Photo Shoot Phobia

It especially kicks in when I have to have my picture taken by photographer friends, which is what I'm doing right now, whilst writing this. I'm posing with my iPad as a prop, and such is my hatred of photo taking that I had to actually write a post, with one finger, to distract myself from horrible, cringe situation.



This is for something blog related, but it seems to be the most recent of a whole new host of photo or film opportunities. Who knew cancer could be so productive? Anyway, the first time such an opportunity arose, it was completely un-sickness related. My agent called with a possible TV thing (being a beauty journalist sometimes throws up such a request), and as I was mentally calculating my work diary around my treatment diary around my projected bad days diary to see if it was feasible, she asked me something I hadn't even considered till then. 'But how will you feel about being on film at the moment?'

Absolutely fine, was my first thought. Before cancer I would have had worries about how my unpredictable skin would choose to behave on filming days. This is often a problem for beauty editors - we can't settle into a good skincare regime, because, if we're worth our journalistic salt, we have to try out a lot of different products all the time. But like I say, at the time I really hadn't looked better, I'd got over the shock so I didn't look so deranged, I still had a healthy brow and lash presence, my fake fake tan had just kicked in and I swear chemo destroys spots as well as everything else - something about the bacteria right? I must ask.

Today though, not so confident. There are a few reasons, one being the bags under my eyes from a tough treatment cycle. (It could be the snorer in my bed every night of course) The other is my poor, battered lashes. They're still hanging in there, but now more as the Mr Burns of the eye lash world - they wilt under the weight of mascara. And my eyebrows are so sparse the pencil doesn't grip so well.

I'll be honest, it can get to you sometimes, and I'll tell you what it is, but only after I tell you it's entirely fixable - you just have to reinstate confidence in yourself by making the extra effort with makeup and outfit and wig enough times to remember what you really look like, because this is only a temporary sh!tter after all.

The thing is, the chemo look is very very generic. I didn't know facial hair could be so pivotal to your identity, but take it away and we do pretty much all look the same, to the untrained eye at least. It's still a shock to think and feel you look like one person, and then see someone else when you look in the mirror. And since that reflection becomes much more common than the done up one, it's generic cancer girl that you start associating with yourself after five cycles of chemo. Hence the photo-phobia.

Aside from my confidence/height-boosting-Skovgaard shoes, I'm lucky to have Jose on my shoot today, who is miraculous with makeup, so he tweaked my early morning bathroom efforts to make them camera friendly. For those of you who don't have him, here's his tips:



1. Stick on eyelashes. This is obvious, but for some reason I was reluctant. But Mr Burns could definitely do with crutches, both metaphorically and in real (TV) life. Jose recommends Ardell Invisibands Wispies, "They're the most natural lash you can get".

2. Plum kohl eyeliner. "Because it works with your ginger barnet" but also because it gives a stronger lash line, without being too much of a contrast to your skin.

3. Taupe (i.e. not too bronze or pink) contouring. To frame your face, and also make it not so flat on film, because whether you are fake fake tanned or not, you can look pale when flashed. I'm using MAC powder blush in Sincere.

4. Bright lipstick (my favorite coral shade, no.7 in Gay Geranium). Brightens your whole face, gives you 'happy lips', and takes attention away from your, these days, frankly disappointing eyes.

Phobia (almost) averted.

I still haven't looked at the shots yet mind...




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Juicy

I'm feeling much better thanks, I was released from hospital after a couple of days convalescing and several failed attempts to draw blood. This has never happened to me before. I keep being told I have terrible veins. TERRIBLE ones. If they weren't blue already they surely would be after this many insults. (I''m sorry, I've been spending too much time with DadJokes).

So, I'm back at work today, such is the healing power of three things.

1. My friend Sam came round with the best present ever, a Jamie Oliver book, signed to ME from HIM. I think if I had this in hospital I could have done 12 less hours on the drip. Its amazing how shiny an exciting gift can make you feel. Hint? Moi? Yes of course.

2. Two roast dinners in a row. One home cooked, organic perfection from a very good friend who I haven't seen for a year. The other the very next day at a delicious pub in the (freezing) sun; vitamin D plus gravy overdose is no bad thing.

