282. To quote Philomena Cunk….

Britain is "standing at the fork in its crossroads"…

Think about it. If you haven’t seen the inimitable Philomena pontificating on “The United Britain of Great Kingdom’s” history, or human evolution, you’ve missed a treat. Try it on BBC iPlayer. She’s as daft as a brush, thanks to Charlie Brooker’s brilliant scripts - and some very smart or very stupid academics who she runs rings round.

The point is, that one phrase, standing at the fork in a crossroads, has resonated with me. That’s where I am. OK, lots of forks at the crossroads and no idea in which direction they’ll take me. And this bit’s not funny.

On the good side, I have another week off. I’d have come away skipping if I’d had the energy. But that’s the whole point - I don’t. So I have a week to see if the combination of capecitabine and rivaroxaban (the anticoagulant) is causing such fatigue that at times I’m gasping for breath, despite my lungs being healthy. I just feel so useless and, to some extent, ashamed of how “weak” I am, even though I know that’s unreasonable and not very fair on myself.

Alan and Kay came round last week - Alan power-washed the front paving, which Den never has time for, and Kay set about removing the grass and weeds from our wild front bed. Dennis weeded around the front and me - I sat and read in the back garden. The crazy thing is that Kay is 8 years older than me and Alan a year older than D so they are both in their late 70s - with the energy of people a fraction their age. It’s not right and it’s not fair. I know life’s not meant to be fair but Dennis shouldn’t be so tied up with washing and ironing and vacuuming and cleaning windows, let alone ‘cooking’ - but he is. And I do sweet FA. I did manage to make sandwiches but I couldn’t lift the kettle to make drinks! Pathetic.

So fingers crossed please that things let up this week and maybe the consultant can find the right way forward. I actually saw one of the boy registrars, a lovely young man called Dr D, but he had to consult Dr O, as he’s so new to all this, so I might as well have seen her from the start. The problem is my cough, which I forgot to mention to them, and that breathing. It’s how I imagine an asthmatic might feel before an attack comes on! I suspect it’s fatigue but I’m having every blood test possible. It took the phlebotomist SIX attempts (they are only really allowed two in one spot but she sneaked a few extras and eventually got blood out of my hand. I was covered in wads of cotton wool and criss-crossed micropore so I looked like the walking wounded. Of course I was wearing short sleeves but I daren’t remove them as I was still bleeding, thanks to the blood-thinner!

Thanks to Boston Globe!

It didn’t help that I’d managed at long last to get my Spring Booster, forgetting I’m meant to have it on the week off. It has been such a palaver, with the GP practice saying their clinics were targeting the over 75s and I’d be contacted when it was my turn. Wtf? Yet again, overlooking the fact that I am CEV and am prioritised. Anyway, Kay’s daughter pulled some strings and got us appointments at the next clinic - and we got done and then I was soooo ill.. It took 3 days to get my temperature out of the amber zone (it only hit red twice and I know I should have contacted the oncology unit but someone  in the support group felt the same and the advice was paracetamol. Hmmm). Now of course, I have no idea what immunity I have as the chemo had a good go at those invading antibodies and probably killed most of them off. 

Now I’m off to watch the Chelsea Flower Show. It’s a bit like me in Physics lessons - I could admire what I saw but could put nothing into practice!! Just look at this beauty. The garden itself won gold. It was absolute perfection. My dream garden.