258. First the good news

Great news. My kidney has been restored, my lung nodule had disappeared (so you can have infection/inflammation and be oblivious to it) and everything from my thorax to my abdomen remains the same. My blood marker has risen to 18.7 so that’s all stable, and my tumour markers have risen to 7, still within safe limits. My other blood results, way beyond my comprehension, are good. 

The bad news: I have to have another MRI to compare my tumour with September. I also have gained a new skin met and some of the others are hardening again - during chemo. It may mean I have to change my chemotherapy but I’ll wait for the MRI results first. Maybe the eye changes are to do with reacting to the tumour, not more cancer.

I also had my 4th vaccination, my booster. My GP practice of course couldn’t accommodate me as I need it at a specific time, ideally halfway through my week off. They advised me to try the Elland Road Hub. Well, I remembered the day and a half of not getting through but I tried again and got straight through, She was really good, understood my problem, looked up my records and said my immunity ‘ended’ Thursday so would I like an appointment Friday???? I was gobsmacked. I had clinic and bloods to do but she suggested 2.35 and Lisa yet again drove me. I was fine driving to the hospital but the thought of the Armley gyratory left me quivering in horror. It is close to where I worked so I needed to use it a lot and I’d say 50% of the time I found myself heading back to town or stuck on the motorway because I got in the wrong lane. No way was I up to driving there. I was gripping my wrist with Lisa driving - too many lorries and big vans either side of us!

When we got there, Lisa asked if she could park on the road, close to the entrance, as I was having chemotherapy. Well, I was treated like royalty (or a poor frail woman) after that. I registered, moved on to the next bay for a medical person to do my preliminary check, a steward brought forward a chair so someone must have rung through! I was told I was having Moderna this time so there was much less likelihood of a repeat of the mild flu-y symptoms last time. Then I moved on, was injected and told that, as I wasn’t driving I needn’t wait. The great thing was seeing so many children there, mostly high school, waiting after they’d been vaccinated. I could imagine school saying you can have last period off if you pop into the vaccination centre on the way home! AND Lisa was waiting right outside.

I felt fine after that. The irony was that, within an hour, my GP practice rang to say Dr L had given the go-ahead for them to offer me the vaccine at my convenience (not had a reply to my complaint yet but maybe it’s had an effect?) Then maybe 11.30, my skin began to crawl so I decided I’d get to bed and try to sleep through it. I woke half an hour later with rigor. Fortunately I recognised it from when I was admitted with neutropoenic sepsis in 2019 so I didn’t make the mistake of thinking it was a weird panic attack. I used the relaxation technique from Progressive Hypnosis and managed to stop the violent shakes after an hour or so but the inner shakes took longer. My Fitbit showed I was asleep but actually I was just mentally relaxed as I fought the shakes. Then I started hallucinating. It was totally surreal. I didn’t know if I was awake or asleep and couldn’t move. I stayed like that till 7am, after which, with a glimmer of daylight, it felt safe to sleep. What a night. I can safely say I have never felt so ill. I’ve been worse, as in 2019, but then I didn’t feel ill, I just was ill.

When I woke I was utterly exhausted but felt that ‘crisis’ had passed. Anne popped by in the afternoon so I had a chat with her, door open and safely distanced and I was able to give her her Christmas present at last. I’m still in bed, obviously a lot better, no repetition of the rigors. The oncology nurse rang me this morning to check I was ok and seems happy enough so I think that’s over now - and better than catching covid.

And that’s my life - a catalogue of medical stuff. I need some more people. But I have two more weeks before I can unleash myself on the outside world - and I don't know all the rules because they’ve never applied to me.

257. New Year - where’s the Happy?

You may remember my early determination not to resort to a pity party. Well, I failed miserably.

We went to Kevin and Carol’s on Christmas Eve, which we’ve always done but missed last year. D did his first Lateral Flow Test!! Chocolate gateau and tea/coffee with a good chat felt almost normal, apart from my having to wear my mask when not eating. Carol gave me some beautiful antique roses which are still thriving. I sometimes think they do best when neglected!

Someone knows me well!

Christmas Day was beyond awful. A lot of those thoughts I kept boxed away safely crept out. Underlying it all was the dreadful thought - what if this was my last Christmas? It was going to be pretty crap anyway - Dennis had obviously decided that the monthly bouquet (which I had to organise) was enough so he presented me with a drawing of my favourite Banksy picture (no message) and added sprouts to our usual Sunday roast! I don’t know why I ever hope for more. Anyway, once the thought had escaped - this could be my last Christmas - I got this weird idea that if I didn’t acknowledge it, then it wouldn’t be Christmas and couldn’t be my last. Confused? I was. The result was I didn’t open a single present and didn’t switch on the mini-tree. The Christmas cards were up but that was it. Christmas didn’t happen.

I can honestly say it was one of the unhappiest days I’ve had. I was in a mire of misery. Fortunately, it felt safe to open my presents on Boxing Day and I got some lovely, thoughtful gifts, including a heated button up shawl to wear, along with my cosy blankets, in The Shed. All I need is one of those Victorian footwarmers and I think that’s every inch apart from my nose covered!

Bank Holiday Monday, I was scheduled for my CT scan. So much for the 13-week waiting list Radiology declared they faced and so much for not needing a scan this quarter. My appointment was 5.30 and Lisa was able to take me. That was a good job as everyone else was still away or sozzled by Christmas spirits. I got a phone call at 9.30 asking if I could go in earlier as my file says Difficult to Cannulate. Will I ever lose that reputation?? Earlier meant as soon as I could manage in the morning! I dragged Lisa out of her lie in, had a quick shower and we were there by 11.15. By 11.30, I was cannulated on the first attempt SO THERE! I am NOT DIFFICULT. The CT scan was fine though I’m never prepared for that surreal rush you experience when they inject the contrast dye. In this case, because I couldn’t understand a word the radiologist was saying, it was so distorted from their safe distance. Anyway, I get the results on Friday - and I told him to make sure I had two kidneys. Actually, the nurse who cannulated me checked and their record has been amended. Odd that Oncology is left with the original but with a neat line through the word ‘kidney’.

My first bouquet arrived on the 30th so D is partly forgiven. OK, I chose it but it is stunning. The 30th would have been Mum’s 94th birthday so it felt kind of special. Then came New Year’s Eve and at 3pm, straight after lunch, I was struck by capecitabine tummy - cramps and more cramps. Without exaggeration, I spent three blessed hours on and off the loo, and spent the rest of the time in a miserable ball of pain. The problem is, it would be easy to take loperamide to stop the diarrhoea or Buscopan to stop the cramping but it’s only delaying the inevitable. New Year’s Day wasn’t much better - it hit as soon as I’d taken my evening tablets. I’m embarrassed to confess I watched Taskmaster from the en suite loo. Oh, is nothing sacred once you get cancer??

I was also upset by what a friend posted in our small WhatsApp group: “Well ladies, it’s cheerio to 2021, it brought challenges but we’ve all had a lot to be happy about. Here’s to 2022…” Excuse me? A lot to be happy about? I really thought hard about that one and the only thing I can think of that she would think I could be happy about would be the good response to chemo. But I’d have been a lot happier if I didn’t get the diagnosis, if I didn’t suffer from the side effects and if I didn’t know it can stop working at any moment. I know her. I know she meant well and probably meant it to be encouraging but it didn’t work. I was angry and disbelieving at first. Now I just feel sidelined.

So now we wait for Friday. It’s bad timing because it means I can’t go to the support group this month. I’m not expecting anything different as the CT scan doesn’t show skin mets but I’m not happy with how they are doing. They don’t seem to be reducing in size, 12 cycles of chemo regardless. I’ll need to ask Dr U. I also need to ask for a referral for some emotional support. It feels too soon for a hospice referral but that appears to be the route and it will mean I can get therapeutic treatments like acupuncture and reflexology and join art groups etc. Am I ready for contact with my ultimate destination? I’m not sure how D would handle that. 

256. Human Pin Cushion

Sad to say but my veins are beginning to protest loudly at what they consider gross mistreatment. My favourite phlebotomist failed three times to get blood. Of course, that may be my body saying ‘Nope. I need all I can get’ cos I am sadly short of the necessary blood cells and vampiric urges sweep through me occasionally. You’d think they’d offer a simple blood transfusion but I’m not down to the qualifying level yet. I have to say it’s a weird feeling looking down at a needle inserted right to the hilt and not a drop of blood appearing. Of course, as soon as she removed the needle, blood started pouring down my arm! Anyway, the phlebotomist was about to call for the Big Man, the head honcho who never fails (huh) , but decided to go back into the first site et voilà, blood. Enough to fill two vials and provide the required data a day earlier than advised. I’m past caring on that one. I did NOT want to go back the next day and the chances of getting bloods done locally is zilch.

All is well. My blood markers are at 19 and my tumour marker is at 6 still. When I said I wanted that figure to drop, Dr U said he didn’t and he showed me the critical figures that put you into their red zone and it was anything below and including 5. I can’t say I understand it but it’s good enough for me if it’s good enough for him. I am, as they say in one of the F/B groups, Stable Mabel. 

The 13-week waiting list for CT scans was nonsense. I’m booked for my scan on Bank Holiday Monday at 5.30. Merry Christmas everyone! Apart from identifying that lost kidney and (let’s hope not) finding more suspicious areas inside, the scan seems pretty pointless as it’s not designed to pick up the areas where my cancer has so far settled. An MRI shows the tumour and I had one in September so it will be several months before I’m offered another (unless those markers start rising).

On the down side, having had a pretty miserable two weeks bowel-wise (my English is deteriorating!), I asked about my side effects and he said this was pretty much it after 11 cycles. I’m stuck with what I’ve got. That means

• Unpredictable bowels and hours spent sitting on the loo, often in the early hours of the morning when I keep my eyes closed as much as possible, in the vain hope I won’t fully wake up.
• Insomnia. I feel sleepy at 10 or 11pm then I am wide awake till 2 or 3. My kindle and the continued struggle to read Queen Lucia to the end (3 weeks now?) is helping me fall asleep.
• Unpredictable fatigue, meaning days when I just can’t find the energy to get out of bed and…
• Being able to walk very short distances and getting rather breathless, which I can tell you is not much fun when you’re wearing a mask.
• Sore toes and numb fingers, not much use to anyone.
• Self-pity.

So, great news on the cancer front, less great news on the body front. We’ve been invited to our friends’ house Christmas Eve and I’ve been invited to lunch at Cookridge Hall on Wednesday but I don’t know if I want to take those risks. The guidance is pretty vague this time. I’d rather be instructed to shield till I get my booster in a few weeks as it’s due on 14 January (if they go by calendar months) or earlier if they mean 12 weeks. Who knows? I think with that booster, I’ll feel more confident but it’s all too uncertain for me. I don’t want to break free and then find myself on a ventilator (how will I take my chemo???). Maybe it’s best to stay semi-shielded? 

Anyway, I’m off to wrap the few presents I have bought and sort out delivery. I’m sadly lacking in Christmas spirit. Even my little tree has yet to be decorated but, this year, not a needle has fallen - YET.

My beautiful Christmas bouquet

255. Big Wide World

 This cycle so far has been remarkable. It’s day 7 and I still feel FINE. My mouth goes a bit funny as the day progresses but that was happening before I started this chemo, and of course everything is dictated by the bowel issue. Yesterday I slept and slept, so much so that I woke this morning believing it was Sunday. However, I’ve been mobile, I’ve socialised and generally been almost normal. I do suspect part of the problem is I don’t push myself at all. If I’m tired, I just don’t get dressed. That consigns me to yet another day of reading (if I’m lucky), puzzles from the newspaper, tv and internet. Hardly a healthy lifestyle.

Last week, despite being on the chemo, I drove myself to various situations I’ve not been in for so long. I’ve almost forgotten how to be me.

Monday: Cookridge Hall, met Carol for a coffee after her swim. I know I planned to renew my membership this month but, right now, I couldn’t walk down to the pool without feeling exhausted. I’d probably sink!

Wednesday, Book Group, discussing one of the worst books I’ve ever read - Queen Lucia by E.F?Benson. I hadn’t read more than a third. The group was divided between those who gave up, those who raved about it and have either read or plan to read the whole Mapp and Lucia series, and those whose reaction was lukewarm. It was good to be back among people. Obviously because cake was involved, few were wearing masks and we weren’t socially distanced but the window was open, two others in the group have cancer as well (????) and obviously felt it was safe so I relaxed, removed my mask for tea and cake and for expressing an (uninformed) opinion. 

Friday I attended a support group at Maggie’s, run by Breast Cancer Now and facilitated by a trained therapist. I think there were about 14 there and there was a little distance between seats but it certainly wasn’t socially distanced. Yet, despite everyone having cancer and some of us immunocompromised, only one person was wearing a mask and she was heading off for chemo after the group ended. I can’t tell you how good it felt to be among women who understood exactly what I might feel and someone on the same chemo. We’re obviously very different - she gets copies of all her reports and does research; that’s anathema to me. The heart-breaking thing, apart from the facilitator announcing that one of the group had died that week, was that most of the women were so young. Statistically, only about 7% of breast cancer patients under 50 go on to develop secondary bc, yet here I was with young mothers each side of me. I’ll allow for the fact that I’m ‘old’ in terms of the demographic but how they manage to look after a family defeats me. One of them is in and out of hospital with neutropoenia for days at a time…

I finally plucked up the courage to email the practice manager of my GP practice, outlining all the areas where I feel they could have done more and I might have had an earlier diagnosis. To soften the complaint (I’m such a wuss) I started by asking what their protocols were for women who were identified as high risk of a recurrence or of secondary bc and for people who have secondary cancer (of any kind, understood I hope) but I ended by saying they had made me feel invisible. I do feel neglected - only one other woman in the group had not been in regular contact with a GP since their diagnosis and had been contacted immediately by their GP to offer support. Huh! And all of them are in this situation now, so the practice can’t blame covid. I felt incredibly sad after I wrote it. I think that was Tuesday. I received an automatic response asking patients not to contact the practice as they are extremely busy. But today I got an initial response, with an apology for how I feel and an assurance that she will look into the complaint. I hate calling it a complaint. Funny because if it were something I’d bought, I’d be standing on firm ground but when it comes to what are, to me, authority figures, I’m on very wobbly ground.

I wrote a response on one of the secondary bc Facebook groups, because I don’t think encouraging newcomers to do research is necessarily right - it’s helpful for some, it’s a nightmare for others. I even gave my own example, when I was horrified to find my chances of survival were below ‘Poor’.  I’m not quite sure what went wrong, particularly as the woman who posted agreed to some extent but she’s being treated in Paris where, apparently, they are all enrolled with some college and encouraged to research under guidance. It’s that last bit that’s so important. Anyway, I’m mean, rude and patronising. There you go, that’s me told. All because I don’t agree with something and say so. I guess it’s how it’s said but I said it no differently from usual. Incidentally, it took me about 30 seconds to remember the word’ rude’ and a minute of memory-searching to locate ‘patronising’. Is that age or chemo? It’s actually an intriguing process, once you get past the frustration. I wonder if everyone uses the same methods/

One more week to go. I HATE having to eat and take tablets to order.

254. Almost all good

Yesterday, Den and I went to the oncology clinic and came away satisfied. I’m not sure if I have it in me to be happy and assume this is it, all good, for good.

My blood markers are down to 17 from 19, ridiculously low since people without cancer can have up to around 35 just from secretions from other types of cells. But my tumour marker remains at 6 which indicates it’s still active. I assume the capecitabine deals with the potential damage. Assume? Why don’t I think to ask these questions! Dr U believes my tumour and skin mets feel softer still (not to me) and he’s pleased with my progress. I asked when my next CT scan was and he said Radiology had emailed them all that morning to say there is a 13-week wait for scans. He also said he didn’t think I needed one (now that I DO find encouraging) but still put me in for one - I guess that will take me to the 5-6 months mark, if appointments are being delayed that much. I still have no faith in CT scans when they can’t pick up the known signs I have of SBC but I guess I want to keep an eye on the lung nodule and hope nothing new appears.

We talked about all my side effects and he apologised and said they are all related to the drug. He could reduce the dose a little more or give me a couple of weeks off to get my breath back (literally) but he would prefer not to as we (?) are doing well right now and a change could make a big difference and even mean cape stops working. But he said my immunity was as good as it would ever be and to get back out there (real world with people in it) as often as I can. So, let’s hope I’m fit for book group on Wednesday, though one of the members has offered to pick me up if I want that.

Make Seconds Count has a custom that
we upload our waiting room shoes.
This is a different take. Ancient Doc Ms

As threatened, I took Den along with me so he could hear for himself that things are going fine. Dr U said that sometimes it was worse for partners - I am taking my pills and doing what I can to keep the illness at bay, knowing I’ve made the right decision; he may well feel helpless and out of control, knowing he has no idea what lies ahead and he can’t help. He bloody well does help - he’s removed almost all daily chores from me, partly because often I can’t wield the ‘tools’. You should have seen me buttering some toast yesterday!! Den admitted he’d stopped doing all the things that gave him pleasure before. He could gain no pleasure from them. PROGRESS, he’s playing the new Robert Plant/Alison Krauss album very loudly so I can hear it too. It’s wonderful - their voices are so different but they go together and their choice of instruments is gorgeous. Love it. Unfortunately I have no means of playing it now my laptop is defunct. Who’d have thought CDs would become defunct!

I’m definitely losing the plot though. I’ve resorted to a Christmas card for D from the cat! I can almost see Del rolling his eyes (but he doesn’t know I’ve got him a new cushion with his name on. What the hell is happening to me???). I don’t know if I mentioned it before but my present from D will be a monthly delivery of flowers for a year. The problem was, he couldn’t work out what to do so I ended up ordering my own present yet again. Oh, he’s well trained but I’ve failed miserably over 50 years on the present-giving front. Enough D-battering. He’s a treasure. 

253. Same ol’ same ol’

It’s strange living with something you can’t ignore. I mean the disease, not Dennis. While I wait 3 more days for the best flu protection, it’s still like life during lockdown. I’ve got only two more doses to go and I’m done with the tablets for cycle 10. Then I need to wait for the side effects to ease off.

I have booked a reflexology session for Wednesday, my first since January 2020, though it doesn’t seem that long ago. Poor Caroline will be in for a disappointment. My “baby-soft feet” as she used to describe them have changed a bit. For a start, she might need sunglasses, my heels are so pink. Then the bulk under my heel seems to have reduced and I’m left with wrinkled and hardened skin, not comfortable to walk on. Still, I’m sure she’s worked with worse and I’m fortunate the PPE hasn’t got much worse. Women in the Facebook Groups who are on capecitabine have lost nails, have weeping sores and can’t walk. Sorry, but this is the reality of the treatment. So yes, I’m fortunate.

Any idea?

I’ve been walking round the house most days, rather tedious but I’m discovering all kinds of toadstools. Maybe it’s time to look them up. I probably knew all about them from Girl Guides (such a lot of handy information, most superfluous now in the days of technology. How often do you wrap a paper parcel? Or need hospital corners on your neat bed? I can still distinguish between a Horse Chestnut and an Oak from a distance but I can’t find a practical application for such knowledge now lol. Stilll, it earned me a few badges at the time. I wonder what happened to my postcard collection (for Collectors Badge). I had over a hundred in there, some dating back pre-WWI. Ah well, gone the same way as my Edwardian silk and lace blouse which belonged to Great Great-Granny. I never knew how to look after treasures. Back to the toadstools: probably most are edible but I’m not one to take risks. I’ll let them disintegrate with time. 

I’m close to renewing my gym membership but I think I need to dip a toe in the water first (a pink toe). I hope to meet up with some friends at Cookridge Hall, just for a coffee and chat, as a start. I’m only used to being surrounded by people with cancer, which is rather a sad comment. Not that you can tell. Most look quite healthy but you can kind of see those who are nervous about having a scan, waiting for results (scanxiety), the newly diagnosed. You get a feel for it and there’s nothing else to do in waiting areas except people-watch.

Thinking of scanxiety, I suspect joining the Facebook groups has been an advantage and a disadvantage. It takes up so much time. But I learn a lot, like there’s a secondary breast cancer group that meets regularly at the Maggie’s Centre so, if I can drive, I’ll go to the next session. However, I’ve noticed that my thoughts are sneaking to places I’d rather they didn’t visit. I’ve read so many posts written by women devastated that their treatment is no longer working and I wonder… Then I reassure myself that, if my blood results weren’t good any more, they would ring me and get me almost straight onto second line defence, the vile paclitaxel. But I know next Friday I’ll have just a tiny seed of anxiety till I’m told everything is still fine. I should say we since I’m taking Dennis so he can hear for himself that I’m not underplaying things and everything is (kind of) ok. He still looks at the dark side of it all but what’s the point? How does anyone benefit from it? 

I’m not all sunshine, don’t think that for a minute. I’m driven daily by the state of my bowels and the level of weakness I feel from fatigue. Even now, when I’d say the side effects of cape are very manageable, I still have days in bed, just watching tv, not even reading. However, along with four times round the house (1000 steps) I’ve also read a chunk of Jack Reacher (how do they think of these plots???) and I’m going to pick up my knitting again.

Ok folks, that’s my update. More news after clinic on Friday. Fingers crossed please that it’s happy news.

This brave and hardy beauty has survived into late November!

252. I’m all in one piece again

 I’m sorry I haven’t posted anything recently. My mind is in a strange place right now and everything feels such a chore, too demanding mentally, so I let it go and keep my mind almost numb. I guess it’s a delayed reaction?

So first the cancer. It’s all going to plan, my markers are very low and, more important, stable. My tumour has shrunk a little but unfortunately is still cancerous so is able to send out those nasty cells to settle elsewhere, but there is no evidence it’s doing this. Let’s keep things as they are now.

I truly resent taking the oral chemo and dread next Monday evening when I start cycle 10. It’s not that it makes me feel ill any longer - fatigue, an empty head and pink hands are the worst I have now - it’s the knowledge that I have to keep doing this twice a day for two out of every three weeks indefinitely. Not even a reduction in the number of tablets. Dennis is in charge of the tablets and my heart sinks when he brings the tray with food (essential), drink and tablets. I mean, how would you feel about swallowing 9 pills that apparently are so toxic you have to flush the lavatory twice (so much for helping the planet) and wash your hands after handling them? It feels surreal. I try to numb out, like I have with a lot of information about the future, but it does get me down.

However, almost everything the CT scans have thrown up (something new every time) has remained unchanged, meaning it’s benign. This includes my fractured sternum which they were concerned about, the gynae stuff (apparently I have 4 cysts on my right ovary) and the lung nodule. Had they shown any reduction, that would have indicated a response to the Cape and indicate they were malignant. So it’s just this cute kidney bean across my nose/eyelid and the skin mets on my neck and face, all softening so definitely responding. Sadly my eyelid apparently will not improve, apart from the lumps softening further and maybe in a year or so disappearing. It will remain numb and not move when my other eyelid does - best noticed if I do a Princess Diana and peek up through my rather sparse eyelashes. Otherwise, you wouldn’t notice unless looking for it so maybe I can stop hiding behind my glasses and start experimenting with me eye makeup, now at leat 2 years old!

 I’m living a life of lethargy, tho I do pick up when we get visitors or Carol takes me out for a coffee in Chapel Allerton. A real, bustling world (although she gets very anxious about if there’s a risk to me, bless her). I’ve also been to the hairdresser’s and had my hair chopped of. I’m toying with the idea of lavender and steel grey high/lowlights. I love the idea but the thought of sitting there for hours… maybe not. But I have to have something on my bucket list!!

We got our flu jabs last Thursday. I’m rather cross with my GP practice. I rang and explained I had to have my flu jab within about 3 days in a specific week and was told they had no supplies so could make no appointments. Ring back next week. I did. All appointments now gone. This was after someone had noted I needed a vaccination in a short space of time. I feel a complaint to the practice manager coming on! 

Booking a pharmacist online proved useless but one of my book group friends mentioned she’d just walked into her local chemist and got her jab. I gave them a ring and the pharmacist was happy to book us both in on the perfect day - time for it to get to work on those antibodies before Cape starts destroying all the cells.  I do remember how blood works from O level Biology. I know my lymphocytes from my phagocytes but no one even mentioned cancer creating defiant cells that can resist of treatment so that’s where my understanding stops. I’m guessing I’ll have some immunity.

I’ve never had a reaction to a flu jab. Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been isolated for so long. I developed a splitting headache and was exhausted when I shouldn’t have been. It only lasted 24 hours though.  Dennis got pins and needles in his hand and his arm felt very heavy - and still does, 4 days later. Maybe that’s because he’s part-way through coating The Shed? I’ve given up with Mercia, the manufacturer. Alan has been a gem. He added the turn buttons Mercia sent, glued and clamped the split wood and has said it’s best left now till late Spring when he’ll plane the warped doors that barely shut now.

I’m having second thoughts about the FaceBook groups. They’ve been a fount of information and experience but so many people are experiencing such awful things, part of me just doesn't want to know. Is that selfish of me? I’m happy offering support for people just being diagnosed with bc and people going though treatment but I can’t identify with anyone further ahead of me in the secondary bc stakes. I know it will happen one day but for now things are relatively ok, apart from the pill regime. 

No more writing stories. I’ve battled with Microsoft which caused the loss of all my Word documents on my ipad. I’ve battled with Apple, to whom I pay 79p monthly for cloud storage on the understanding that everything is backed up regularly and automatically. I was so sure everything would be safe in the cloud but no, Apple only stores your last and previous back up. Everything gone. But wait, I have some on my old laptop. Dead as a doornail. Ok, buy a new battery - it doesn’t fit even though it’s a repeat order (boring story). Buy another battery and, like Cinderella’s slipper, it fits perfectly and it starts charging. But the laptop refuses to cooperate and switches itself off. Persistently. I’ll have to take it to a computer specialist, pay more than the laptop is worth to get it fixed and gain access to my older writing at least. I haven’t written for months. Is it worth it?? Lesson - never rely on those Clouds and OneDrives. They don’t store your stuff, they save over it! The tears threatened but they didn’t come.

So that’s one cheerful update. Why don’t I just say “All going to plan”? because I’ve no idea what the plan is. Who does? Just never try to comfort me by saying we could all get run over by a bus. There’s a big difference between being aware of a remote possibility and knowing that bus will be coming but having no date.