3. Juice.

Since I was diagnosed and advised to juice 5 times a day (this is mental. Even if you can get your head around the cost of that many organic fruit and veggies, the washing up is worse than chemotherapy), I have religiously had A juice a day, and, like the magic honey, swear by the energising effects. On my worst days I still manage to coerce my mum or man into making one for me, and I think I can feel it spreading its nutrient goodness from my insides out. But those days I am a bit out of it anyway.

In of it, or out, juicing is the way forward. When you struggle to stick to your '5 a day' recommendation (don't we all), think of me, trying to at least double that in the name of speedy recovery. The thing with all the healthy stuff is a lot of it tastes rubbish. My juice equation threatens to in theory (1 part fruit to 2 or 3 or 4 parts veg), but, with the clever inclusion of a basic sweet juice foundation, its always delicious. Even with my recent addition of wheatgrass shot, which frankly is 100% disgusting.

This does not work for such juice repellent veggies as whole leeks - DadJokes, PLEASE take note, lets not repeat that episode. ever.

My basic recipe is this:
1 x apple
1x carrot
1 x 1cm chunk of ginger
2 or 3 veggies of your choice (I normally do a weird combo of beetroot, broccoli, celery, spinach, red cabbage, kale, pepper, and/or cucumber)

From experience I wouldn't recommend raw garlic, half lemons, anything with rind still attached. Or whole leeks DadJokes, but apart from that, the rules are there are no rules.

Aside from the following:

Drink through a straw. This much fruit acid is not strictly great for your teeth. You can't even brush them clean straight away because they're vulnerable to erosion for about 5 - 10 minutes after. And if like me you've had them whitened at any point, the straw is as essential as retail therapy. i.e. very.

Drink within 3 minutes of juicing. The quicker the better, you want to get maximum nutrient and enzyme payout, and as soon as you cut a fruit or veg, you're already losing some.

Wash up juicer straight away. This is just my helpful tip for the chore aversive like me. If I don't do it immediately I won't do it, and no one wants broccoli pulp lingering in their kitchen for any amount of time. Believe me.

Don't make more than 2/3rds of a cup, this is some weird body anomaly that means yours will make use of only a little bit of juice, but the rest just gets wee'd away. So if you like the taste, go for it, but health and economy wise - no point.

I'm know there are skin glow properties in all these veggies too - if for no other reason than the, er, regular cleansing it encourages - a bonus, chemo or no chemo. I just know my required volume is easier to drink than eat, and I'm always one for an easy option.

And look at the pretty colours nature makes...

Know Your Enemy

I now know mine, her name is Doxetaxol, she is trying to foil my LGFB plan. Curses.

I've passed the half way mark in my treatment, (yey!) at which point they sometimes change your drugs, which they did mine, hence the introduction of The Enemy.

Aside from the various not-so-pleasant side effects, which have moved me to kitten posts etc. it is undoing all my hard work on the LGFB mission. Namely, I look worse and frankly, feel a bit sh!t. Oh, and I'm writing this from the hospital where I'm currently residing.

It's nothing serious, my immune system went from compromised to utterly obliterated for some reason (enemy related), so here I am, literally chained to my bed by the drip that has been going for 24 hours and counting - I have to call a nurse to let me wee/pass me an apple/turn on the fan. Actually, I need to see this as a room service-esque upside, instead of the Terribly British downside that has me holding my wee/gazing longingly at apple etc. because I'm embarrassed to make medical professionals run around after me.

So all that aside, I have been somewhat dismayed to see my Look Better crusade unravelling. It's a two-fold problem this one. Firstly I can't be bothered to bother. This is fine, it happens to the best of us often in this situation, but it really hit home when Katie took me to Sainsburys in Dalston (eurgh. This could be what put me in here), and I forgo'd wig and makeup for just bobble hat. Again, fine, but I just don't go out like that. I'm not ashamed, but I don't like people to see or think me sick, and I've always been that way. This is basically my reasoning for the LGFB philosophy after all.
But DALSTON Sainsbury's, this is the hub of all uber trendy creatives. There are countless people I know whom I would rather didn't see me in flat shoes, let alone bald, distinctly more Swedish-ish and blotchy. And these acquaintances are highly likely to be food shopping on Sunday too.

And Yes, blotchy. It's a bit harder to tra la la about how to look better when the drugs are really really attempting to make that impossible. But it is NOT (is the moral of this story), but harder, definitely. And I accept the challenge!

