare say CS is hoping I get better very soon not least because then his wife won't have quite as good a reason to abandon him at the weekends and he can spend his Sunday's not being harrassed by a three and half year old who from what I understand is not averse to grassing up her own father for eating his dinner on the sofa in front of the TV when Essex Girl was out one night this week!  Poor CS.  Essex Girl brought with her entertainment in the form of Bridesmaids on DVD which we watched and gasped at in horror at various places, but overall found it very amusing. We decided that the main bridesmaid character was too thin, and was wearing clothes which did not suit her age or her figure, and we also decided that the Irish Policeman was actually very nice and was quite a catch for the afore mentioned bridesmaid long before she realises this for herself.  (She is American - they are not reknowned for being the smartest especially in films are they?!) We were confused by the presence of Matt Lucas, and unconvinced that the main bridesmaid character had ever in fact eaten one of the cakes she was allegedly so good at baking, but overall impressed by the film. I was kind of expecting a stereotypical cutesy American chick flick type thing but was pleasantly surprised at how un-sugary it was. If you haven't seen it, then you should.  It is funny.

Mr Man returned earlier than expected from the Father for Justice event with his friends, although his physical presence yesterday afternoon was earlier than expected, it took a good six hours for me to get any sense out of him as he was quite cabbage like in appearance and vocabulary, and so to all intents and purposes he may as well have not got home until about 6pm which is when I was expecting him back to start with.  I have interpretted the nods, grunts and odd syllable to mean he had a good time, and the brief stories of vomitting, escaping goats and inability to recall what was served for pudding to indicate that the good people of Norfolk were on the whole relieved when the group left the area on Sunday morning.

So, despite the enforced homestay, my weekend was punctuated by various positives including good friends, humourous entertainment and the safe if pickled return of my favourite cabbage.  Now all we need is to get the balance right internally so I can get out there and start making the most of the winter wardrobe. Standing on the decking a couple of times a day and taking a deep breath is not quite the same.

Back from rock bottom

Well it has been a while since I last wrote and so I should have plenty to say. And indeed I do. There are lots of positives to be had today, over a week's worth to catch up on, plus a few other things to put all the positives in perspective.

So first things first, how am I doing? Well they don't incarcerate you in hospital for 4 days unless it is necessary, and so I'd better explain what was going on.  I was suffering very painful abdominal pains, accompanied by fever, a high temperature, nausea and vomiting and dizziness. In short, I was in a bad way. But, I am now much better and am able to appreciate the current state of affairs because I have a rock bottom to compare it to.  And rock bottom is probably the most appropriate way to describe it, as i will explain later. Mr Man came through the whole experience relatively unscarred although I'd like to think that even he would recognise and adjust his actions just in case there is a next time, and decide that taking a person with shooting, stabbing abdominal pains, nausea and dizziness to a hospital in a hard suspension sports car along some of the worst potholed roads in London is not a good idea. At 2.15am in the early hours of Thursday morning however, I did not have the energy to argue, but held onto my improvised sick bags for dear life. Luckily the car made it there unharmed, although I'm not sure the same is true for the passenger. 

On arrival at the hospital a very competent doctor assessed me and sent me for X-rays to establish a cause of the pain, and quickly concluded that a combination of my medication, the chemo earlier that day, the anti sickness drugs given alongside the chemo, dietary intake (ie lack of it) and my low red blood count and associated immune system deficiencies were causing what was essentially chronic constipation. Sorry to be so candid, but I have no qualms about talking about these things and pity anyone who winces at the thought of talking aloud about what should be a daily and integral action in any healthy human life. Poo.  For the next 4 days I then endured a series of doctors and nurses of varying degrees of capability and kindness. One or two were lovely, very helpful and actually did their jobs well by reading my notes before they met me and actually listening to what I was saying.  The rest were not. Luckily shortly after admission once the pain was more under control, I was in a better position to deal with the worst of the medical staff, but it still disappoints me that some people are seemingly too lazy to read a patients notes but would just plough in and start from scratch with the same questions, jumping to their own conclusions thus adding no value at all to the experience.  Continuity and quality of ongoing patient care are certainly areas to be improved.

So once we had established a cause, we needed a solution. This is perhaps where the frustration on my part really kicked in because there wasn't one. There were lots; any, some or none of which might work either in isolation or in conjunction with each other. Add this to the wide array of nurses and doctors getting involved meant that it felt like no one was in control and it was all a bit haphazard. I was given every possible 'let's get things moving' option under the sun including, injections, suppositories, strong tablets, natural tablets, gentle tablets, drinks and enemas. And then had to wait to see what happened. Eventually things did start to move, and by Saturday we were making progress but not without a lot of discomfort and trial and error.  Due to the afore mentioned high turn over of nurses it kind of fell to me to assess how much laxative I felt I needed, which was an odd concept but after all no two human bodies are the same and only I know how my body is feeling and responding at any time. So I got to a balance just about by Sunday and was allowed home, but more chemo to finish the course on Monday and Tuesday complete with anti-emetics further disrupted the balance, and even now a further 4 days later on, I am still not quite right, which means I need to be careful how far I stray from the bathroom and leaving the house is a bit of a brave move, so I don't intend to do so at least for the time being. 

Mr Man is away this weekend with his university friends on what could be mistaken for a fathers for justice rally and so I am home alone with the Pupster Barney and whoever may pop in for company.  I don't mind really that he has gone away for the weekend despite my delicate current state as there is not really anything he can do for me other than provide light entertainment, company and amusement and sometimes these things are not always his forte.

Most of Mr Man's university friends have been blessed to have children seemingly relatively easily and so the idea behind their weekend away is to all go away with their kids (most of whom are boys) making it a Dads'n'Lads weekend.  Obviously the closest thing Mr Man has to a lad is the boy wonder Barney, and oddly Mr Man was rather reluctant to take him along.  However, despite the lack of relevant accessory he has still gone along and will no doubt have a super time when the supposed adults regress back to make it a houseful of children, with no responsible adults in sight. I do feel for the  landlord of the beautiful looking converted windmill in Norfolk... What have they let themselves in for.

Anyway, this leaves me at home with these positive thoughts. Firstly, despite an unconventional route, it is worth noting that I am now 50% through the chemotherapy treatment programme. This is very good news as it means I'm past half way, and those bad cells must be getting a good kicking in there by now.  Obviously I'm hoping the next three rounds are more akin to rounds 1 and 2 in experience, and that round 3 was a one off.  Fingers crossed.  Secondly, whilst it has not been a nice experience over the last 2 weeks, the weight has fallen off me which some people think is a bad thing but I'm still no where near what could be considered underweight so I'm taking it as a positive. And thirdly, by the time Mr Man comes home from his weekend away he should be refreshed and have had a good break to re-energise to taken on the second half of the Project Nicola treatment challenge, and I should have got some balance back in my bowels. A long way back up from rock bottom already, I'm sure you will agree. 

