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Feldman returns.
One night without my beloved tamezepam and I'm stuffed. I didn't pop one last night because of the anaesthetic today; I woke up at the witching hour; the grand total of an hour and a half's sleep. The zombie returns.
Many moons ago, I used to lead ghost hunts in a dilapidated Victorian theater. At eight o'clock, guests would arrive full of enthusiasm and energy, excited and looking forward to being scared witless. However, after five or six hours and an inevitable lack...
I don't have the time to be ill. So I decided this weekend, I wasn't.
Armed with a good nights' sleep, praise be to tamezepam, yesterday got off to a good start. By midday I had flown around the supermarket for the grocery shopping, dead headed the flowers, mown the grass, scrubbed clean the bathroom and made a Bruce Bogtrotter chocolate cake. By tea time, I had hoovered and dusted the entire house, cooked a tagine for dinner and washed all the bedding.
Today's goal was equally ambitious;...
Afternoon blog buddies,
I am just back from having a minor operation to change my stent to make sure my kidney is kept free of blockages. I am scoffing cake because well that is allowed when you have just had an operation isn't it?
Hopefully the stent change will mean an end to the pain I was experiencing on my right hand side. I also have a date for a head scan, Dr Oncologist rang me the day after I spoke to my Macmillan nurse and readily agreed to a scan to put my mind at rest. A good doctor...
As coffee morning approaches I had to give it a little go....
(apologies to Flanders and Swann)
We're terribly Marks and Spencer at number 89,
I've baked a cake, make no mistake,
The butter icing's fine!
We're terribly battenburgh biscuits -there's chit chat without ends,
The muffin tarts with chocolate hearts,
To share with likemind friends,
We've planned an uninhibited, drop in and sip event,
Pavlovas won't relent,
In case of rain, a tent.
We don't know if you'll like...
This is day one of this blog. I was never one to keep a diary and always took every day as it came. I was diagnosed last October 2014 with Ovarian cancer and like most people the bottom fell out of my world. I was a very healthy 46 year old with a full and active life. Hubby and I went through everything together hand in hand. Early July after major surgery and chemo, the letter came through for looks like nothing left and all traces have gone. Yippee said I now we can focus on getting back to work...
It is hard to imagine that the time has flown by so quickly, as it feels like yesterday. Although I have been back at work since January 2015, I feel gripped with fear from time to time like a form of shell shock. The revelation about her condition last year devastated me completely and its almost the case that I have to emotionally relive it again. People say try to get through the first year but it seems impossible to look that far ahead.
I guess this had to happen, though I am feeling better after phone calls with two good friends earlier today. You fight your way through treatment, get that done, fight your way through the physical hell of its effects, start the long, slow recovery and then your focus shifts to the next step. But that next step is weeks away, you are totally exhausted and there is nothing to be done except wait. That next step consists of a scan to see whether the treatment has worked. The potential for paranoia...
Morning everyone,
I am sitting up in bed wide awake with acid indigestion thanks to the chemo watching yet another history programme while the household continues to knock out the Zzzzs.
It doesn't matter though because I have you lot to talk to and when it is quiet I can order my thoughts better.
The chemo effects are building up and I almost always feel nauseous again despite the four different types of anti sickness medicine I take including my syringe driver. It really has taken its toll...
It's nearly 3 am and I'm sitting in the shed. From the other side of the fence I can hear the gentle snorts, snuffles and grunts of a couple of young boar settling down in the ferns. I can tell they are young by the depth of their grunts, nowhere near as deep as the big daddy that chased me down a path this spring. With a shed wall and a fence between us, the noise is strangely comforting. With nothing but air between us, I run like hell and scream like a whoopsie.
Today should have been...
I don't think my eyelids work anymore.
I'm utterly exhausted but wide awake and there's just me and that damn ticking clock for company. Even Basil the cat has gone to bed. In four and a half hours time I leave for work. Between us, work is going to be difficult. Commuting is going to be difficult. Saying my name is going to be difficult.
As the sleeping pills didn't work, my lovely GP said to try upping my pain meds to see if they would knock me out but they've had the opposite effect...