So, I already knew chemo was tough on your skin - I had a post planned and I'll still do it, but this is now advanced skincare 101, and intermediate will have to come later...

My once milky, then fake fake tanned hands were happily showing off YSL rings, and even up to filming makeup cutaways on the LOOK how-to videos. Now they're mashup, as DadJokes coined it. Take away the manicure and they could belong to Tommy Hillfiger after his Axl Rose encounter (I will never stop loving that story). But manicure? That is lesson one: extreme diversion tactics. Katie came round and gave me an indescribable greige base with gold glitter tips. Greige-ish is the best colour either of us has ever found, a ltd edition by Nails Inc called London. I am badgering Thea Green, founder of Nails Inc to make it main line, but till then They do a close second called Porchester Square. This is not just about looking pretty, The Enemy makes nails hurt, crumble, even lift, so painting polish is apparently good to protect them too.




The Hillfiger effect is from extreme Sahara dryness and apparent inflammation upon contact with dust particles. This I conclude from being in possession of hands at all times, but repeatedly missing the trauma that inflicts damage. There must be some angry and robust dust particles in my house judging from the effect they have. Hand cream helps! They just need TLC 24/7. I'm using a combo of Aveda Hand Relief (heh heh heh) and Boiron Homeoplasmine, a French emollient wonder cream. Any friend who mentions Eurostar plans to me gets a pharmaceutical detour added to their itinerary. It only costs about 3 euro too.

Face wise, call me vain in the face of Cancer, but I'm loathe to let the skin compliments drop off. I've been using Darphin Intral Cleansing Milk, followed by Liz Earle Super Boost Skin Tonic Spritz and Liz Earle Skin Repair Moisturiser. Now I need extra soothing and moisturizing and de-blotching so Ren No1. Purity Cleansing Balm is the pros choice (that's me), still with Liz Earle, but I'm also using Pro-Heal Serum Advance by iS Clinical, on the advice of Shabir from VictoriaHealth.com. It's like skin Viagra, not that I would know, but basically I think this stuff is amazing.

Like I say, the not bothering to bother thing is harder to combat, so for now I'm flipping it up like George Samson (!) and concentrating on feeling better. The looking good part can wait till next week.

I prescribe myself several imaginary baths until I can soak in the real things (a nurse just came and offered to help me wash, I will stick to imagining baths), and Internet shopping. If only the 3G in hospital wasn't as mind-bogglingly awful as the food...





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

En Vague

On a recent excursion accompanying DadJokes to the hairdresser (oh the irony), I made iPhone note of my findings in the March issue of Vogue. I always pay close attention to the adverts. Contrary to most peoples attitude to ads, I often find them - in print form at least- the best bits.

Interesting to note a strong leaning towards, guess what, the absence of eyebrows, plus Gisele in a wig. This is by no means new news,

But just saying...



No brows, significant spam PLUS headscarf at Sportmax, obviously took inspiration from yours truly.





Beautiful bleaching at Givenchy. Slightly overdone in male accessory





Dark hair plus no brows at Loewe. As my mum said when she saw me at recent chemo with same look 'Oooh, sort of Swedish'





Blanked out brows for Calvin Klein SS11, manicure by Katie Selby





Balenciaga obviously couldn't persuade Gisele to commit fully to the 'Freya' cut...







Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Cats Are Not Just For Chemo

I'm sorry to all those who don't love kittens (dead inside), and it may seem tenuous, but I've got to tell you - in a non-recommended sort of way - that the right variety of cat time should be available on the NHS. In fact don't they do 'stroke' therapy in the US? If they're going to do it, it will be there.

Lucky for me, I have it, in the form of Elwood and Columbo, my Cornish Rex kittens. This isn't a proud mummy, pushing my babies onto anyone and everyone kind of post, I promise. I just have to tell you, I think they are happy medicine. And although I'm not saying go and buy kittens (Pat my lovely Chemo nurse, I promise that's not what I'm saying), just if you have some available to stroke, get access.
(Pat would say with gardening gloves, and I loathe to defy her superior nurse knowledge, so I include it herewith)

When I was diagnosed, she gave me the safety talk, she told me animals were a no no, I must at all odds stay AWAY FROM CAT POO, cat claws, cat scratches, cat mouths, 400 types of cat bacteria etc. Slight difficulty there was DadJokes and I had adopted two kittens the week before. The extent of my cat love is thus: If DadJokes were allergic, he would not have made it to partner status.