Positivity reigns supreme

So it has been a slightly different version of chemo this week. After day one which consisted of spending 9 hours in an arm chair on the day unit I then had to be rushed into hospital at 2am on Thursday morning due to chronic abdominal pains, the strength and duration of which I had not experienced before. This was accompanied by feverish sweating, a feeling of nausea which eventually lead to me being violently sick and a spot of dizziness for good measure. All in all it was not very nice.

Since I arrived in the inpatients ward at the hospital though I have been well looked after and they are sorting me out. It's taking a while but we now know the issue and are just waiting for things to progress so we can get back on track with the chemo programme. I had the blood transfusion yesterday which went well so hopefully now I have a full stock of red blood cells I can fight off the impact of Wednesday's chemo to make it focus on fighting the bad guys. Once we have sorted out the abdominal pain we can crack on with what should have been Thursday and Friday's short bursts of chemo and then I can go home and get on with the business of being asleep.

The key positive to come out of all of this is that not only is the abdominal pain being sorted and hopefully will be better managed once and for all, but I now know for sure what my blood group is. Despite all of these tests and procedures I have never know what type and I was curious. And what do you know. It's A+. How much more positive can we be?

It is better to give than to receive

Today was the start of the third cycle of chemotherapy which means I have done 50% of the long days on this part of the treatment programme.  This is very good news as it means we are half way to beating this disease on stage one of the battle of the abdomen.  Given how fast time seems to be flying, I am sure it won't be long before we are on the last cycle.  The only fly in the ointment on this cycle is that apparently for some reason my red blood count has not recovered as much as it should have since round 2 and so in order to ensure that I can cope with the chemicals in round 3, I have to have a blood transfusion tomorrow which is not a thought I relish.  My Dad used to give blood, and was always telling us that we should also give blood but I am afraid to say I have never been able to do it.  I am still not so good with the needles, and so the idea of giving blood voluntarily made be have the involuntary reaction of bending my elbows to protect them from any invading needles.  Obviously now I am not able to give blood so was relieved to hear that Lil Sis goes regularly and so the family account is in credit.  I also saw a friend, Nice E, for dinner the other night who goes regularly as well to top up the country's blood bank and she said she would also be happy for me to have her blood and so I feel better about the fact I have never been, but am going to be taking on this occasion.

It was quite a long day today and tomorrow promises to be long as well as each bag of blood (and there are two of them) takes two hours to filter in, and so I am off to bed soon, happy in the thought that my A+ blood is going to be topped up by such kind souls as Lil Sis and Nice E.  Thank you both and all the other good people who give blood.

Remember you're a Womble

In the early 1980's before the birth of the M25, the easiest way to get from West Sussex were we lived to the outskirts of Manchester where my Dad's family lived was to go through London.  I was only little and so don't recall the whole route, but I always remember two landmarks very clearly; one was Hammersmith Bridge which was my favourite bridge at the time before some local authority or other decided to paint it murky green rather than its previous majestic pale blue and gold, and the other was Wimbledon Common where we would have all eyes to the window in the hope of spotting a Womble or two. I think we did see some of the Wombles on several occasions, although I cannot be sure if it was Orinoco, Wellington, Tobermory or Tomsk, they were definitely there. You see the thing with the Wombles, as with Father Christmas, Christmas Elves and the Tooth Fairy you have got to believe, otherwise they don't show themselves to you. And just ask anyone who has ever spent any time with me in December and they will tell you that I DEFINITELY believe.

So today you can imagine how pleased I was to read in the Metro that the Wombles have revamped their band as the 'W-Factor' and are re-releasing their 1974 number 2 hit record Wombling Merry Christmas, as a contender for the Christmas number one spot to challenge the X Factor. Uncle Bulgaria was quoted as saying  "I hear The X Factor is jolly popular. However, W comes before X."  He seems confident that a proper Christmas song would prevail this year and the Wombles are ready to do it, and so am I.  How fabulous would this be?! The Christmas Single is due to be released on 12 December, and the whole reworked album, The W Factor - 20 Wombling Greats is out on 28 November. Put the dates in your diary.

So, with these two very exciting things to look forward to, I am sure my next round of chemo treatment which starts tomorrow will fly by. Bring on the chemo and bring on the Wombles.

Stand and deliver

Well as we are now officially in mid November it is acceptable to have started Christmas shopping. And so I have. The beauty of spending so much time at home is that I am in to take delivery of anything I should buy on the Internet. I have of course got a list of people and presents although I still need to think of a few more suitable presents for some more tricky recipients.

My next round of chemo starts this week and so I have had a recent flurry of deliveries to make sure I don't miss any knocks on the door when I revert to my hibernating state which is due to ensue for about a week after the treatment finishes. Today, being the last day when I don't have to go up into town (tomorrow I need to have a blood test in anticipation of Wednesdays round 3, to make sure that all the relevant cell counts are back to normal) was therefore quite hectic but by 4pm all expected arrivals had been counted in. This is especially good news as unless the delivery drivers are able to leave with a neighbour, to recover a parcel from the majority of these delivery companies can be quite challenging, involving either a drive to the local delivery centre, dubiously located on an industrial estate which is at least 45 mins drive from my home so hardly local, or dealing with an automated call centre to try and re-arrange delivery using only yes and no voice commands and pressing the numbers of the keypad.

So, from now until the next awake phase scheduled for around 26 November, I will be merely browsing and bookmarking my outstanding purchases ready to order in time for Christmas and delivery in my next awake window. Plus it gives me a chance to have a good think about what to get those tricky recipients mentioned earlier.

So the positive thoughts for today are that I'm feeling very pleased with myself for having made such a cracking start to my Christmas shopping, I am also pleased to have got through my latest awake stage without being too bored, and I've got a week full of visitors for all three of this week's chemo sessions lined up and booked in. Bring on round 3.

Domestic bliss

As brilliant as Mr Man often is, he is alas not always perfect.  I am not going to list all of his minor imperfections though - this is not an exposé piece for the tabloids or their magazine equivalents - but I am afraid I am going to reveal one of his biggest failings; his inability to see that it is necessary to change the bed sheets, pillow cases and duvet cover once a week.  I am sure that if left to his own devices it would be lucky if it gone done twice per year, and vague memories of when he lived in a house share with other boys remind me that even after he met me and he was on the trying to impress phase, his sheet etiquette was still more on a monthly schedule rather than weekly. Yuk. Over the years I have tried to encourage Mr Man to help put clean and crisp sheets onto the bed, by reminding him of the delight you get when you get into bed and it is all fresh and clean and suggesting that you sleep better in a refreshed bedding environment, but it has had little success.  The best way I have managed to get him to help is by actually taking the dirty sheets off the bed in the morning, leaving the mattress, duvet and pillows to air for the day and then when it gets to bedtime and he is complaining he is tired as he works so hard blah blah blah suggesting that if he helps me to put the clean bedding on including the duvet cover (his most hated part) then he will be able to get into bed and get his desired shut eye so much quicker.  This has had mixed results as whilst he at least helps out, it is not without a certain degree of Kevin-the-Teenager-esque behaviour.

A recent straw poll amongst some female friends has revealed that Mr Man is not alone in his resistence to clean sheets, or rather reluctance to actually changing the bedding himself, unprompted, on a regular and frequent basis (For the record bi-annually is not considered regular or frequent). Once friend who shall remain anonymous for the sake of her marriage even revealed that on one occasion when she was going out for the evening, had pulled the I will take the sheets off so he HAS to put clean ones on before bedtime trick, actually came home to find her husband asleep on top of the mattress and under the duvet with no bed linen on at all.  When confronted about this particular situation he made matters a lot worse for himself by claiming that he would have put clean sheets on but did not know where they were kept..... Oooh, ouch!  Even Mr Man would not even dare to try that one (For the record they are in the wooden chest at the top of the stairs.)

We have some friends coming to stay with us this weekend and so I have spent some time this week preparing for their visit.  This has included tidying up a bit, and preparing the relevant bedrooms to that they can sleep comfortably in our home, and perhaps the most important job of all, putting clean sheets and bedding on each of the beds.   So this morning, after Mr Man disappeared off to play hockey, I set about making up the beds for our guests, as well as changing the sheets on our own bed as I do every week.  Four beds made up with clean and fresh bed linen later and not only do I feel a sense of achievement for the day, but I have worked hard and so now no longer need to go to the gym.  Result.  Mr Man may not have helped out thus far, but he is on dinner cooking duty and so is solely responsibly for cooking a delicious meal for our guests later on, clearing away afterwards and leaving the kitchen in the neat, clean and tidy state he found it in.  At least this way he will be able to still be able to claim his (almost) perfect status.  Everyone's a winner.

Thank Crunchie it's Friday

It is Friday again and I cannot believe how quickly the time goes.  It is also Armistice Day and this year I seem to have managed to get to today without losing my poppy and having to replace it several times which is what normally happens.  This is possibly down to the fact that I have not been out and about as much and so the poppy on my coat has taken less of a battering and had less chance to fall out, but also because last year a very lovely old lady in the Whitgift Centre where I was buying a replacement poppy showed me how to pin it on so it is secure.  In a way she might have done her charity a disservice as now I only need one, but actually this is not the case as I was more generous in the first place thanks to her kind and helpful advice.  This is the sort of skill they should be teaching if not in schools then certainly in Brownies and Cubs and youth centres across the country.

My week has passed in a blur of  similar days panning out in similar ways, but one highlight was when I spent about an hour on Skype to the wonderful Jimbo of the Jet Set fame.  Jimbo is the boy who made my home life a misery for about two weeks when I was about 14 by dropping one of those old fashioned stools you used to get in science lab classrooms onto my Mum's big toe.  (She was his teacher, it wasn't a completely random act of violence) I am lead to believe it was an accident, at least no criminal charges were brought about, but lets just say it was lucky (for him at least) that Jimbo was one of Mum's favourite students.  Not so lucky for us at home however, as where Mum was very professional and did not let her pain, anger and true feelings show in the classroom, she was less discreet at home and complained a lot about her toe and the pain generated by her rapidly decaying blue and purple toenail.  I think the most annoying thing of all was that whilst the words she used were cross ones about the incident, the words she used about the culprit was ones of true adoration.  Jimbo was definitely the teachers pet.  Two years later I finally met this boy who despite causing actual physical injury, could do no wrong in my mother's eyes, and after a shaky start in the languages room at Collyers VI Form college we became firm friends and have been ever since. We may not catch up in person as often as we should but it is one of those easy friendships where it doesn't matter how long it is since we have seen each other or even spoken on the phone, it is like picking up from where we left off as if it were yesterday. 

So, as this week is drawing to a close I reflect on all of the friends who I do not catch up with as often as I would like.  When we do get our respective acts together it is like we are transported back in time to when we were physically located closer to one another, and in some respects nothing else has changed. Goegraphical distance is the key reason that friends drift apart in my opinion, but in a shrinking world thanks to technology this can be overcome so much more easily than ever before. So to those individuals, and you know who you are, just thinking about you makes me smile as I imagine the next time we do catch up what it will be like, and I am looking forward to it already. I hope you are too.

Domestic Goddess in the making

Recently I got quite into watching the Great British Bake Off on BBC2.  I was very pleased that the lady who eventually won, came out on top as all along she seemed the most normal and down to earth, as well as being a very good baker, even if she she did forget to line her cone for her profiterole tower which lead to her sitting on the floor hugging it to try and get it to melt enough after its 3 hour stint in the freezer so she could get her creation out of the cone and onto display for the judges. Hilarious.  Whilst watching this bunting fest each week, I was quite taken by the beautiful Kitchen Aid mixers which were in use by each contestant in an array of different colours.  I have been eyeing up these domestic goddess making machines for a while but could never justify buying on as I don't as a rule do much baking or cooking which would require one, and more importantly Kitchen Aid did not make one in pale blue to match the rest of my kitchen accessories. So when I spotted an ice blue version sitting quietly on one of the work surfaces of the afore mentioned television series, I sat up and took note.  All of a sudden 50% of the reasons why I could not have one had vanished. And it wasn't long before the other 50% began to dissolve as now I have my pain relief more under control, meaning I feel more normal, when I am awake I have quite a lot of time on my hands.  Time I could be spending learning and practicing a new skill.  Like baking.

So the new Kitchen Aid in Ice Blue has been stylishly decorating my kitchen for the past couple of weeks, waiting for me to be awake enough to use it.  I did make some cupcakes in aid of my MacMillan Coffee morning a few weeks ago but since then, both it and I have been pretty sleepy.  Until yesterday that is, when I got an early seasonal craving for Mince Pies. Now I love Christmas, and I mean really love it.  I get very excited about giving and receiving presents, going to and hosting Christmas parties, seeing all the lights, making nice Christmas food and spending time with Mr Man watching Christmas TV on the sofa being all cosy and warm.  But I am very strict that Christmas must never exist outside December.  There may be a need to do some planning in November, for example advent calendar preparation has to be done in November otherwise you would miss it, and it is acceptable to start Christmas shopping in November, but the act of celebrating Christmas and being festive is only acceptable in December.  Regardless of what the shops are telling us.  So, yesterdays craving for Mince pies was not down to it being Christmas because it is not yet time, but instead because I really like them.  So, I set about making a batch of Mince Pies because they are delicious. Usually I have to confess I would  buy ready to roll pastry and go from there, however I did not have any in  yesterday and I could not be bothered to walk to the supermarket, and so instad decided to make some pastry.  How hard could it be?  I found a recipe and started to rub the flour and butter together when I my eyes glanced to the line below in the recipe which said, "Alternatively put all ingredients into a food mixer and switch on to a low setting."  What was I doing?  I have a food mixer now and I should be using it.  All ingredients were transfered to the stainless steel bowl of the Kitchen Aid and within minutes I had an amazing, perfectly evenly mixed pastry dough. To answer the earlier question, of how hard can it be?  With a  pretty Kitchen Aid, not very!  Fifteen minutes later after allowing the dough to rest in the fridge I was rolling out the pastry and making the mince pies.  I actually think the pastry was better than the ready to roll stuff as well.  Result.  Sadly Mr Man does not like mince pies.  Something to do with them being sweet and not actually containing mince as in beef. I'm sure it is all in the semantics though and so if they were called sweet and spiced dried fruit pies he would be more of a fan, but he has decided he doesn't like them now and so it is too late.  Luckily however, Little Sis and Bil do like Mince pies and so they were the lucky recipients of half a batch of deliciousness yesterday afternoon.

So, now I have discovered the ease of pastry I am sure there must be lots of other things I can make to utilise my newest kitchen toy.  I also know there is a world of cakes and biscuits just waiting to be discovered but I am hesitant of making too much as my appetite is still not right and I would not want all of my hard work to go to waste.  I am sure though that when December gets here and festiveness is allowed, I can make some more treats which I can share with others in a festive way whilst I practice becoming a bona fide Domestic Goddess.  Now, I just need to find some hungry visitors.....

Hi ho, hi ho

This might be the most bizarre thing I have ever said, but I miss going to work.  I am almost quite jealous of my friends who spend their working week going to the office, in whatever form their office may take. I suppose it is the sense of purpose, and routine that I miss along with celebrating the acheivements and camraderie with my colleagues which is an integral part of life. We spend more time with our work colleagues than with our families on average and so it is unsurprising that I miss work - it is quite lonesome being ill.

Last week there was a Panorama programme on Britain on the Fiddle and the week before there was another programme on the BBC about the future of the Welfare State.  Both of these made my blood boil in parts. The latter showed examples of real people, quoted on camera, saying that there was no point them going to work as they would only get a few quid more for working hard all week then they would for just claiming benefits. Similarly it was highlighted that there are some people who are claiming in excess of £30,000 per year in benefits, driving round in Bentleys and owning yachts, and on top of this the various authorities spend vast amounts of money trying to stop them with varying degrees of success.  There were examples of people claiming incapacity benefit who had made no effort to improve their state of health by taking the advice offered by the medical and health professionals, such as giving up smoking, exercising more or eating more healthily.  As far as they were concerned they had no responsibility to find work or improve their physical state to enable them to find work, but preferred instead in some cases to sit on their arses at home, possibly even making their situations worse, and claiming benefits. And the most infuriating thing was that for some families this is a way of life.  The children have no motivation to get a job because they have never seen their parents work, and don't see why they should when they can get a house, money for clothes and a plasma TV all on benefits.  As my friend Bobby Dazzla would say; It's not right.

It makes me cross that even a penny of the tax that I have paid to the government out of my hard earned income over the past 12 years has been used as hand outs for people who don't work because they cannot be bothered, or because they do not take responsibility for their own destiny.  Don't get me wrong, I do not object to the concept of the welfare state per se.  There are many genuine cases of hardship, disability and illness which mean that try as those individuals might, they need a little help to make ends meet.  It must be irritating for them too to have so many spongers as it means in the end there is less to go round for the genuine cases. Instead of putting money in the pockets of these scroungers, the taxes paid by hard working law abiding citizens could be put to much better use by investing it in schools, the NHS and Britain as a whole.

I would prefer my taxes to be spent on the right things in the NHS for example.  If we had an NHS which could pay nurses a higher salary to reflect their knowledge, skills and hard work then we would attract more people into the profession and in turn would get a better quality of service from hospitals, doctors surgeries and the like. Also, sticking with the medical sector, I would rather my taxes went on more investment into medical research to help find cures and preventions for diseases like mine, and many others which are impacting the lives of ordinary people up and down the country.

Also, in my opinion, by making our schools better through better quality of teachers and better provision of resources to enable all children to obtain a better education, we would allow them to succeed in obtaining good jobs when they leave school, college or university.   This in turn would fuel industry, commerce and research with brighter minds to progress the economy as well as innovate and change the world. Surely this is a better prospect than having another generation who think that working is optional and an Xbox 360 a necessity?

So, whilst todays thoughts for the day might be slightly more contraversial than usual, this is as always my opinion and nothing more. The positive I am taking from this is that I was brought up to believe that if you work hard then you should be rewarded appropriately, and that only you can take responsibility for your own destiny.  There are no fairy godmothers and money for nothing is only the name of a Dire Straights song.  Therefore, whilst I am not able to work at present due to the pain and all of the treatment, I am very much looking forward to being able to get back into the swing of working life. After all the office must be a very quiet place without me!

It's always sunny in my house

What a grey and dreary day it is today.  I have had to have the lights on indoors since about 12 noon which is never a good thing.  So, today I cannot get my positivity from a good dose of vitamin D and so I will have to find something else to give me that happy feeling inside that I normally get from seeing the bright blue sky through a window and feeling the beams of sunlight as they bounce off every surface. But what should it be?

The truth is that I have so many things to be positive about every day that picking out just one to talk about is often a challenge.  Is an email from a long lost friend any more positive than a full nights sleep without extra painkillers?  Or is the fact that the plumber who came to fix the toilet which seems to have miraculously fixed itself in the last week didn't even consider charging me for his time (amazing I know!!) more of a positive than the fact that I am only today having to take off the nail varnish from recent manicure I had, meaning that it lasted over two weeks, which as any girl (and some boys) will know is a fairly long time in the world of nail varnish? Who knows, but I think today's positive thought will be that today I feel surprisingly normal. I had a fabulous lie in which has left me feeling refreshed and alert, and I have not had to take as many break through pain killers as on other days.  I looked in the mirror this morning and saw a slim(ish!) healthly looking person wearing flattering yet comfortable clothes.  To be honest I am almost having to remind myself that I am less than 100% in perfect health.  I am itching to get out and do lots of interesting things, and have a strong feeling of activity about me.  I have cleared one of our spare rooms which had been a general dumping ground, and have decided to make it into a relaxing calming space where I can practice Reiki and Meditations undisturbed.  I am also working my way down my to do list in terms of early Christmas planning, a few bits of home improvement and catching up on correspondence whislt singing along to the radio.  To me these are good things to be doing (although Mr Man for one would describe them as abhorent chores to be avoided at all costs) as they reflect normality and believe it or not I like doing them.

So it may be dull and grey and outside, but in my house it is bright, cheerful and perky, just the way I like it.

Remember, remember the 5th of November

So last night was bonfire night, and Mr Man, the Woof Dog and I made our annual forray to Dawsons Hill to see a birds eye view of a selection of South East London's and, in the middle distance, Central London's finest fireworks.  You might think it was a bit mean of us to take Barney with us, but he is a hardy city pup and loud bangs, sirens and bright lights do not phase him.  Plus if he is with us we can give him cuddles, where as if we left him at home there is almost guaranteed whining and woofing.  Not because he is scared, however, but because he does not like to miss out.

The weather was trying to be cold, but unfortunately due to the twenty minute walk to get there (mostly up hill) and my internal heating system which seems to give me hot flushes more often than not, I was down to just a light top by the time we got to the bottom of Dawson's Hill. This was a shame as I do like to wrap up warm and cosy when it is very chilly outside, and so on the way back I persevered with the gloves and scarf as long as I could before conceding defeat and stripping off again.

Dawsons Hill is a small patch of grassland on a fairly steep hillside in East Dulwich which has the fortune from the top of looking out over the city.  If you ever see a city scape of London painted from a Southery Perspective then it is likely that the artist was either at, or using inspiration from a photograph taken from Dawson's Hill.  It is a tiny bit of a pity therefore, that in the 1960's whichever London Borough was in charge of the area at the time (probably Southwark) decided to build two fairly hideous looking local authority housing blocks on top of the hill. Some people think they look like giant warships on top of the hill, and whilst I think they look terrible, apparently someone in local goverment has a soft spot for them and they are due to be listed.  Anyway, the view which is probably wasted on most of the people who live there is fairly impressive, either during the day, or at night when the city is lit up, so it makes sense that when there are firework displays in most of South London's major parks that you would get a good view from the top of the hill.

Having lived in Valencia, the home of gun powder and pyrotechnics in the modern world, for ten months as a student I find firework displays in this country rather disappointing.  In Valencia during the annual Fallas festival which lasts for around three weeks in March there are five days at the end of the festival when at midnight each night there is a 20-30 minute firework extravaganza which fills the sky with colours and sparkles like you have never seen before. It is a constant delivery of bangs, screams and explosions against a backdrop of rainbow showers, golden stars and silver sparkles which lasts for what seems like eternity.  They even have fireworks during the day where the emphasis is more on the noise and the smoke than anything else.  These daily audio-spectacle known as La Mascleta is everyday at 2pm in the town's main square during the Fallas festival. They even record the event and Essex girl has a CD recording of this strange event called "La Mascleta Virtual" which is essentially just 5 minutes of explosions and deafening bangs. She has it on in the car these days I believe during the pre-school run, and if she doesn't then she really should.  It is awesome!

So back to last night.  The Brockwell Park display looked quite good from a distance if a little short, and the ones at the Dulwich Sports Club also looked quite impressive.  The ones we decided were at Blackheat also looked fairly decent as did some in the middle distance which could have been coming from anywhere to be honest.  It was a bit hazy last night and without the aid of a map it is sometimes quite disorientating trying to work out which bits of London you can see as it all merges into one in the end. The ones that some locals had decided to stage actually on Dawsons Hill would have been quite good had they not decided to launch them from a large box on the path leading up the hill which meant that you had to walk very close to a box of exploding fireworks to get to the top of the hill or brave the long grass and go cross country.  It was fairly irresponsible of them as there were no signs to warn people that the path was being blocked and from the looks of the people who were lighting them, I am not surprised that they had not thought this particular eventuality through. Similarly, it was interesting to see the number of small kids who were being given sparklers by their parents and left to their own devices.  We left before the inevitable burning of hands and other accidents started to occur but as we were walking home there was a significant number of sirens heading off to presumably deal with people who are too stupid to heed the advice of not playing with fireworks.  In a way though, playing with fireworks is just a modern example of Darwinism in action, and so in the interests of not interfering with evolution, I think there is a strong argument to letting them get on with it, and so we did just that.

By the time we got home, we had a nice walk, seen some fairly pretty lights go whoosh and bang in the sky and worn Barney puppy out a bit, and so a very nice way to spend an evening. We got to see not one but several displays without having to deal with the crowds attending a massive display and could easily walk home afterwards.  Perfect.

The simple things

The trouble with online shopping is that every time you buy anything on line you have to provide your contact details so that they can get the goods to you.  Even if you are reserving to collect in store you have to give some form of ID so you can collect the right things when you get there.  As a result of this you are more often than not added to some mailing list or other.  Even if you tick the box that says do not pass this information onto third parties - and you have to be pretty switched on each time to work out if you need to tick or untick to be excluded or if by ticking you are actually including yourself as they are all slightly different - you are almost always added to the mailing list of the company who you are purchasing something from, and so will invariably receive some form of communication from them. After all you bought something from them once, it is possible that you may wish to do so again. Often these days it is by email, and so it is relatively easy to delete unread mails based on the title or the sender.  However, I am still quite amazed at how many companies go to the expense and trouble of mailing out oodles of catalogues and brochures, and utterly flabbergasted by how many of these catalogues land on our doormat in the run up to Christmas. There are hundreds of clothes companies which all look the same (front cover shot on a beach somewhere in the UK to get a rural feel) and seem to sell the same sort of thing (non-descript knitwear teamed with slim fitting trousers that no one real could possibly get into) modelled by similarly wispy looking women in their 40s trying to look like they are in their 30s, and I swear I have never bought anything from any of them, and based on the the cursory glance I gave one of them once, I won't ever be buying anything from them either.  Each catalogue comes with a different name printed on the front of them; a quick glance into my recycling bin at present will reveal Coast (but not the same as the shop), Crew, Emblem, Isabella Oliver, Joules, The White Company, Style, Pepper tree and Calm.  And these are only the ones that have arrived since yesterday when I last emptied the recycling.  Then there are all the homeware catalogues selling similar things to one another yet all claiming to be unique and different, and the children's storage and furniture ones which we seem to get lots of despite the glaring lack of actually having any children, not to mention shoes, outdoor wear, goods on sale in aid of various charities, and no doubt many more I have now forgotten about.

The vast majority of these go straight from door mat to recycling bin, only pausing to have the unrecyclable plastic packaging removed if required.  One or two which come from companies I may actually be interested in looking at might achieve a brief flick through but that is all.  Given I do a lot of my purchasing on line which ironically is where most of these organisations have obtained my details from in the first place, it is likely that I will continue to purchase on line which is the biggest catalogue in the world, without the waste of paper.

This week I received a lovely card from Essex Girl, who revealed that as a child she loved receiving post and had an array of penfriends from various sources including randomly Malta, and thoughtfully she decided that I too might like to receive some nice post.  I do like receiving nice post.  The art of letter writing is reported to have diminished in this country following the take over of the text, the email and the social network, however in my world it is still going strong.  I have received lots of lovely cards recently, and not just short cursory get well soon cards, but cards and notes with real messages in, and paragraphs of communicative text.  And in turn I love to send cards and letters.  There is something very satisfying about sitting down with a blank card, a nice-to-write-in pen and a postal address that cannot be generated by typing an email.   So the positive thought for today, is that when I hear the postman pushing piles of recycling fodder through my letterbox each day, there is a chance that hidden between the catalogues and occasional bank statement there might just be a handwritten card or letter to brighten up my day, in turn delivering another opportunity to get those pens out and send a card back. What are you waiting for?  Get writing.

The customer is rarely right

Well, Virgin Media have finally given us back some broadband service, albeit slower than it they lure new customers into thinking it will be in their advertising campaign, and it has given rise to a dilema.  Do I still put myself through the distress and torture of trying to call their  customer "care" line, to report that we had a major issue but was unable to get through to anyone in their call centre yesterday, or do I just leave it?  I would really like to just leave it and hope that the service will not fall offline again, but as I said yesterday the broadband service has been intermittent at best lately, and so I feel that if I do not raise this latest lack of quality servive to them, then it means that the ongoing catalogue of errors does not mount up at the speed it should, and the company in question do not feel they have an issue.

The bulk of my week has been spent sleeping, and so there is not too much to report, but I did have another fantastic case of misplaced customer service when I ordered a wardrobe online.  I had browsed the internet and various retail establishments very carefully looking for the type of wardrobe to meet my needs.  I measured the available space, even marking the floor with masking tape so there will be no surprises when it arrives, and reviewed the colour options available.  The website of the particular retailer made it very clear that Christmas delivery would only be honoured for orders placed before 10 October, and so I was very clear that in this case my new specifically chosen wardrobe will be with me some time in the new year.  I receieved the order confirmation by email stating that the company would be in touch to arrange delivery once the item is available as per the delivery lead times.  I filed the email, and ticked Order Wardrobe off my to do list.  Perfect.

So I was a little surprised about an hour later to receive an email from the company to tell me that they were 'very sorry' but unfortunately my wardrobe was not in stock, and would have to wait until after Christmas as they had to order it in from Germany.  They could offer me a smaller wardrobe in the same colour within 2 weeks, or a bigger wardrobe in a different colour within 4 weeks, but if I wanted the wardrobe I had actually chosen and ordered, then I would have to wait.  They asked me to confirm what I wanted to do with this order, and whether I still wanted to have the wardrobe that I had selected and paid for online, as they would have to order it in.  Now, perhaps I am being very harsh and this is an example of very good customer service, in that they contacted me promptly to offer me something immediately regardless of the fact that it did not meet my needs, which in todays age of consumer immediacy, may be considered a positive, but I don't see it that way.  If I had wanted a smaller wardrobe, I would have ordered a smaller one.  If I had wanted a larger one in a different colour, I would have ordered that too.  As it is, the space in the spare bedroom is not going to change and so either of these two options would be not fully meeting the requirements I have as a customer.  Also, the website made it abundantly clear that there would be a delivery lead time, which I recognised and accepted, and so unfortunately in my eyes the efforts at customer service, if that is what it was, have actually made my impression of this organisation worse not better.

In my experience, they do this a lot in shoe shops as well.  You ask if they have the particular style of shoe in your size, a size 41 continental in my case (I used to say size 7 but for some reason in the last ten years the British footwear industry has recalibrated its scale so that a size 7 which always fitted me in British shoes between about 1992 and 2000, and was translated to a 41 in European sizes, appears to now be translated to a 40, which means that if you ask for an olf fashioned size 7, they invariably bring you a size 6 anyway which of course does not fit...)  Sorry, where was I?  Oh yes, you ask for your size and a few minutes later of fumbling in the store cupboard the shoe assistant almost always comes back and says,tells you he or she is very sorry but they don't do big sizes, but I can have it in a size 40 (ie 6) instead.  This is most unhelpful.  It is not as if I can put my feet on a diet, and try to slim down into a smaller size, nor can I lop off a toe to squeeze into a more delicate looking piece of footwear.  And since when was a UK size 7 or 41, a "big size".  I have always had big feet.  It comes of being tall.  If I had size 3 mouse like feet, I would fall over more than I already do as they would not be long enough to balance and support my height.  And I know lots of people who have similarly sized giant clod hoppers attached to the end of their legs.  I cannot believe that I have naturally gravitated in life towards friends who have larger than average feet, so I find it amazing that the British Shoe industry still perceives anything larger than a size 5 as "large".  There are lots of people out there who are taller than me, and so would fairly logically also have a need for larger footwear, and I find it quite insulting to be told by the shoe assistant that my request is going to be denied because I have asked for a "big size".  I am starting to see how the Elephant Man felt.

But, customer services is not something that many organisations really care about anymore.  There will be a target associated with selling as many pairs of shoes as possible, regardless of fit, and also one to do with keeping as low a stock holding as possible on wardrobes.  There may be one on the number of complaints received about the level of broadband service provided, and in this case Virgin Media's statistics will be better off today as I really cannot be bothered to spend any more of my precious awake time trying to convey my disappointment with them from yesterday.  But a target around good fitting shoes, or furniture that actually meets the customer's needs is not often a priority and so for today I will take the positive that at least my broad band is working again and I have not at least had to deal with that awful automated call service or a person on the other end of the phone who really does not appear to care either way.

It will all be better in the morning

It's tiring work sleeping. But not as tiring as having to provide any level of customer service apparently according to Virgin Media, or more accurately, Virgin Remedial.  Recently,  our broadband service has been intermittent at best. Usually, the process involves me resetting the modem at least twice, then calling them to report the issue, where once I've battled through the army of automated voice commands and menu options and actually managed to speak to a human being masquerading as a member of their customer no service team, they will insist that I once again reboot the modem whilst they are on the phone in the desperate hope that I will drop the phone, hang up and by the time I get back through to someone, it will be someone else and they will have gone on a tea break.   But today, they have surpassed themselves. 

On getting through on the phone, Virgin Remedial have pre recorded an apology which they are playing to me to apologise for the lack of on demand tv services in South East Kent. Where obviously I don't live. This is then followed by another message apologising for the lack of telephone services in East Sussex which is doubly pointless as whilst again this is somewhere that I don't live there, if I did I couldn't phone and hear the apology because my phone would presumably not work. And finally, the best apology of all... Apparently there is a delay in customer services being able to answer the calls and speak to me if at least 15 minutes and so perhaps I could try again later, or better still report the fault on line?  This has been the case on all 4 occasions since I have started calling at about 2pm this afternoon. It is getting very wearing now.

Now I'm a bit more awake I have thought if lots of things I'd like to blog about but unfortunately the powers that be at virgin  Remedial do not seem to be able to comprehend the need to provide the services for which I am paying, and so my only way of writing my blog is on my phone via 3G. This is of course not as convenient a way to write and so my literary musings will be limited until they deign to put us back on line. But in the circumstances I thought I would make the effort and get my feelings about useless Broadband providers off my chest. That feels better, so fingers crossed that some degree of service will resume tomorrow. Maybe it just needs a rest.

Sweet dreams are made of these

As expected this weekend has been a funny one.  In total I think I managed about six hours of being awake yesterday and roughly the same today which even when you consider the bonus hour that we were donated by clocks going back is not a lot of time to do anything.  Of course it doesn't matter; I will sleep as much as I need to whilst I am dealing with the consequences of this week's round of toxic battle,  but it does give rise to a strange feeling at the close of the weekend when I would normally look back and assess whether it was a good weekend or not.  In this case, however I think it has been a compacted, but good weekend.

Firstly, after Friday's meeting with the Consultant Oncologist who confirmed the dates for the final cycle of this part of the programme, we have booked our reward holiday.  The turquoise waters and soft white sands will be beneath my feet in exactly 13 weeks time.  Woo hoo! It was all booked and organised by 9am on Saturday morning thanks to the wonders of the internet, and so I have had lots of time since to day dream and think about it.  Secondly, due to the amazing skills of a Pain Specialist Nurse called Sarah, or St Sarah as we shall hereby refer to her, I now seem to have my main levels very much under control.  She sat down with me and reviewed the medication from the GP and whilst what the GP was doing was going in the right direction, it was too conservative and so too slow paced and so was not doing enough to quash the pain. I am amazed at how quickly St Sarah has been able to implement her plan, to the extent that it was reviewed on Friday and will be tweaked a couple of times a week on an ongoing basis to make sure that all pain is eliminated, allowing me to focus on the real task in hand of remaining positive and fighting the bad cells.  It is with great relief therefore that I have been able to spend my awake time (despite its low quantiy) this weekend in a relative degree of comfort which is always a bomus.  As a direct result I have been able to revert back to my old self and have utilised some of my awake time on useful practical things which last week were just too much effort.  I have filed and sorted all of my medical notes and records, I have finally removed the giant carborad box of recycling and general rubbish from the spare room and out it in the relevant bins thus creating a satisfying clear space indoors.  I have researched and ordered a new microwave, after our last one burned out and was removed from our kitchen almost a year ago. This action was also prompted by the fact that we have arranged for the BF, the Vet and their two munchkins to come and stay in a couple of weekend's time prior to the next cycle, and I could not bear to have the BF stomp round the kitchen again complaining about having to sterilise baby bottles in a saucepan rather than a microwave..... how 1980's apparently....

I also researched and found the perfect wardrobe for the spare room to continue the initiative of sorting out the room so it is not just a general dumping ground for clothes.  Well I thought I had found the perfect wardrobe, until I measured the ceiling height and realised it won't fit, but at least I have a good idea now about what kind of thing I am looking for. In addition, there were several loads of washing done, clean sheets put on my bed and a few other things which gave me great satisfaction from being able to tick them off the list. I also enjoyed spending almost an hour on the phone to my university friends as getting to the reunion party this weekend was a stretch too far, but instead we had a pass the phone session between London and Milton Keynes catching up on all their news, and I also caught up with the BF, Little Sis and Bil. In short, I think what I am trying to say, is that without chronic pain, I was able to be more like me again.

The only fly in the ointment really has been that whilst yesterday I did manage to co-ordinate my sleep time with Mr Man being out playing hockey so I could spend some quality awake time with him, today I was only really awake this morning whilst he was having a lie in and since then we have not really had much time when both my eyelids and brain cells, and his were simultaneously open.  Oh well, it is only one weekend, there will be plenty of others, and we also have the Maldives to look forward to, where I am sure we will manage to synchronise sleep patterns.  And on that sweet dream, I am off to bed again.  My eyelids are getting heavy.

So much to say, so little awake time to say it

Today I completed my second cycle of chemotherapy. This means we are now 33.3% or one third of the way through this phase of the treatment which is a very good thing. The port is making life easier at the clinic as I can get plugged in quicker and I also have both hands free for beating my visitors at scrabble, eating my hummus and pitta and using my iPad. It also means that I'm back to being completely zonked out which comes on very unexpectedly and makes my eyelids turn into lead. This tiredness is due to the chemo drugs but also the recent bout of pain I've been suffering which has now been brought under control thankfully, has lead to me missing out on good quality sleep which I'm now able to catch up on.

As a result of this weariness I'm not straying far from home and the comfort of my bed and sofa this weekend, but hopefully will muster up the energy to sit in front of the computer for a bit longer than I'm doing today, as I've thought of lots of things I want to talk about in this blog but currently don't have the energy to do it justice. I hope you'll come back soon to see what I have to talk about, but in the mean time, sweet dreams!

The trouble with the Euro

As a student I lived in Valencia, Spain for one academic year as part of my degree course. First and foremost it must be said that the year did not officially count as part of my degree and it was,therefore, more of a holistic Spanish experience than an academic one. 

It was around this time that the European Union was becoming more prevalent in the news as the single European Currency prior to its lauch from a banking and commerce perspective on 1 January 1999.  It would be a further three years until the paisanos naranjeros would get their hands on any actual notes and coins, but the concept had been signed up to and the process of convincing the Spanish had begun. And from what I saw, they did not need much convincing.

If you have ever been to Valencia, and walked along the elegant tiled promenade which stretches the length of La Malvarossa Beach, you may well have seen the large sign proudly announcing that the promenade and beach improvement scheme, had been paid for by a European Union Grant. When I was there in 1997, the promenade was fairly new, and the work which has been done since has transformed what was previously a poor and run down area of the city into a real destination.  Some of the investment has come from private hands as part of the regeneration for the Americas Cup first held in Valencia in 2007, and also the recently added Valencian Grand Prix, however the rest has been paid for largely out of the EU coffers, or to put it another way, by the British, the Germans and the French.

Even in 1998, I can recall meeting young Spaniards in bars who even after several beers and one too many cheap vodkas were very keen to talk about the marvel of the Eurozone. Roughly translated the general concensus of opinion of my local student counterparts, was that whilst the British poured money into the European pot, the Spaniards were quite happy to take it out and spend it, thank you very much. So the 20 year olds of 1998 are now most likely the ones working for the politicians and bankers we are seeing so much of on the TV, scratching their heads about what went wrong and how to fix it. Well, to be precise the Germans the French and in part the British are scratching their heads, the Spaniards, the Greeks and the Portugese especially are probably keeping shtum at the back, as for the last fifteen years at least they have been reaping the benefits of the European Cash Cow, and were savvy enough to recognise that they were onto a good thing.

It is no secret that I have always been against the Euro.  My initial logic was that it would take part of the fun of going on holiday as you only would need one currency to go to mainland Europe rather than experience a new one for each different country.  Further more, I could not see how you could combine even the currencies of countries so diverse in culture and economic status.  Prior to the Eurozone, Spain was a reletively cheap place to live.  The Spanish had enough money to live off even if they were in the lower socio-economic classes because the cost of living was low.  As an example, in 1998 you could buy a bottle of red wine in a supermarket for 189 pesetas, which at the time translated to about 80p.  It was drinkable (especially the 1996 vintage) and as the number of empty bottles in our kitchen would testify, very popular.  When I returned to Spain in 2002, once the Euro was in people's pockets, I observed that the same bottle of wine, Baron de Turis, Valencia, was on sale in similar supermarkets for the princely sum of 2.40 EUROS. At the prevailing exchange rate of around 1.50 Euros to the pound this would be about £1.60.  Even allowing for inflation over four years and the fact that Spaniards do not convert things into pounds, it is not difficult to see that things got more expensive post Euro.  I have several Spanish friends who have also said the same thing, and this has been a primary cause in some of the countries we hear about in the news being in financial trouble as the normal people are no longer able to live comfortably on their incomes as the prices of everyday things went up once converted into Euros. You can see it most clearly on clothing labels for companies who sell the same products in more than one European country.  Zara is great example of this.  Initially, when there was a price per currency it was clear that when converted into pounds it was cheaper to buy most items in Spain than in France, thus reflecting the cost of living in each place relative to the UK.  Post 2002, there was one Euro Price, but this meant that products being sold in Zara in France were much cheaper in real terms to the French than they were to the Spanish, and give that it is a Spanish country this is a bit of an issue. I have not been into a Zara for a while, but last time I did, I noticed that the prices in Spain had been over stickered with a lower price, presumably to recognise the lower income levels of the local market. Obviously on an individual level it is just a little confusing, but on a larger scale across a multitude of industries this practice would cause major issues in sourcing and exporting of goods, which under the free trading rules of the EU is actively encouraged, and so it it little wonder that the whole thing is a bit of a mess.

Now obviously this is just my opinion and as I am not a politician or economic expert, it will remain just that, an opinion of which many, many others are available.  However I was intrigued last week by an article in the paper about some business man who is so concerned about the future of the Euro and its impact on the world economy that he is offering £250,000 of this own money as a prize to anyone who can come up with a solution to extracate individual countries from the Euro with minimal damage to the overall work economy.  to be honest I think £250k is not enough for this particular quest, but it did get me thinking.  Perhaps if we all could dig out all of those old pesetas, drachma, french francs, deutcsh marks, lira and the like from down the back of the sofa, in old suitcases and boxes in the loft, and we send them back to the countries from which they came, perhaps they could have enough to reintroduce their old currencies and get back to a simpler time when they controlled their own destiny and the cultural differences which should be celebrated in all of these wonderful countries could be matched economically.  Plus, as an added bonus it would make going on holiday that little bit more exciting again.

Pizza-tastic

I haven't left the house today. This was not deliberate or intentional but a consequence of a poor nights sleep last night and feeling a bit groggy after yesterday's hospital antics.  However, this evening I had three very special visitors for the occasion of pizza night, which was a definite bright spot to perk me up. 

The Lovely H, the Yorkshire Pudding and the Irish one made the post work journey to visit me for an evening of delightful conversation and delicious pizza. They managed to remember to bring some office gossip from the very offering worlds of Petcare and baked beans, and the lovely H also brought two bottles of limited edition Movember HP sauce. Very thoughtful.  Barney in particular was very pleased to see them, especially the Lovely H who was always his favourite, and he displayed his affection in the only way he knows how; by lying on his back and expecting tummy tickles. The tart. 

So round two starts tomorrow with another full day of bad cell annihilation.  I have lined up a full visiting schedule for the day to keep me entertained. I have also have downloaded a film and a couple of tv series onto my iPad in preparation so hopefully this will help to pass the time between visitors.  If that is not enough I have scrabble on my iPhone as well as several ongoing games of words with friends which should be plenty of distraction. 

I'm almost looking forward to it.

Assimilation complete

Following on from yesterday's theme I thought I'd provide an update on how the transition to Borg Queen has gone. Overall I think it went well although it would be more reassuring if the wound would stop bleeding through the dressing. I managed to convince the surgeon to locate the port to the side of my upper chest so that in future the scarring is less visible which was a good result. I also successfully negotiated a decent amount of sedative so I really did know nothing about it until right at the end when they were patching me up. In my eyes these were two very big plus points.

Mr Man took the day off and so was there to escort me home and provide the relevant nourishment and cuddles. Furthermore, I was feeling well enough to be able to go with him to the vets as Barney had to have his annual check up and booster vaccinations. Barney objected quite a lot to his kennel cough vaccination which was designed to be squirted up his nostril and so it took three people and some stern words and head holding before the mission was accomplished. But accomplished it was, and Barney's ordeal was over and he was rewarded with a biscuit.

So, quite a big day but now hopefully the chemo from now on should be slightly quicker and easier, and this is good news all round, no matter which galaxy you're from.

Borg me up Scottie

Tomorrow I am going to the hospital to be fitted with a port. The BF cruelly described it as becoming part Borg as this is basically like a plug socket into my veins. This will mean I don't have to have cannulas fitted every time I need an intravenous injection or drip or a blood sample taken. Initially I was very sceptical and more than a little bit squeamish about this concept but after one cycle of chemo and related  tests all involving needles and veins, I think it is for the best. 

Whilst the Borg reference may seem a little unkind, after a bit of thought it is actually quite appropriate. As a teenager I quite liked Star Trek (The next generation era) which I was admittedly first introduced to by an early boyfriend, but continued to like of my own accord long after he ceased to be significant. My favourite character was Data as he had an enquiring mind and a strong sense of logic even when he was learning his emotions. That'll be the Android in him and me probably.

The Borg as I recall were a race who were hell bent on self improvement. They were focused on assimilating their prey and taking on board their knowledge and skills for the benefit of Borgkind. They were a kind of collective controlled and managed by the Borg Queen who lived in the heart of the Delta Quadrant. So I guess that decides which Borg I'm going to be then. 

Anyone familiar with any element of star trek will recall that there was one phrase most commonly used against anyone who came up against the Borg. I'd like to think,therefore, that as I become part Borg to make things easier for me and the nursing staff in my conflict against the invading cancerous forces, the same message applies; Resistance is futile. The Borg Queen has spoken. 

Just like the good old days

I think today I had the most 'normal' Saturday I've had for quite sometime.  My very good friend who we shall refer to as Essex girl came over for the day, we went for lunch and had a manicure. It's a bit odd to describe this behaviour as normal as even under normal circumstances these days we rarely spend the day in this way, but we have in the past spent a very enjoyable Saturday in town, wandering the shops and treating ourselves to a facial or a pedicure, and so the very fact that we spent today in this manner makes me think back to when life in general was normal, if you see what's mean.

Essex girl used to live in Greenwich and so before the arrival of her two offspring, arranging a weekend trip into town was relatively easy. Now, however, she and her lovely husband, CS, have upped sticks and moved to deepest darkest Essex which coupled with the afore mentioned children make the logistics of a day of carefree relaxation more tricky. But, as we have proved today, not impossible.  The lovely CS was left in charge of the children and Essex girl arrived at my house at around 12noon armed with delicious chocolate muffins and flowers. Mr Man was outplaying hockey and so after an energising muffin we headed off for a spot of lunch and a relaxing manicure.  I'd like to say that we hit the Kings Road and a decadent Chelsea spa, but the reality is a little less glamourous; we went to Beckenham, which whilst not as glitzy served its purpose with a nice little cafe and a friendly beauty place that could fit us in for a deluxe hand treatment and nail polish. 

So all in all a lovely day. Essex girl and I talked about lots of things which is good as I tend to find a lot of my conversations these days revolve around he same topics (me, chemo and how other key people in my life are dealing with it) and so it's  always nice to stretch my brain cells a bit and discuss other topics. I got to get out of my local vicinity and a change of scenery is always refreshing, Essex girl had a relaxing day without the children and we both now have beautiful nails (mine a khaki green colour, hers a mink brown hue). CS no doubt had an exhausting day in charge back home in Essex, but he will be rewarded for his toils as Essex girl and I have agreed that it would be ok for CS and Mr Man to go out for a couple of jars together on a Saturday night no less, which Mr Man is already VERY excited about, so everyone is happy. Now we have proved that it can be done with a bit of organisation, I look forward to spending similar days out with Essex girl again soon. Maybe if we try really hard to co-ordinate we can get Essex girl, CS, Mr Man and myself all together for a catch up at the same time. Now that really would be like the good old days.