All great adventures have an unexpected detour at some point

Today has been a hectic day. It started well when I woke up relatively pain free and fairly refreshed this morning. I then had a delightful morning in the company of S and KP who came for tea and cakes in the sunshine. The cupcakes went down well even though I did forget to put vanilla essence in the frosting which made them more like Philadelphia flavoured cakes but if anyone minded they were too polite to say so. We enjoyed the sunshine in the garden and gossiped away until lunch time when we retreated to Cafe Petit Chou for lunch.

In the midst of this morning's reverie however I received a phone call from Dr Beaney, my oncologist. As I have been politely badgering the lovely staff at the Harley Street Clinic to confirm my treatment start date I assumed this was the reason for his call. And it sort of was. He explained that he'd been reviewing my files along with some colleagues and they had changed their minds about the optimum treatment plan. He suggested it would be best if we met face to face to discuss it and he could do next Wednesday. I suggested sooner, and so at 3.30pm this afternoon Mr Man and I were at the Chemotherapy Day centre at the London bridge hospital meeting with Dr Beaney. Once again, if you don't ask you won't get.

Unfortunately to cut a long story a bit shorter, it wasn't great news. The disease is a bit worse than they had initially thought, and do the previous plan of simultaneous radiotherapy and chemo was not going to cut it. Instead I need to have a double dose of chemo first, and then a blast of radiotherapy to finish off the invaders in my body. The side effects will be a bit worse potentially but not unmanageable. Bugger. However, not one to be deterred by such a small detail I again focused on getting the new treatment plan started. After some charming negotiation from Dr Beaney to the staff at Harley Street and some sweet talking from him to the nurses and admin staff at London Bridge to take my blood there and then to get the ball moving we have a concrete plan. It starts at 9am Tuesday morning at the Harley Street Clinic Cancer Centre.

I will have three days of chemotherapy next week, the first is two types of the drugs and the next two days are just one type. I then have a further 18 days to recover and live a normal life before we do it all again. This cycle will repeat 4 to 6 times in total until they are satisfied that all of the periphery disease has been eradicated. Then I will have have radiotherapy to finish it off good and proper. Job done.

After the hospital meeting, Mr Man and I went home and we had a string of visitors this evening. Little sis came for a cupcake and a chat, and later my future brother in law (hereafter known as Bil) came by on his way home from work. G,S and baby A came by to say hello and get some cake, and last but by no means least The Old Goat herself came for an evening of good conversation and curry from the legendary Curry Cabin.

So today's positive thoughts come from a day of mixed blessings; less pain, great friends, successful cupcakes, and best of all when I took a sneaky peek inside the homemade collection box I made to put in donations for MacMillan from all my visitors, I see that there is about £25 in there. Not bad for some cupcakes that tasted of cream cheese.

Harley's Angels

Last week at the Harley Street Clinic Cancer Centre I met a real life Angel.  Her name was Carol and she works for MacMillan Cancer Support.  Ever since this whole debacle began I have been very nervous about speaking to anyone from any support group.  This is not because I don't think I need any support from such people, I know I do, but because I didn't want anyone talking to me in a way which might break my positivity.  Angel Carol, however, clearly knew how to capture my immediate attention;  her opening gambit was "I bet you could do with a relaxing aromatherapy treatment". And I really could.

Carol sat down with me for about ten minutes, brought me a cup of peppermint tea and explained what services the MacMillan Group and Harley Street offered to patients like me as well as to my family and close friends.  They have a library of "infactmation" which is there to answer all the questions I have about the disease, the treatments and the recovery.  There is a team of nurses on hand to answer any questions I may have, as well as provide a smiling face, a listening ear and a cup of something warm and comforting.  In addition  there are qualified counsellors who are available to go through anything and everything with me should I want them to do so.  And then there are some therapists who will provide light relief from the ardours of treatment programmes in the form of aromatherapy, massages, reflexology and reiki.

This is just what MacMillan do at the Harley Street Clinic.  In hospitals across the land similar services are available, as well as nurses for home care, round the clock support on the end of a phone, networks of experts and other people with experiences like mine willing to share their views in the hope it will help someone else and much, much more.

As it happens, tomorrow is MacMillan Cancer Support's Worlds Biggest Coffee Morning. It is a fundraiser to generate awareness of their work as well as much needed funds to support all of the things listed above. The link here http://coffee.macmillan.org.uk will take you to their coffee morning page, or if that doesn't work just type MacMillan Coffee Morning into Google and you will find it.  There are lots of events already organised and so maybe you are already taking part.  I am coming to this a little late, but I plan on spending this afternoon making some cakes so that tomorrow, which is a busy visitor day in East Dulwich, everyone who comes by can have some cake with their beverages, and put some money in a home made collection box for this marvellous cause.

So tomorrow morning at 11am, I ask you to take a break from what you are doing, and with those around you grab a cup of coffee, tea, lemonade or warm milk as you prefer.  Maybe treat yourselves to a biscuit or even a cupcake.  And stick a couple of quid each into an envelope and send it in to MacMillan.  After all, my aromatherapy is not going to pay for itself!!

With friends like these...

Unfortunately, despite sleeping tablets and allegedly strong pain killers, I did not sleep so well last night.  I woke with a pain at 1.15am and could not get back to sleep.  A warm bath, a new hotwater bottle and two chapters of Tony Blair's autobiography and I managed to doze off a little but I was still not refreshed by the time Mr Man left for work in the morning. A couple more strong pain killers later, and another hot water bottle on the spare bed, which always seems more comfortable than it should given it is the spare bed, and I managed a few more hours kip. I was therefore in danger of spending the whole day languishing inside in a pattern of dozing, hot water bottles and co-codamol. Until I received a series of texts from G. The first one said "Fancy a walk to the park? Beautiful day." I rudely ignored her as it was more effort than I could muster to reply.  A few hours later another text arrived inviting me to join her in the park for a picnic lunch.  By now I was able to respond but had to confess to being rubbish and promised to try and drag myself up a little later.  The reply the duly came in "Rubbish?!! You're anything but rubbish!! Will call round about 12.30 and see how you are doing xx" And so I got out of bed.
G is my oldest friend.  We met nearly thrity years ago, on 13 January 1982 in Mrs Thompson's reception class at North Heath Lane Infants School, Horsham. We've been to the same schools (North Heath Lane, Chesworth, Millais and Collyers VI form college), the same university (Nottingham - the real one obviously), and also ended up going to the same place (Valencia) for half of our year abroad in Spain. G then went to Argentina for the second half for some culture and I continued to drink cubatos and sun bathe for the remainder of the year.  She now happens to live two streets away in East Dulwich, and I have long since given up trying to work out who is following who.

Rather fortunately for me G is currently on maternity leave and so is conveniently able to hang out with me during the week during my current predicament. We have started our tour of the cafes of East Dulwich and G has been brilliant at stepping in for Mr Man on the odd occasion that he has been unavailable for medical appointments. In short, I think without her my experience of the past few weeks would have been much tougher. I have had lots of lovely messages from many, many friends over the past week or so, and every single one has meant a great deal in terms of my motivation and positivity, but given the shaky start I had this morning, todays postive thought can only be this; I am very lucky to have such great friends, and especially today, to have G to check up on me and make me go outside to enjoy the sunshine. And she also makes great cup cakes.  Thanks Bud xx

No regrets

Twelve years ago today a group of around thirty keen and eager university graduates became Accountancy Trainees with the very prestigious Arthur Andersen.  Amongst them were Annand, Peacock, Bertelle, Marriott, Lines and Smithies. Our first day was spent being inducted into the ways of the professional working world, and starting our enthusiastic networking with one another and all of the people we met along the way.  It was a very important day in my career, hence every year I remember the date although the afore mentioned ladies always tell me I am weird for remembering such trivia. It was the first day of proper employment, the first day as a young professional, the first day as a proper grown up.  On the second day, I got thrown out of a strip club for snogging.  Oops.

I became an accountant by accident.  I had spent most of my university days doing placements in Marketing and Category Development for a major wines and spirits firm, and in doing so had developed a love for all things consumer orientated, as well as developing a taste for several dubious ready to drink products including the interestingly named, Barking Frog.  I did dissertations on Consumer Behaviour, and revelled in the Shopper Psychology of putting the bakery products at the back of the supermarket but wafting the smell of freshly baked bread around the front door. I was adamant I was going to have a career in marketing and as I had already done all the basics as a student would be able to go straight into a great job and make a flying start to my career.  However, during my year out in Spain, a friend started talking about internships at law firms and training contracts in accountancy.  Had I thought about it?  Which was I applying for? Did I not want a professional qualification as a solid string to my bow to set me up for life? Well I had not really thought about it, and she made it sound so easy, so on returning to the UK that summer I looked up the firm who had the best starting salary rates, applied, was offered a job in the Assurance and Business Advisory Consumer Markets Division before term even got started in October. Easy.  Looking back I'm not sure I even knew what auditing was and quite why any business would want my advice I had no idea, but once I have made up my mind to do something, I am determined and so on 27 September 1999, I started my quest to be come a Chartered Accountant.

I worked for Arthur Andersen, later shortened to just Andersen, for three and a half years. I must have done something right as I was promoted along with everyone else and had the opportunity to travel, work on interesting projects and still had time to socialise.  It was fun.  A bit like being at university but with a little more work and a lot more disposable income. I met some of my best friends at Andersen's and it was through a friend of a friend of a friend at the firm that I met Mr Man.  And then some idiots in America didn't do their jobs properly, shredded some documents and it all went horribly wrong.

Everyone thinks they know about the Enron scandal.  All I know is that thanks to some underhand behaviour involving certain Texan politicians, some corrupt businessmen and some naive auditors in a country far, far away, my beloved firm was disintegrating.  It did not seem fair then, and nor does is seem fair now, especially as in June 2005, the ruling which had condemned the firm to its eventual dissolution was overturned.  The courts in the US had got it wrong.  Despite front page news and seemingly endless coverage across the world in 2002 condemning the firm and all who worked there as cheats and criminals, when the ruling was overturned three years later very little was said on the subject.  The Economist published an article occupying three solitary columns entitled "Not Guilty After all - try telling that to Arthur Andersen".

So where is today's positive thought?  Well firstly, thinking about all of this reminds me that you should never give up.  It wasn't a change of heart that lead to the truth being unveiled and Arthur Andersen being acquitted of any wrong doing - there were people behind that who passionately believed in their organisation and fought hard to clear their names and in doing so the reputations of the rest of us who were inadvertently tarnished, albeit briefly, by the scandal. And secondly, today also marks nine years since I qualified as a Chartered Accountant allowing me to put the letters ACA after my name and join the ICAEW. This means it is only one year to go until I am eligible to join the ranks of Fellowship of the Institute, and have the letters FCA after my name, and what crazy accountant wouldn't want that? And finally, Annand came to stay last week, and is booked in again for the week after next and Peacock and Bertelle are coming to see me on Friday. Perhaps being an accountant isn't so bad after all.

If you don't ask you won't get

For as long as I can remember back into the distant mists of my childhood, my Mum told my sister and I that those who ask, don't get.  This was in the context of us asking for sweets, treats, staying up late, going to play with friends or in otherwords, anything which she did want us to have or do.  As an invariably precocious and difficult child, (I know, you would never guess would you?) I would challenge this and my logic was thus; if you don't ask you won't get because no one will know that you wanted it and assume you are happy without.  If you do ask, then at least you have registered an interest.  My irritating logical persistence, and my utter refusal to be wrong (its genetic, I get it from my Dad, he is NEVER wrong either apparently) did not wash with my Mum, and so whether I did or did not ask, I was never going to get what I wanted.

Luckily, stubborness is also genetic (thanks again Dad) and so I have stuck with my theory and have always found it to bear fruit more often than not.  Afterall, it can't hurt to ask.  So it is with great delight that today I received a phone call from the Harley Street Clinic Cancer Centre confirming that they would be bringing the start date of my treatment programme forward to the beginning of next week, instead of 10 October. And all because I asked.  Well, I say asked.  I petitioned all of the nurses, radiologists and medical people I came across at the centre last Friday, and for good measure hunted down a couple of consultants over the weekend to make my case for sooner rather than later to them as well. And it has paid off.  Although the exact date and time is yet to be confirmed, my very happy thought for today is that if you don't ask, you don't get.  I always knew I was right. : )

Home Sweet Home

I didn’t post anything yesterday.  This was partly because we were travelling back from Glasgow, but mostly as I woke up yesterday morning feeling as if I had drunk my body weight in cheap red wine, and spent the previous entire night dancing on tables and chain smoking cigars.  Obviously I didn’t which makes the whole experience doubly unfair, as I don’t even have the memories (or lack of them in patches) to decide if it was all worthwhile.  I can put the chain smoking cigars bit down to the fact that it seems that everybody in Glasgow smokes.  A quick Google search tells me that there are 24 branches of Wetherspoons in Glasgow.  We saw only a handful then during our trip but our evidence suggests they all have a hardcore following of heavy smokers outside at all times. The one nearest our hotel actually had that tiling that often decorates public lavatories plastered all over it, and was very proud of the fact it opened at 7am.  There was a specially constructed outdoor area overlooking the main road which appeared to be rammed at all times and it was like walking through a smoggy nicotine haze going past it, and a similar experience was available throughout most of the city centre.    As for the thumping headache, dehydration and piercing pain over my eyes, this is harder to explain.  Unless my three bottles of still mineral water were all spiked with an odourless, colourless and tasteless 100% alcohol based substance, then I can only assume hangovers are now contagious.  Mr Man had in fact drunk his body weight in alcohol (beer and mojitos to be precise) and although I am fairly certain he was not dancing on tables (not his style) his incoherent appearance back at the hotel room at about 4.30am would suggest he may have given the impression of waltzing his way back to the hotel from the party a few blocks away, as he certainly would not have been walking in a straight line.

Due to my current predicament, I had slipped away from the party at around 10.30pm so I could have a lie down in peace and avoid having to watch Mr Man and his friends get drunker and drunker, and listen to too much inane broker-banker chat.   Currency option trading stories are rarely funny the first time.  They do not improve on a second, third or even fourth telling, unfortunately, no matter how many mojitos and tequila shots have been added to the mix. You will never hear any of the acts at the Edinburgh festival receive a standing ovation at the end of a two hour set consisting largely of much pointing at any passing female and the cry “500 - yours”.

Anyway, we managed to make it to the airport and onto the plane back to London City despite our fragility, and somewhere over the Midlands I started to feel a bit better, although I am not sure the same could be said for Mr Man. We were home and reunited with Barney puppy who had spent the weekend with one of his other favourite humans by 5.30pm and all was well in the world again. So, from this experience I take the following positive and happy thought; whilst it is great to go away and explore new places, there are other times when there really is no place like home. And yesterday was one of them.

Miracle at Glasgow Airport

This weekend we're in Glasgow as tonight it is the 40th birthday celebration of Mr R, a friend of Mr Man's from work who exchanged high flying city life for a part in the family business last year. So far our trip has been rather pleasant. It's surprisingly sunny and warm which is  a bit of a shame on one hand as when I looked on the BBC weather before we left I was assured it would be 12 degrees and drizzly and so packed accordingly, but obviously a very nice surprise on the other.  

We did get off to a wobbly start though at Glasgow airport where as we were getting into the taxi, Mr Man realised he had left his iPad on the plane. Oh dear. A brisk hike back to now deserted terminal and some flouting of the no re-entry rules back towards the baggage carousels combined with an angel of an air hostess, lead to a miracle occurrence and he got it back. Mr Grumpy averted. Phew....

Highs and lows (part 2)

I am writing this post from the comfort of Starbucks on the Euston Road opposite Mr Man's office. I have just practically wolfed down a cheese and marmite panini and a skinny blueberry muffin and am sipping my green tea while it cools down. This is a great break through from earlier on today when I couldn't eat, was doubled up in pain and could not even contemplate leaving the house. So there is one positive thing already.

I am also now in a great mood. Almost euphoric. I'm sure my fellow starbuckers are giving me some very odd looks as I sit here grinning, giggling to myself as I jot a few thoughts down in my happy thoughts book, with bruises befitting a long term heroin addict on one arm and a large swab held on by tape on the other. But I don't care. I have three blue dot tattoos on my abdomen, a neat little folder of notes and FAQ's about radiotherapy in my bag, and most importantly, I have a plan.

Admittedly my perfectionist nature is shining through and I'm already trying to improve the plan by bringing the start date forward (I've done enough waiting recently and don't intend to do any more) but I have a cunning plan for that. So as it stands I have 28 dates with radiation booked in. The chemo will be added on top of that in the next week. I also have been marked ready for the treatment so am good to go. There is another positive thing.

And the other reason for my bizarre perkiness this Friday afternoon? Well, in a very weird co-incidence, my canula for the CT scan I had to have was put in by Mr Sanj Bassi,a very experienced and expensive neurosurgeon who happens to be the same chap who fixed my spine last year and left nothing but a very neat and perfectly healed now almost invisible scar behind. What he was doing there and why he ended up coming in to help with the canula is largely irrelevant. I'm not really sure why, but it made an otherwise unpleasant snd stressful experience, almost jovial. And it just goes to show that you should never underestimate the importance of a friendly face.

To appreciate the highs you have to experience the lows

Today is, so far, not a good day.  Despite sticking rigidly to the regime of medications the pain in my lower abdomen just won't go away.  There are only so many warm baths you can have before you turn into a prune.  I may well be hungry, but eating is priving difficult, and my other previously sure fire winner on reducing discomfort, light exercise, is not an option in case as I don't fancy being picked up off the floor by one of the gym attendants and having to explain myself. I am hoping though that the discomfort is linked to nerves, as today I am going to the Harley Street Cancer Clinic to start the preparations for Radiotherapy and Chemotherapy.

So, todays silver lining is that at least I am going to be seeing some expert oncologists later on and can explain how I am feeling and perhaps they can shed some light on the intricacies of what is going on inside. Please send positive vibes and have everything crossed for me at 2pm.  Ta!

You can't beat a good list

I love a list. At work I have weekly to do lists which have invariably added more things on than get crossed off by the time Friday comes along.  At home I have lists of home improvements we should make, holidays and trips we are planning, and then closer to the departure date lists of what to take and what we will do when we are away.  I have lists for Christmas shopping  (although these will not be permitted until mid October) and any dinner party or celebratory occasion with have associated lists of menus, guests and timings.  Our wedding not only had a list, but its own fully integrated spreadsheet with hyperlinks, conditional colour formatting and a self calculating budget tracking tool.  Mr Man was only allowed read-only access however. Often very minor lists will just warrant a blank piece of paper and neat handwriting, or maybe a new page in an "everyday" note book, but some lists are worthy of a beautiful new piece of stationery just for that purpose.  I have been known to pre-emptively buy such notebooks for when a deserving list or collection of lists (which often become known as projects) may present itself.





So, it should come as no surprise that my latest "project" should have a book all of its own. Luckily I had the perfect piece of stationery already waiting in my desk drawer, and coupled with my very special pack of coloured gel ink rollerball pens and trusty colouring pencils (maybe a career change is on the cards after all?) it makes the perfect place to collect my necessary lists, silver linings and happy thoughts in glorious technicolour. It also fits perfectly into my handbag, and its hardback cover will be durable as I am sure it will do a lot of travelling over the next few months. Perfect!

So far there are some positive affirmations in my Happy Thoughts book, and little things that I use to perk me up whenever I need a little boost.  My newest list however, is my ever growing list of Project Team Members.  Currently covering two pages and in a lovely shade of green, it includes the names of the 72 people who have so far responded to this blog, either by following it, posting a comment, or (as in most cases) when technology is not on their side, have emailed, texted, facebooked or twittered me to pledge their support and send their love. I cannot promise that I will be able to reply to every message personally or quickly as time goes on, but I do promise that everyone who takes the time to communicate with me, even if just to say hello, will be added to the very auspicious Team Members list in my neatest handwriting.  I still need to think of a suitable project name, so all suggestions gratefully received.  You never know, you might win a highly coveted Silver Lined Badge.

I Love East Dulwich

One of the upsides of spending a lot of time at home rather than having to go to work everyday is that I have had the opportunity to see a different side to my local area.  We have a thriving independent shopping scene here, with lots of little unique shops, cafes, pubs, bars and restaurants.  There was uproar when Cafe Nero deigned to open its doors on Lordship Lane, as it was a representation of "the big chains", and I am proud to say that I have not to this day been a customer in that establishment, preferring to frequent Cafe Petit Chou, Green & Blue or Homemade for a beverage and piece of cake. At weekends, there is a hectic and rushed air to Lordship Lane and Northcross Road.  The queue for the local butchers stretches almost twenty metres back past the bus stop on some Saturday mornings (although often this is comprised of just ten or twelve people who just happen to be queuing with their giant buggies and hoards of offspring in tow), whilst the fishmongers and deli are also bustling all day long at weekends.  Pop along to pick up some Farmhouse sausages, half a dozen scallops and a slice of delicious chocolate brownie on a Tuesday afternoon however and it is a very different story; I am able to browse in the butchers and have a conversation with them about how best to cook the chosen cut of meat for dinner without any tutting or huffing from the queue behind me.  I can chuckle with the fishmonger about the best type of fish to serve to my friend who is coming for dinner and has announced she is only eating protein as she is following the Dukan diet, and I am served promptly but calmly in any shop or cafe by staff who look like they are enjoying their days and are genuinely pleased to be helping you.  It is a different world in the week. The pace is more relaxed, the people are friendlier and it really is an even lovelier place to live than even I thought it was.

I now see my neighbours more and am on "Hello, how are you?" terms with lots of them whereas before it was merely a nod of recognition at best. (For London living this is quite a big deal although I understand that in the 'burbs or the countryside most people do speak to and even become friends with their neighbours... I'm not sure that is going to catch on round here just yet!).  During the recent London Riots, in which it was rumoured that East Dulwich was going to be targeted (we weren't really, it was just some opportunist kids) I was part of the community who condemned the violence from our front doorsteps and cheered the locals who barricaded the afore mentioned opportunist kids into Londis until the police arrived and arrested them. Brilliant.

This morning, G and I went for a walk up to Dulwich Library.  After a Cappucino and Green Tea respectively at Tea &more, we went into the very handsome building which has served as a library since 1897. I am slightly ashamed to reveal that I had never set foot in Dulwich Library before today, despite having lived here for over six years, but it was like stepping back in time to the libraries of my youth only better.  As well as books you can borrow journals, DVDs, CDs, use the internet and WIFI and I am sure much, much more.  I was able to join quite painlessly, and so have now added another local amusement to my repertoire which I can honestly say I would probably never have done had I not been confined to the locality involuntarily.

When we first moved here, so many people were a bit confused as to why we did not want to live in Clapham, Fulham, Balham, Islington, or to put it another way anywhere with a tube station. At the time, we thought we were onto a good thing as not only were the house prices cheaper than anywhere on the tube, but it also had a thriving high street, great facilities, lots of green spaces and happily a dearth of those people who just HAVE to live near a tube station.  My happy thought for the day is that now I am discovering how much luckier I am to live here than even I realised; I am part of the weekday community and I am discovering things I had never been able to experience before, all of which is helping me get through each day and take my mind off everything else which is going on in my world.  A very practical silver lining indeed.

It's the little things that count

I am very house proud.  Sometimes you wouldn't instantly know this from stepping inside the front door, but in my world I aspire to the view that there is a place for everything, and everything has it's place. Implementation and Aspiration however are not always found together! Anyway, the one area of my home where I like everything to be neat and tidy at all times, is the front of the house. It is a bit like start as you mean to go on. We have recently had the front path tiled with those lovely black and white Victorian tiles, and the bay trees with twinkling fairy lights, blooming window boxes and neat and tidy bike shed to prevent Mr Man from inadvertently getting a telling off for scuffing his bike on the walls in the hallway, make at least the outside of our home look very pretty and welcoming.  Some might say kerb appeal, or a good first impression. I would call it common sense.

So, bearing all of this in mind, it should come as no surprise that one thing that is a sure fire dampener on my day is coming home to find the previously neat and tidy bins and stacked recycling boxes and lids, strewn across the front path and front yard. 

I am fairly sure that perhaps Racing Car Driver, Ballerina or Footballer beat dustman/woman (or whatever the politically correct term is nowadays) hands down on most children's "What I want to be when I grow up" list, but to my mind of being positive and looking on the bright side a bit of pride in your work, regardless of occupation, is a prerequisite. I recognise that not everyone in the world is lucky enough to enjoy their jobs all of the time, but given that on average we spend more time at work than we do with our friends and family you'd think that we would all put a bit more effort into making the best of it, and doing a good job. And if I were a refuse collector, waste recycling officer or surplus household goods manager I'd imagine that not irritating the hell out of my customers was a measure of my performance. Or maybe not.

So how is this one sided view of the merits of taking pride in your performance, a positive thought for the day?  Well today I was delighted to find that our new large wheelie recycling bin, which is the same shape and size as the wheelie dustbin, has been delivered by Southwark council. This single unit is to replace the previous collection of four different recycling containers and so as well as no longer having to separate and sort out glass, plastic, tins, paper and card, there is now only one blue bin to find discarded on the path blocking my front door rather than the previous four. This is a very positive thing in my world as it means that the front of my house will be easier to keep ship shape, leaving me more time to focus on everything inside.  As I said in the title, it really is the little things that can make all the difference.

Weigh day Monday

I've been having an on and off battle with the bulge for the best part of the last 20 years. Much of this stems from the fact I enjoy food, but there is also an element of childhood conditioning which has been difficult to break.

An audit junior I once worked with made a great observation during a client visit in Amsterdam. "Eating is one of life's great pleasures".  Unfortunatley he then went on to say that he loved the fact that British girls were not afraid to enjoy food, unlike his then Argentinian girlfriend who was "too skinny".  The inference was not lost on me, and his sly words were repaid with a less than glowing post audit evaluation of his performance. Idiot.

When I was growing up, money was tight as my thrifty Northern born and bred parents made the move to the expensive South due to my Dad's job. As a result every penny spent on food was precious and waste was not tolerated.  You finished everything on your plate regardless, and besides this if you didn't eat the best bits immediately, they were in danger of being nicked by my Dad!

Anyway, all of this edible contemplation leads me nicely onto the fact that for the past few months I have really lost my appetite. This has resulted in some wasted food, I am sorry to say (although not that much as Mr Man has been happy to help me out on many occasions, to the extent that he now evaluates my plate when deciding how much to put on his own plate to begin with!) This coupled with the fact I am not able to enjoy alcohol at the moment even if I wanted to, makes me a very cheap but quite boring date. However, on the plus side I have almost effortlessly lost just over 2 stones in weight since May. Woo hoo! Whilst this is a lot more drastic than weight watchers or slimming world, it is a lot less stressful than either of those regimes. When I look in the mirror in the morning I don't see an unwell person, I see a thinner one, and this is a constant source of joy. When I am fully recovered Mr Man and I will be going on a much deserved holiday, and I know that I will be much more confident in a bikini than I have been for years. And as I am shrinking, it means that my clothes appear to be growing which means that I will need to invest in a whole new wardrobe, which in itself is a very exciting prospect.

Happy Monday everyone!

Sunday's happy thought

I am very lucky as I get to see this very handsome and clever pup every day.

There is nothing that can't be made better with a cuddle from Barney Trubble, and that is my happy thought for today.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life

I am brand new to blogging, and have been pleasantly surprised this morning about how easy it has been to set up.  I am not sure how it compares to other blogs which I believe are out there in the blogasphere but I am sure I will improve as I go along, so please bear with me.

So, it has been quite a week for me. I should probably start with a potted history of the last few months which have lead up to this point, to make this easier to follow, but I will keep it brief as a lot of it has been quite boring and quite grim.  So here goes...

... A routine procedure to deal with abdominal pain associated with being a girl discovered some abnormal cells in the lining of my abdomnen. Six consultant specialists, four general anaesthetics, two sedations, seven telescopic cameras, two MRI scans, a CT and a PET CT scan, many ultrasounds and lots of appointments and invasive examinations later, I have been diagnosed with Cancer of the Cervix, the rarer kind known as Adenocarcinoma, (which is the kind not always picked up on smear tests in case you were wondering). I got this news late on Thursday evening, and yesterday I met with two Oncolological experts who outlined the treatment plan for me and allowed me to have a good nights sleep - the first in a little while.

My husband, who shall be known on this blog as Mr Man, has been away on business for a few days this week which would not have been a problem if the pathology lab's usual time frames had been met, but on this occasion the results came in early so he was not here to come with me on yesterdays fact finding mission into the scarily brilliant world of oncology. So, instead I was luckily able to call on my calm and supportive friend of nearly 30 years, G, who came with me, listened attentively, asked lots of intelligent questions and above all talked to me pretty constantly about lots of diverse things so I could not think too much about what was going on. Mr Man was there when I got home armed with hugs and the requested Thai Green Curry, and so I ended the day with the answers I have been waiting so long to find, and a yummy dinner.

Since this blog is labelled with looking for the silver linings amongst life's many clouds, I shall finish with this thought. My cancer is at stage 2, which means it has spread a little but not onto anything critical, so it is treatable with chemotherapy, radiotherapy and a lot of happy thoughts.  The side effects of the treatment should be manageable and we can start with the preparations for the 8 week programme next week, so there is no more waiting. Compared to where I was before, when I knew I had some kind of malignancy but did not know what, I can now put plans in place to move forward, and that has got to be a silver lining worth smiling about.