I did initially feel regretful, couldn't believe the timing, was afraid of the little beasts coming near me, which frankly was sadder than cancer. These cats though, must have been Buddhist chemo nurses in former lives; they were reincarnated to understand that they can only pat me, claws retracted - even when they play their favourite rabbit-gutting game (cat owners will understand), they just pat. I went about four weeks without a single scratch, that is unheard of in the kitten rearing world btw.

By the time I got the inevitable first one, I had relaxed somewhat, soaked it in boiling water for half an hour, slathered it in savlon, wrapped a BANDAGE around it, and successfully avoided sepsis.

Now I don't know what I would do without them. If you weigh up the pros and cons, avoiding poo and being careful around claws is not so bad (ever) in exchange for how much they make me laugh every day. This is more important for the sick, miserable or otherwise afflicted.

They are certifiably ridiculous though, lucky for me. From repeatedly rubbing their heads in candle soot to winking on command (I use 'command' to mean coincidence), to trying to suffocate my new niece, Jemima (ha ha!), they are the combined animal equivalent of Michael Mcintyre, in medicinal terms.

I'm posting this schmaltzy prose today because - although I don't like to focus on the tough bits - the last few days have been a bit that way. But my kittens, being Buddhist and all, have done that cat sense thing and just quietly purred and warmed various bits of my body at ALL times for three days straight. = Happy Medicine.

They're bloody annoying when it comes to blogging though...

p.s. If adorable kittens are not your thing (you may be dead inside), I recommend an alternative. The Happy Bag. Fluro orange, satchel style from Zara. Sunshine in leather form. I defy you not to feel perky when wearing this colour.

I also and of course need to thank the reasons for my cats being, breeders Shane & Mark. The ridiculousness and the patting is their fault since they brought them up that way, so if you're going to get some medicinal pets, I point you in their wondrous direction. AND they do chihuahuas (which I've never had to spell before, did I do it?)
http://rextacular.com

Me v's My Lashes - The Battle Ain't Over

But, sad to say, I think I may be losing. There were several hints, first and most obvious - vastly fewer lashes. This isn't as blatant as it seems; apparently you can lose up to 50% of head hair without anyone noticing. I assume this is also the case for eyelashes, since I was counting 4 or 5 on my cheeks every time I veeery tentatively removed any makeup, but everyone else said, 'ooh, have you gone for false lashes then?' (that'll be the RapidLash).

This becomes even more indisputable when I go to put on mascara. With no barrier of natural lashes to buffer the blackness, I frequently turn up to meetings with an up-all-night-doing-who-knows-what smudge to the lash line. Which I don't entirely hate.

It's the constant weeping that gets me now. Any little gust of wind - in fact it doesn't have to be weather related- it could be someone waiving an invoice in my general direction, will have me trickling tears and ruining my carefully corrected smudge application within seconds. Who knew eyelashes were so biologically important? Needless to say crying of any kind is not helpful for the norm-seeking cancer sufferer. 'oh my GOD, are you OK?' Oh, thaat. No eyelashes.'

On the upside, you know how all the books say people love you more if they think you think they're funny (this is how I got DadJokes). I rejoice in how cute it is to see the delight in my friends faces when I can't control my tears of 'laughter' at their 'hilarity'. What selective memories these people have. Still, if it gets me more love, then I can forgo some lashes.

In a bid to conquer the Avril Lavigne smudge effect though, I'll trust in makeup. Up till now my old faithful liquid eyeliner has been working wonders. Applied right it can pretty much cheat lashes anyway, since it does what the real things do - elongate the eye, define it, make flicky shapes at the edges, but I'm finding it a bit boring doing the same thing everyday, plus I think a little off balanced having fewer and fewer bottom lashes - didn't think I'd miss these ones as much!

So a happy accident on another mad rush for the taxi man before work: trusted eyeliner flick, badly applied, had to come off (CAREFULLY - my remaining lashes are PRECIOUS). Rooting through back-up makeup kit for a bit of black Kohl, which I never wear, I could only find embarrassingly 80's blue.

