163. Oh dear

Love this album sleeve, spotted in one of Den’s regular emails. A couple of years ago, I’d have had everything laid out to turn it into an embroidery. Shame the band is called Custard Flux! Am I getting old? Well yes, apparently so (see below).

On Friday, I ventured (by car of course) to the parade of shops up Breary Lane, my sole intention being to pick up some prescriptions. The first depressing thing was that I could barely get the two bags into my copious boho handbag - my bottom drawer has overflown with drugs now. The next depressing thing was my conversation with the pharmacist, which I’ll save for later. Talk about chasing wild geese! The next depressing thing was that someone way older than me offered to leap ahead of me to open the shop door (I was only carrying a handbag!). I usually hold doors open for people.

Then I braced myself against the rain and headed four shops down to Lily’s, to admire her potted containers and select some very overpriced but incredibly delightful old roses. I got diverted by ranunculus and anemones outside. It’s unusual to see ranunculus anywhere, let alone packed in classy brown paper outside a florist’s. However, the buds were an unusual shade of mud so I moved my attention to the purple and white anemones. Interesting because, had I known they’d open to this colour, I’d have bought them in a shot. Armed with a small container and a bunch of anemones, I headed for the door.

“Let me do that,” and a sprightly younger woman hared for the door to open it for me. Bramhope isn't noted for its courtesy (usually we’re effing and blinding as we fight for the only parking space) so I was surprised but I thanked her. I plonked the purchases on the counter, had a friendly chat with the florist, declined the offer of a bag and hauled my trusty M&S carrier from the depths of my handbag; then I forgot to pay for the stuff! Maybe that sealed the perception of me as Old Lady? When I turned to leave, the florist shot round the counter and had the door open for me. Maybe that sleek black parka that looked so cool on the Jigsaw model doesn’t suit me. Maybe it concealed the skinny jeans tucked into stylish (but comfortable) boots. Maybe it was the slight hint of a black eye (I got attacked by my kindle when I fell asleep reading the other night). Maybe my body was hunched with the aches and exhaustion I was feeling from these simple exertions. By the time I got to the car, my ego was deflated. I am officially Old.

Of course I returned to a battle for my parking space.

One indecisive woman stopped right behind me. She realised the stupidity of that so moved on a bit. I don’t know if she realised the stupidity of that because, for me to move off, somehow I had to get past her but, by this time, another car had halted, waiting for me to reverse and this one had a queue behind her. Nobody hooted but I can imagine the language. I imagine the first woman was spitting nails because she roared off, only to pull into the access road I needed to turn round in. Oh, we were on a roll. So now it was my turn to pull over and cause tailbacks. Instead I drove up on the kerb, doing unknown damage to my suspension, and just waited for everyone to sort themselves out. Such excitement in Bramhope. There are so many SUVs that parking for 8 is down to parking for 5

and it was Friday afternoon, time for the weekly manicure or cut-and-blow-dry, ready for a night out. There are four units taken up with rival hairdressers and beauticians. Plus a pharmacy and a florist. No wonder it’s busy.

Btw, those of you who know me know I’d never have given these cartoons the time of day, except to whip off a letter of complaint - but there’s something about women drivers in Bramhope that’s making me particularly sexist. Young women in SUVs so big they have to look under the wheel. Aaarrgh!

Back to the pharmacist. I’d decided to ask her to do some research for me into anastrozole. It doesn’t make sense that, after two weeks without it, my side effects are actually getting worse. She agreed with me (we don’t agree abut different brands, despite the nurses saying they have many patients who’ve benefitted from a change of brand) but she agreed the symptoms shouldn’t be getting worse She calculated it would need 7 days to clear the anastrozole half-life from my system. Her conclusion was that something else must be causing the pain. It turned out she worked in oncology for several years so we went through what chemo I’d had (Dr D would have been having kittens at the idea that her precious chemo could cause this so many months down the line but the pharmacist claimed it wasn't unusual) so we went through the E, the C and the paclitaxel and she found nothing in her pharmaceutical bible. Then I had a revelation.

“What about Zometa?” She looked blank. Zoledronate, zoledronic acid. She was on firmer ground. While she searched, I thought back. My symptoms started just over three months after I started anastrozole. I changed brand. Ergo the change of brand caused the effects. I completely overlooked the fact that I’d just had my second zolendronate treatment in July. Then the symptoms have got markedly worse in the past 3-4 weeks. Five weeks ago, I had my third treatment. Yes, the pharmacist announced: zoledronic acid does cause bone and joint pain (I really feel like I have pretty bad arthritis now and my fingers need constant movement or I get painful trigger fingers and have no grip).

So now I have a dilemma. I don’t see Dr D till June, just before my 4th treatment. My GP doesn't want to know about chemo effects - that’s the hospital’s business. See a different GP? Make my GP take responsibility for treating me, cos the hospital sure as hell won’t. There’s state-of-the-art provision for everything except side effects, as far as I can tell. Do I ride it out? I should be doing weight-bearing exercise to strengthen my bones, not curling up in a ball of misery and then regretting it because it takes me 10 minutes to uncurl!