So now I am reunited with my old experimental friend, Nars Eyeliner in Blue Lotus. Where once I'd smudged it along my top lashes, made it into a slightly too electric smoke (hence relegation to the back up kit), This is now the PERFECT extra definition for bottom lashes only. Black would be too hard, brown too dull (colour is only ever a good thing for me these days), and drawn right along the inside rim, I don't even need the liquid flick on the top lashes. Plus, the magic of colour means my eyes look more, well, colourful. (Someone said ginger recently - ginger eyes? at least I have appropriate hair to match).

For now at least, the battle continues. When I feel the need for falsies, I'll report back, but for now, even 5 or 6 measly hangers on, mascara'd with some Blue Lotus Nars or liquid liner, gives enough of an illusion of lashes that even my iphone camera is fooled. Seriously, there is hardly any hair here. The tissues are a testament to that.

p.s. Thanks to lovely Helen in the office who maybe found my invoice induced crying a bit too much and left the kind gift above on my desk.

Text Book

Ok, I'm halfway through chemo, it's time to admit; I am pretty much text book. I really really thought I wouldn't be, I don't know why. It's not because I'm special or superhuman, more it's nearly impossible to be told you WILL suffer this and feel like this and look like this in x amount of days, and then sit there and wait for signs. It's just difficult to imagine.

I said before, I thought my hair wouldn't fall out. This was exhibit 1 in the medical delusion stakes. Since then, every time I get another confirmed side effect, I'm strangely disappointed. I agreed with work that I'd come in part time, work a couple of hours less on those days and generally take it a bit easy. By two o clock on my second day I was disappointed to the point of tears at how wilted I was at my desk. I just didn't think I would be!

So let me tell you, I may be happily extolling the virtues of healthy-making blusher and lash growth serum, but 5 cycles in and I only now know the real meaning of chemo fatigue. They said it would be like nothing else you've had before, so after a couple of weeks when I found myself flopped on the sofa, very tired but unable to sleep, not bothered to turn on the TV, let alone concentrate on the True Blood box set, I though, 'ah, this is that something-else fatigue I've been expecting'. Oh I was wrong.







The Fatigue Proper only hit me a few weeks ago. I feel like I'm being mainlined Night Nurse. Apart from not too unpleasant flash backs to my up-all-night, sleep-all-day (aided by cough medicine - this I don't recommend btw) youth, this text book side effect is further disappointment for me. It's by no means awful, I get used to it and plod along - hey, only temporary and all that - but what is the real let down is this responsibility I have now lumped on myself to be a shining star, healthy facade in the face of cancer.

I didn't mean to, it was just going very well so far, and I genuinely did, (and do - don't get me wrong, I LOVE a challenge) think I sometimes look better than ever, which made me feel great. Not something I thought I ever would again now that I was sick. The responsibility is a blogging side effect. Im sure there isn't a text book about this one since I'm making it up as I go along, so bonus there, but duty to ALWAYS look fab in the face of Chemo, whilst writing LGFB blog is my very own issue.

Not only is this ridiculous, it is also stupid, and dumb. I've had loads of emails from lovely well wishers and fellow cancer patients asking me how did I look great when they went through varying degrees of shockers, from '1970's lesbian gym teacher' to 'looking like ET's bloated older sister'. So let me tell you, although I'm lucky to get advice, give advice, and raid the beauty cupboard for industrial strength radiance boost, I am by no means immune from ETism.


Yes I can help myself look better, feel better, and hope to help some other people along the way, but the main thing is, being happy with all the compliments and how good I feel (in parts), is not something I or anyone else has to strive to keep up. Its great when it's great, but come 16.00 at my desk when that Night Nurse drip has been running all day, NO amount of Bobbi Brown Creamy Concealer is going to hide the long haul flight baggage I'm carting around under my fading lashes. And who the hell cares, well, apart from me, but that's because I'm an idiot on a mission.

So now I've fessed up to my merely human status, I don't care so much. I'll still layer on the concealer (Bobbi Brown is the best I've found btw, on good days you'll look freshly botoxed, on not so great, you'll look a hell of a lot fresher than you feel, but best friends and boyfriends will still notice because they're wondering about your superhumanity too. The bare reality is probably a huge relief all round to be honest.

I'm off to wallow in my 5th chemo cycle, makeup free week now. It's nice to give my skin a rest, but my mission awaits. Come on work week, I've got new eye sparkling, cheek flushing, lash conquering tricks to try!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad