tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20904308479045027112024-03-13T05:00:23.867-07:00Sophie Feels Better...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-87909820212949551872013-09-27T07:28:00.004-07:002013-09-27T07:28:59.198-07:00Me again...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Well yes, it's been a while hey? There's something to be said for placing bad experiences in a box in the back of your mind. Makes room for the good stuff to take precedence. Like buying a lovely new home with my hot new husband before starting my amazing new <a href="http://www.elleuk.com/" target="_blank">job</a>. It's like breast cancer put my life on pause for 2 years, and there was a backlog of life to process when I came out the other side.<br />
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Let it be known that I'm still peeking my head round the door of said 'other side'. I'm not quite fully fledged, but I'm getting there slowly. This takes time. And support. And in my case an on-again, off-again relationship with hair extensions and a slowly decreasing tolerance for high heels.<br />
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Lets linger on the shallow for a little longer (because I'll be honest, I don't much like dealing with the serious stuff, even now. Hair 'do's it is then). I am still in love with my pixie crop. I'm even glad I got to give it a go, and the majority of people who saw me with it thought I was VERY brave. In a <u>fashion</u> sense, not a cancer one. Since who would ever think that was the default reason for a 30-odd year old woman to have that drastic a hair cut if you didn't know?<br />
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Most days while I struggle with my mid-bob in the mornings, I fantasise about cutting it all short again. But I've been through a lot with this new, young hair. It would feel so flippant to just cut it all off and start again. Like turning my back on a two year relationship after getting over the cheating incident, working hard at building the trust again, even starting to think about couples counselling. Why waste all that effort if you're just gonna start a fresh with someone new? Plus there are the <i>children</i> to consider (am I going a bit far with this analogy?). My other half, Dadjokes can take on that particular role. He also reminisces about the crop, but when I float the idea of doing it again one day he says, 'yeah, but NO, ok?' OK. Because there are memories that go with the short short still, so till they're put to rest I'm growing it.<br />
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So this is me. Normal service almost resumed. I count my lucky stars I have managed to land my dream job, even after all the crap that preceded it. If that doesn't all add up to a big fat achievement I don't know what does.<br />
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The rest of the road to normalcy has some steep inclines on the horizon. There is the reconstruction to consider. I'm more worried about the weeks off work than the actual process. Truth be told I kind of like the morphine opportunities it presents, but don't tell my surgeon. There's the bone density issues I just discovered I need to add to my list. But you know, I'm getting older (and I'm <b>so</b> happy to do that btw), so these things happen right? My heels might need to be lower and my pill-count just went up along with the expected side effects, but thats LIFE. And LIFE is what I'm focusing on with all my heart and soul. So screw you stupid breast cancer. Ha.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-64403708439703532272013-03-12T07:08:00.001-07:002013-03-12T08:06:21.331-07:00The Journey<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/03/12/821.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/03/12/s_821.jpg' border='0' width='233' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />I'm sitting in Lucinda Ellery's amazing hair salon having 14 inch extensions attached to my jaw length ginger (yes, ginger) hair. I'm feeling strangely retrospective. The fact that I'm able to do this today is a perfect summary of my cancer journey, which can essentially be chartered by hair progress. From humble brown, wavy, long (I now realise too long) beginnings, to this; Experimental, colourful, nearly long again and mine (in part). It's a significant marker that heralds a bit of a new beginning for me. As if an engagement, successfully treated recurrence, house move, renovations, wedding, new name, new dream, job, couldn't do that for me. Nope, it's the hair. <br />I don't mean for this to be a vanity thing, or sound flippant, but it's such an important and significant part of the whole journey that it's not so surprising I can measure the ups and downs via the stuff atop my head. <br /><br />Since last year, there have been a multitude of ups. I've registered and recognised them, but I haven't been quite able to enjoy them without something in the back of my head telling me not to get cocky, not to enjoy them too much otherwise I'll fall harder when I do. Take it from me, this is no way to live the ups. <br />The truth is the bit after the treatment is a massive battle of wills. This is normal life where you aren't guided by medical staff or routines or procedures. Now it is my responsibility to regroup and retain life as I knew it. In my book this meant very quickly resolving and bettering mine to compensate for the two years of crap that wasted my time. Thus I crammed a lot of stuff into a very short space. The last six months have unquestionably contained the very best of The Life of Mrs DadJokes (nee Beresiner). There wasn't time to blog, there wasn't any desire to either. All part of my reclamation Project Denial. Silly, silly me.<br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/03/12/822.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/03/12/s_822.jpg' border='0' width='233' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Whilst I was chasing and attaining my dream job, husband, house, I was building an almost subconscious back story called "Haha, This is Short Term and You Know It." This one I didn't tell anyone about; my first mistake. The worst bit about this story is how much joy it sucks out of the joyous stuff. There should be nothing less than extreme excitement at successfully growing enough new hair to have wedding extensions transform it, to have dream hair to compliment my dream dress that was unhindered by a pesky mastectomy, and a room full of every single person I love. That day was simply beautiful and everything I wished for, but the run up was fearful with my morning mantra manifesting into 'please let nothing bad happen before I get married'. I'm not even a morning mantra person. This is post-cancer madness at its subtle best and applied to every good thing that happened to me.<br /><br />I spent a good few months neglecting my positive outlook. It's why I ignored so many of you who took time to email and check on me. How rude. I decided I didn't want to focus on the bad stuff, but ignoring it was just undoing all the hard work, like dieting for a year and then buying a 24 pack of Krispy Kremes. It'll always be there but I have a mission now that I hadn't counted on, but I shouldn't run away from either.<br />The thing is everything is momentous. My hair is a legacy of my treatment. Every time I style it, colour or cut it I'm reminded that it's my new hair, and why. Sat here among people who still have no hair, some who lost it to cancer, or burns, some who compulsively pull it out themselves, all being reinstated with a natural 'normal' head of hair I'm starting to get clarity. Good grief I'm pessimistic! <br /><br /><br />What I learnt in 2013:<br />A rash near my scar is not 100% a recurrence as my brain tells me. More like 0% on closer inspection. Nor is a swollen gland catastrophic or a shortness of breath anything other than a lackadaisical approach to my fitness. <br />Having a new, improved life is awesome, normal and the best kind of challenge that mustn't be clouded by paranoia <br />Doctors don't lie, contrary to my previous belief<br />There are a lot of appearance related challenges on the other side of treatment that I've undertaken and not shared. I apologise, but I have some good new knowledge now!<br />Colourful hair is like new shoes.<br /><br />Simple fact is this: I'm ok today, I'm better than ok in fact. I'm a little bit stressed to be out of the office and not getting my ELLE work done, but hey what an amazing normal, dreamy stress to have. Today I've managed to come out the other side with actual shiny ringing bells on, so excuse me while I properly acknowledge that fact, ratch up a notch on the optimism post and concentrate on new and improved me. With suddenly much longer hair. <br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=13/03/12/823.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/13/03/12/s_823.jpg' border='0' width='189' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-13522372131701263352012-07-08T08:24:00.003-07:002012-07-09T07:43:43.132-07:00Extreme Wind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
No amount of trial and error or mega extreme hold hairspray could have withstood the front page news-worthy weather conditions at Isle of Wight festival this year. I've spent the last couple of weeks locked in a styling battle with my ever-lengthening mop. It's been emotional, quite literally. Having risked lymphodeoma holding my hair dryer aloft while dragging different types of brush through , I've been known to have a little boo and/or refuse to leave the house.<br />
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I know it can be done. Whenever I stay at Katie's and give her the wobbly lip, achy arm treatment she manages a smooth, chic style in about two minutes (she is university educated in hair-doing though). I watch, learn, take notes, practise, and effing fail every time.<br />
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Convinced the answer lies in chemical sleekening, I took myself to <a href="http://www.hmhair.co.uk/" target="_blank">Headmasters</a> for a long awaited Brazilian Blowdry. I love Headmasters, they're the most un-intimidating high street salon ever, and helped me out a lot with my Bambi steps into wig-wearing. So safe in the knowledge I would emerge a Twiggyish version of my formerly scarecrow self, I booked in the morning of my friends wedding.<br />
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Um, not so much. Apparently my hair is very stubborn, corkscrewwy in parts, and immune to the powers of a Brazilian. What I was expecting was smooth, sleek, shiny, manageable hair. What I got was shinier, more manageable hair, which still looks very much like the hair I a hoping to see the back of. I had a slight toys-out-pram moment on my way home since I had been pinning my hopes on the new-hair me being so easy breezy and yes, miraculously photogenic and 100% attractive at all times. A bit like how you build up an impending blind date to be your soul mate forever husband. Of course you're going to be set up for disappointment. In a fit of pique I stormed into Liberty and bought a (gorgeous and slightly ridiculous) baseball cap, weeping at Dadjokes that I was ONLY going to go out in a F*ck!NG CAP from now on, including to the wedding, which he accepted and offered blind compliments down the phone about how lovely he was sure my hair was.<br />
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As it happens he was right, OK so it wasn't the super sleek crop I was hoping for, but it has never looked shinier or felt silkier, and yes, when I got home and went to work with the mini ghd's, it was a lot easier to style. I was just hoping the ghd's would be redundant and I could get another 1/2 hour in bed every morning. But I did manage without the cap.<br />
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That was until the 'summer' kicked in. Once you've factored in a wash with <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=everpure+loreal&tag=googhydr-21&index=aps&hvadid=14381834636&hvpos=1t2&hvexid=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=1817909378350078873&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&ref=pd_sl_70vzm3y606_b" target="_blank">L'Oreal EverPure</a> (you need sulphate free once you've had a Keratin treatment to keep the effects for longer), an arm aching blow-dry, a very strict regimen of smoothing lotion, styling foam, strong hold wax for the sides, texturising wax spray for the top, your weight in Kirby grips, a final securing can and a half of hairspray, and a good five minutes of pedantic mirror tweaking, you approach the front door with trepidation...<br />
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Boom, an entire mornings work obliterated with one gale force gust of wind.<br />
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The worst thing is I can't seem to learn from this repeated heartache. Last week I got over excited about my girls night after work drinks, to the point of escaping to the disabled loos illegally ear to preen to presentability.<br />
I have to walk through the InStyle office to get back to my desk, which is a catwalk of intimidation after a loo-preening session. You don't exit until you're confident. Reasonably proud of my hair achievement I made it back to Katie who tweaked a bit more, emptied another can of hairspray over my head, and joined me in the lift. Cue one last revolving door of happy-hair enjoyment and BOOF, straggly mop within two seconds of London wind exposure.<br />
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What I'm getting at is this; pretty much no ones hair is great at the moment, but I defy anyone to struggle with theirs as much as a transitional growing out croppee has to, and be happy to see how hot long wind-blown hair looks in comparison. *sigh*<br />
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These are my staples;<br />
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<a href="http://velcrosleeprollers.com/" target="_blank">Sleep In Rollers</a>:<br />
Once I've just about sort of flattened the backs and sides, the top looks better with volume. Yes dear readers, the Du-rag is obsolete - much to the bedtime delight of Dadjokes. These days he is presented with the Nora Batty of bed partners, but I think he'd rather her than Snoop Dag of shorter, flatter hair days gone by. A spritz of <a href="http://www.feelunique.com/p/LOreal-Professionnel-TecniArt-Pli-Spray-for-Thick-Hair-125ml" target="_blank">L'Oreal Pli</a>, then three of these in the top section are an arm-ache saviour, (no need for barrel brush/hairdryer combo) and the easiest route to gentle wavy volume that stays put.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/New-2011-Structure-Hair-Products/dp/B00650QAM6" target="_blank">Adapt Structure Hair Texture Paste</a>.<br />
I'm not a wax fan, but this gloopy cream holds the sides down in a nicely natural way.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nealandwolf.com/shop/silk-smoothing-blow-dry-balm/" target="_blank">Neal & Wolf Silk Smoothing Blowdry Balm</a>.<br />
I don't know if this really makes a difference but its a hair comfort blanket and I'm scared of what degree of curl I will suffer if I skip it.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rockaholic-Groupie-Texturising-Spray-Pomade/dp/B006FVXBVI/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1341759401&sr=8-2" target="_blank">Tigi Rockaholic Groupie Texturising Spray Pomade</a>.<br />
A little spritz after the rollers come out take any fluffiness away and just makes it look a bit, well, a bit more like it says on the tin. But in a good way.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Style-Final-Hairspray-400ml-Personal/dp/B0054WLDGE/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1341759535&sr=8-3" target="_blank">ghd Final Fix Hairspray</a>.<br />
My desert Island hair product. The mini spray is small but mighty - i it isn't in my handbag I almost get hives from the stress.<br />
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Matte Kirby Grips.<br />
I still don't know where to get these from, but having been introduced by Louis, my hairstylist friend, there is no going back for extra easy gripping. If you see them, buy them (then post to me :-)<br />
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So, the battle continues, but in the meantime, these foolproof products seem to have my morning routine down to ten minutes - for the two or three weeks my hair is this bouffy length anyway. Only a few more months till wedding extensions. I will NOT cut the backs and sides NO I WILL NOT. Repeat after me...<br />
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-70666414515831950572012-06-08T15:20:00.001-07:002012-06-08T15:20:26.126-07:00S is for Summer (ish)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I had hoped this post would be within the context of raging hot weather, micro-clothing and very necessary new sunglasses, but alas - the extra long bank holiday has inspired extra horrible weather, so no. After the 4 day summer we've experienced so far, this is now a prospective post, about how frustrated I was about to become, and the levels of frustration I expect to achieve a bit later on this month. Or next month. Or failing that in another country at some point in the future.<br />
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Last summer I was still wig reliant, revelling in the novelty of recent chemo graduation, and the joy of venturing outside in actual clothes, rather than PJ's and a bobble hat. The whole season was also spent recuperating from mastectomy or undergoing radiotherapy, so I don't think I can count that summer as a very typical one.<br />
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This one however, has brought with it the crashing realisation that it is not so much a cancer-survivors friend. In the few short days I have known the sun in 2012, I was really starting to hate it. This is not a happy state of affairs. I could definitely do with the Vitamin D, and the pull of the little bit of grass outside my office is great for the work/life balance plan I'm trying to action at the moment ('lunch <i>break</i>' is not usually in my remit), but by 'eck the hotter season is a whole new learning experience.<br />
This is what I have learnt so far:<br />
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HOT is something I've been avoiding since I started hormone suppressing therapy last year. At least three times a night I have to violently reject the duvet, and my mini desk fan is the only thing keeping me appropriately clothed in the office. Add in actual tangible heat and we have a series of problems:<br />
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a) It feels like a hot flush <i>all</i> <i>the</i> <i>time</i>. This means my usual 'this too will pass' coping mechanism for each one is not so effective. And I feel that squirmy discomfort that is so much more than just 'hot' (menopausal women, pregnant ladies and fellow C-word sufferers will concur) a <i>lot</i> more.<br />
b) I really notice the absence of antiperspirant for the first time since I gave up the habit. The thought of putting chemicals near my scar is all wrong, and I don't want to tempt fate with the remaining boob, so I swapped my aluminium, <i>effective</i> underarm care, for natural, deodorising alternatives. All well and good when sweating is not really an issue. But throw in a bit of scorching sunshine, a public transport system more suited to medieval times in terms of air conditioning, and clothes that have to conceal a load of brand new body issues, and by god do I miss the <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mitchum-smart-antiperspirant-deodorant-unscented/dp/B000R7LR9E/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1339193981&sr=8-2" target="_blank">Mitchum</a>.<br />
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CLOTHING was always a fun transition from winter to summer. Away go the high necks and long sleeves and out come the floaty fabrics and airy, strappy, wafty, heat-proof options. (although you should probably know, I don't store clothes - I buy new season instead. Any excuse...) I've been practising mastectomy dressing for nearly a year now, so I'm really quite good at it, but summer mastectomy dressing is a different matter entirely. As discovered five minutes before I had to leave for my friend Leyla's wedding last weekend. I had bought a dress especially. It ticked all the boxes: thick straps to hide ugly bra, not too low cut to hide ugly bra, cool and colour blocked, BCBG designed but <a href="http://www.theoutnet.com/Shop/Search" target="_blank">Outnet</a> discounted, and hanging in my wardrobe in eager anticipation of the sunny Saturday when I'd get to wear it. Hair done (we'll come onto that), makeup done, bag packed, beautiful dress donned, Dadjokes waiting at the door, me putting shoes on, Dadjokes informing me you can see right down my top when I bend over and it isn't such a pretty site. Me resolving to never bend down, Dadjokes warning me I'm quite likely to need to bend down, me scouring the house for tit tape, admitting defeat and tearfully putting on the first thing I pull from wardrobe for the wedding I've been looking forward to dressing for since I heard about the engagement. Yes, tearfully. I am sort of ashamed to say I cried over a dress, but it was an expensive and rushed realisation of what an inconvenient f*cker this whole business can be. Mark II happened a few days later at work when I wore a nice floaty racer back top with jeans, spent a good proportion of the morning applying and reapplying tit tape, finding it is no match for a weighty prosthetic, admitting defeat and rifling through the cupboard for a sleeved, high necked top that challenged my natural deodorant no end.<br />
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FRIZZ FACTOR...OK, there was a very important bit coming next, about the heat and the humid hair situation and how a sweaty hairline and a sleek side part do not a good pairing make. But then the sun went on annual leave and Gale came in to cover. Now I am faced with a whole new hair dilemma, regarding wind and driving rain, SO irritating I can't even be bothered to blog about it on the end of this post. So tired is my left arm from holding a hairdryer aloft every single day, and my right arm weary from spraying extra extra firm magnificent hold hairspray every 45 minutes or so. So tired in fact the residual effect on y typing figers is too much to get a decent post out there. You se?<br />
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So I'll sleep on it, and update you on the practicalities of glorious British summertime with a growing out pixie crop just as soon as I've found something helpful to say. For now, I learn! Over n out...<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-77672378527335714772012-05-27T14:49:00.000-07:002012-05-27T14:49:14.327-07:00My Blog Hiatus (and sorry)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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GULP. I finally got up the guts to log on and glance through my fingers at the date of the last post. .An entire month and a half..Oh dear oh dear. So long in fact that Blogger has had a facelift, and I'm navigating the new version as a blogging rookie, that's how far off the wagon I've fallen. About as far as a discarded rotten apple off the apple wagon on the way to the cider factory. Wait, I think maybe rotten apples are a key component of cider making? But I digress...<br />
<br />
Cider talk would appear to be the latest in a long line of procrastinating devices I have developed in order to avoid this whole cancer nonsense these days. I'll be honest - its about time. Typing the c-word just now was an act of impressive bravery as far as the new and maybe not so improved me goes. You see, I'm a wuss. Cut and dry, no beating round the bush, verging on professional wuss. Who rather than settling into the new, life-will-never-be-<em>quite</em>-the-same me, has spent the last three or four months trying to clamber back the old version. <br />
<br />
I've always been a little too ambitious. My first Saturday job was as far away from the requisite local petrol garage as it was possible to get. Sales assistant at a high street fashion store or NOTHING. Never mind the build up of broke Saturday's spent sulking in my bedroom while my friends bought stuff and had fun, I would wait until someone was brave enough to employ an experience-less schoolgirl to represent their brand. This philosophy has applied throughout my life, with ideas slightly above my station being the general rule of thumb (how else are you crazy enough to try and break into fashion mags?). So I suppose my post-cancer, breaking the mould ideals shouldn't be too surprising. YES I can be back at work full time, a month after my recurrence and second op, with just as many bright ideas and ruthless hours. OF COURSE I can sleep perfectly well and maintain an active social life and fit in all the people I had to neglect in favour of chemo. Regular emotional wobbles? (OK, full on freak outs)? Moi? Nah. Normality is what I have been missing since December 2010, so normality is what I WILL reclaim, 100%, no messing about, ASAbloodyP.<br />
<br />
Pffft<br />
<br />
The blog hiatus has fallen to the same excuse as the book procrastination - I am just far too busy enjoying my health and normalcy to sit and write, or even I'm ashamed to say, reply to all the lovely blog emails. Now that I have had a few strong words with myself I suppose I can see whats going on here. I've become so much of a chicken I could be Kentucky Fried without anyone calling the restaurant health inspector. In actuality, I'm avoiding the issue. I have so much more to say - every new day is as much of a beauty learning curve as D-Day, but I just haven't been able to. Someone mentioning the C word, be it in a news meeting at work, on the telly, or a friend talking about a friend of a friends friend, I feel like I want to fall off my chair. I blush and cold sweat and avert my eyes and think about anything else. Is this an extreme reaction? I have no idea because I don't want to talk to anyone who might know, because that would be discussing the one topic I wish I never had to think about ever ever again.<br />
<br />
The cold hard truth is my life <u>has</u> changed. I will never be one of those women who revels in their tragedies. I don't want my illness to define who I am now, but I'm stupid if I think it doesn't shape it. From having to battle with my ridiculous hair, to having to battle with my, lets face it, fragile levels of sanity at times, I am one of a small percentage of 32 year olds who has had cancer, who has a very different stance than the 7 other lovely but luckier girls who sit at my desk bench. I now realise there is little point struggling to wipe out the worry that sits on my shoulders and not theirs, and even less point bemoaning the fact that I was the 1 in 8 on that row of desks who has to carry that worry.<br />
<br />
So you see, with that frame of mind, blogging about the good stuff is still focusing on the bad. If I tell you how I tackle the May heatwave hair-frizzing issue, I'm telling you its because it all fell out and then regrew curlier. How much I'm struggling to stay on the healthy eating wagon (god its easier when you have time to clean out the juicer at leisure instead of 2 minutes before you leave for work), is a glossier way of saying I'm feeling guilty for ignoring my bodies new needs and slipping back into my 'before' ways. Answering the lovely emails I get sent is conversing with my new peer group, who I gently rebuff because, well, I just don't want to be in <em>that</em> club.<br />
<br />
Thing is, I am in it. I'm not sure you can go through such a traumatic experience (I still maintain I did it as beauteously as humanly possible!), have your body quite literally shaped by cancer, and then brush it off with a bit of ignorant avoidance and a 'striaght back in at the deep end' attitude. Having given up therapy a bit too quickly (another avoidance tactic), I've managed to reach the grand old conclusion all by myself, that I am an idiot. My blog and all of its lovely readers and supporters have been something of a backbone to my cancer experience. The beauty trial and error approach was something tangible to focus on. Writing about my experience was wonderfully cathartic and helped me organise my thoughts, and every day that I don't write it, I miss it, but in a small compartment of my brain that has a combination lock I haven't quite worked out yet.<br />
<br />
By now I'd say I've cracked 3 out of the 4 digits, and am a fraction away from the last one. I'm not sure I'll get there completely, and I don't know if I quite want to, but every time I sit on the bus and suddenly think 'What the f*ck happened to me?!' I think I'm sort of getting my head around it. <br />
<br />
Last week saw my one year anniversary from chemo graduation and I am still wrestling my cancer beauty nemeses like nobodies business. This means I have plenty more blog posts in me and a unavoidable conclusion that by 'eck, I am a cancer survivor and I have the nightmare hair to prove it. Just in case my brain keeps regressing into NORMAL AT ALL COSTS mode and I need reminding of who I really am today. Now pass me the bloody ghd's...<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-23498908496387792002012-04-09T01:21:00.000-07:002012-04-09T01:21:22.309-07:00You du-rag rag rag, you du rag rag<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have a post in production that explains my recent blog slack, so please bare with me, but in the meantime I've been bestowed some extreme problem solving wisdom from a makeup guru friend of mine Caroline Barns. <br />
<br />
Yep, it's still the hair. The goddamn, f*#king, b^*$, st*pid short hair that chooses to behave in anyway other than OK. And which remains a mystery to even me, beauty expert that I am...<br />
I know how straightening irons work; they iron hair straight. I know this because I have been writing about them for several years, I have seen with my own eyes the straightening evidence upon my own hair, but show a pair to my new arch nemesis short hair and they're defunct. Even the mini ones - Powerless in the face of resolute wave. Every morning I am baffled as to how the heat, plates, even steam cannot tame the tufts that curl at the back and above the ears like a wiry old poodle. A scientific anomaly...<br />
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Whilst having an eye lift lesson from Caroline (more on that later), she casually throws in a magical hair taming tit bit that has changed my life, and now yours too. <br />
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Invest a measly £1.99 in a Du Rag. Most commonly utilised by Snoop Dog and Ashley Banjo (*swoons*), to keep their Afros from forcibly ejecting their baseball caps, this funny piece of stretchy cloth is all that stands between me and perfectly smooth hair.<br />
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Forget heat damage, arm ache from wielding a hairdryer at unnatural angles, battling with a bristle brush, this is my new process:<br />
1. Wash Hair (currently with Lee Stafford Great Lengths system. I am adamant it works to make my hair grow nicely)<br />
2. Shove some <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/?ie=UTF8&keywords=phomollient&tag=googhydr-21&index=aps&hvadid=9509906465&hvpos=1t3&hvexid=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=18583412531912491586&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&ref=pd_sl_3n6yvv2a14_b" target="_blank">Aveda Phomolient</a> light hold styling foam through<br />
3. Brush into desired shape - in my case, flat and Emma Watson ish, low side part etc,<br />
4. Tie on Du Rag.<br />
5. Sleep.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jzKQj2gJ6eM/T4KZL6alwNI/AAAAAAAABWY/1R8ecVb9IbE/s1600/flathair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jzKQj2gJ6eM/T4KZL6alwNI/AAAAAAAABWY/1R8ecVb9IbE/s320/flathair.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
Come morning my hair is so flat it could even do with a little root lift in the form of dry shampoo or <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Coiff-Oceanique-Tousled-Wave-Spray/dp/B0041PC9QI/ref=sr_1_73?ie=UTF8&qid=1333959616&sr=8-73" target="_blank">Fekkai Oceanic Tousled Wave spray</a>. Done! I even use it to 'refresh' my flatness between washes, since no matter how straight and dry my hair is, by morning it's always wiry old poodle again. I'm still awaiting my Brazilian Blowdry appointment, but till then, Du Rag, I owe you a big one (and you Caroline). Even if you have earned me yet another tease to add to my Dadjokes collection. 'Snoop Dawgy Daw-aw- awg' sang at every opportune moment. Delightful. (he's right though, you do look ridiculously awful. If husband/boyfriend/other half not securely pinned down, heed my caution)...<br />
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- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-271458420975395832012-03-07T14:31:00.002-08:002012-03-07T23:47:22.267-08:00The Needles In My Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pXkZsmomEqs/T1fe7ptGHoI/AAAAAAAABVw/O80GdTOclw8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-07+at+22.08.39.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pXkZsmomEqs/T1fe7ptGHoI/AAAAAAAABVw/O80GdTOclw8/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-03-07+at+22.08.39.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>As a qualified needle-phobic I have come to a post-treatment point where I no longer balk (OK I no longer cry and sulk and go white and snappy) at the thought of a blood test, but still I have a tinge of dread. I just can't be a willing participant in things that hurt me. It's a little disconcerting then that I now have a regular relationship with two particular needles, one by choice (its not heroin mum), one by necessity, both very much for my own good.<br />
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I went to Miami on a work trip once and everywhere I went, amidst the calf implants and rollerbladers, there was always a gay man with a Great Dane and a Chihuahua. I thought it weird to have two such incongruous dogs. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but essentially one of the needles is HUGE and the other the smallest of small. Yes, this is Acupuncture v's Zoladex.<br />
<br />
Since my untimely recurrence in Jan it has been decided that I try a new method of endocrine therapy in the form of a nightly tablet, Letrozol, and a 4 weekly mamma of an injection, Zoladex. I was still giddy from the relief of the 'no more chemo' news, that I happily skipped from consulting to treatment room, safe in the knowledge my blood-test-dread might imminently resurface, but I'm a big brave needlephobe who can now handle injections with poise, grace and minimal to no fuss. Erm, not so much. So cocky was I in my new found bravery that I made the error of all medical errors, I glanced down. For the first time in my 32 year history of injection partaking (aside of course from when I injected myself, but that required a whole other plane of consciousness - dramatic? me?). Why I chose to do it on this particular occasion is beyond me, but it has tainted my Zoladex experience for the next five years. I quickly glanced up hoping I'd confused myself and the nurse hadn't taken the cap off yet, but Dadjokes, on the <i>other side of the room</i> also looked, and offered up, 'Blimey, that's a bit meaty isn't it?'<br />
<br />
Yes, yes it is. A BIRO sized, OK, Biro nib sized...OK, toothpick sized hollow tube to allow a pellet to get out the end and under your skin is no blood test let me tell you. Alright, so no worse than getting your ears pierced, only lasts a couple of seconds and goes in my tummy, so I'm sure it could be worse, but not in my experience of injections, so I spend the next 27 days quietly dreading the 28th when I have to <i>volunteer</i> myself up to my GP for further stomach stabbing. I'm pretty sure I'm not being too much of a wuss, since I come away with a bruise that lasts a good week or so. And which we all know makes the experience sort of enjoyable and definitely worthwhile. Any sort of tangible evidence that pain and bravery have happened here is a pretty satisfying reward. Come on, who hasn't secretly let their oven-burn develop a tiny bit before running under cold water? Just me? oh...<br />
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So it must be due to some other strange universal forces that I find myself lying on a bed being pierced with several needles on a weekly basis, and not only am I choosing this plan, but I am <i>paying</i> for it.<br />
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I have a theory about breast cancer and that is I haven't a clue why it happened to me. I know no one has, but since it is rare in my age group, and since I don't have the faulty gene that predisposes me to it, I am left with my own theories. They vary thus: I misused my deodorant, G*d doesn't like me very much, my flat is cursed, I internalise my stress. I am in the process of moving and I have a very mistrusting relationship with my underarms now, the other thing I can't do much about, but the final thing I am working on as my anti-cancer 2012 strategy. How do I know I didn't bring this on myself by worrying? Always worrying. Somehow I have reached a point where formulating this theory has me worrying about the fact I'm worrying. So I willingly turned to point one in my anti-stress treatment plan; Acupuncture<br />
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Today was a good example. After a nightmare morning involving estate agents, deadlines and pissing rain I jumped in a cab to make my appointment on time. G*d was clearly challenging me to create a comparative frame of reference since he delivered ridiculous traffic and the only cabbie in London who doesn't know the knowledge. By the time he dropped me at the wrong address without an umbrella, late and out of pocket I was weepy-stressed enough to present a perfect test case. After three minutes of needles I felt peaceful and floaty and miraculously oh-what-the-hell about everything. I wouldn't say perfectly relaxed, but definitely different.<br />
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I won't lie, it helps that my acupuncturist is mildly to moderately attractive (DadJokes, I promise this is not why I insist on spending a large proportion of my wages on him - Katie and I see the same guy and we are of the opinion he has manipulated both our girlish giggle responses). I just feel like I'm doing something to help. Apparently your breast sits on your liver channel. This makes some sense to me since breast cancer tends to spread to the liver, so if he's clearing my liver channel, I'm all for it. Even if it is in my head, at least I'm having a positive reaction. Add in my definite reduction in hot flushes, better sleep, and less hip pain and its already worth the money. Once I've got my head around the fact I will be pierced repeatedly for half an hour, and I don't approach every appointment with needle nervousness, maybe I can get that proper relaxing benefit out of it too. Um, maybe I'd better think more seriously about yoga. Or Valium?..<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this is a picture of a dog getting acupuncture for goodness sake</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Disclaimer: Any Zolodex users, current or impending, who are perturbed by my account, please bear in mind my patheticism and flagrant use of drama.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com149tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-8159976036544688762012-02-16T05:45:00.001-08:002012-02-19T02:54:31.665-08:00Friends in High Places<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I've recently had to go through the incomparable trauma of getting a new head shot done for the mag. I've been bumped off the Tried and Tested panel since everyone knows my long hair shot is an out and out lie, so they won't believe I try out the products. Part of my back to normality strategy involves reinstating myself on the job front, which means being reinstated on the panel, which means a posed shot with short short hair. Argh.<br />
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The main problem is of course the hair. After a blissful couple of weeks of 'oh your hair looks really good now!' and having a rough idea of how it will behave on a day to day basis, I'm now back to having no clue whatsoever. This does not bode well for headshot day. My relaxing treatment has, well, relaxed in terms of its effect on controlling the waves these days.<br />
You can see my anarchic hair discomfort in the shot if you do happen to turn to the later pages of next weeks issue. It's all behind the eyes.<br />
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My shoot this morning; first things first, make a beeline for <a href="http://www.frankagency.co.uk/frank/artist.php?a=2&s=2" target="_blank">Peter Lux</a>, wondrous hairstylist and friend.<br />
Me: "Please you have to help me." (whilst demonstrating excessive length and unnatural projection of sidies). <br />
Peter: "I'm not cutting it".<br />
Me: *sobs*<br />
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Instead he sat me down and lectured, sorry, chatted to me about my options. Starting with a Keratin treatment, or Brazilian Blowdry to the uninitiated. Essentially it does the same thing as a relaxing treatment, but it's a very different thing. If you're not interested in why skip this paragraph (but risk missing a mega fact about Immac - you remember Immac?)<br />
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Relaxing opens the cuticles of a hair shaft to allow the treatment to get to work on the shaft underneath. But, the more closed the cuticle, the healthier, happier and more manageable the hair. Relaxing and perming works the same way to open the cuticles so much it sort of makes hair spongy. Immac fact: hair removal cream is basically nothing other than really strong relaxer or permer. The only difference is it raises and opens the cuticle so much that the hair shaft underneath melts.<br />
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Um, so I've very recently changed my opinion on hair relaxing. I'm sorry readers, I was ignorant to the full facts. I fearlessly try in the face of error, so don't worry if you've already relaxed yours. all it means is your hair probably looked fabulous for 2 weeks but now it's suspiciously curly again? Time to try Brazilian. This does the opposite job of smoothing the cuticle so much it actually makes hair healthier and straighter for a good 6-8 weeks. I'm going to try this out ASAP and report back. You can do it on top of chemical treatment too. Win win!<br />
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Boring or excessively interesting, we can all take serious note of Peters Pearls of Wisdom. He happens to know a thing a or two about pixie crops, since he does the hair of our Pixie Crop Heroine, Emma Watson herself. I unknowingly bumped into him at an event last week where she was, (I know). When she came in the first thing I was envious of was her sleek, perfectly groomed, wonderfully flattering hair. Very close second was the Valentino lace gown she was wearing. Third, in retrospect, her fashion standing, millions of pounds and presence of both boobies to fill out the beautiful Valentino to perfection. And her Louboutins. This is how my mind works when it comes to envy these days.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-65-cNWOk6nk/Tz0IRH00tuI/AAAAAAAABVo/WbOxWFXmw0c/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-02-16+at+13.40.17.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-65-cNWOk6nk/Tz0IRH00tuI/AAAAAAAABVo/WbOxWFXmw0c/s320/Screen+shot+2012-02-16+at+13.40.17.png" width="299" /></a></div><br />
Today on my shoot he told me he did her hair that night. I thought he was just there for the free pigs in blanket. Kidding, it was the crabmeat blinis. So I now have insider knowledge of exactly how he did it, and a live hotline to maybe the biggest expert in beautifully managed short short hair I could ever happen to be friends with. WOOHOO<br />
<br />
Emma Watson sleek crop How To:<br />
1. Get hold of some run of the mill <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Brylcreem-Wet-Hair-Gel-150/dp/B002S32FCS/ref=sr_1_12?ie=UTF8&qid=1329648797&sr=8-12" target="_blank">hair gel</a>. chances are your boyfriend has some from 1998.<br />
2. Section off very top section, then slick everything underneath down with the gel. For an extra specially sleek look Peter did very small sections to ensure it was all saturated with gel.<br />
3. The most flattering bit is super flat sides, and this can only be done with serious amounts of precise gelling.<br />
4. Her hair is longer than mine, so Peter twisted the very back and pinned into a minuscule chignon to keep the neck tidy.<br />
5. The top section he sprayed with a little mist of spray gel and shine spray, it takes any crispness out of the hair and <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Brylcreem-Wet-Hair-Gel-150/dp/B002S32FCS/ref=sr_1_12?ie=UTF8&qid=1329648797&sr=8-12" target="_blank">gel</a>, and also it retains a little volume so it's not quite as flat as back and sides. <br />
<br />
That's his formula for most flattering flatness ever. I'm going to try it immediately. I'm almost positive DadJokes has had a dalliance with wet look in his time, I'll recce his bathroom cabinet imminently.<br />
<br />
So back to my erroneous sidies. It is that small 1 inch of hair from sidie to sidie and right around the hair line is the bit that defines the length within any hair style. Unfortunately this is the bit that, in Peters own words, looks stupid while it's growing. The bit on top is just the filling it out, the layers. So however strong my temptation is to deal with my 'stupid' sidies and emergence of a worrying mullet at the back, I MUST REFRAIN.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZidrnXuofy0/Tz0IOOcv5JI/AAAAAAAABVg/mhmal4zTWKE/s1600/Screen+shot+2012-02-16+at+13.38.22.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZidrnXuofy0/Tz0IOOcv5JI/AAAAAAAABVg/mhmal4zTWKE/s320/Screen+shot+2012-02-16+at+13.38.22.png" width="266" /></a></div><br />
In my case, because I want to grow my hair for wedding purposes, I have to let the inch grow till it gets really really really annoying, then I have to cut it upwards in tiny measures. Basically, my hair is two inches long all over, so the side bit is two inches, but the bit above it is too, so when it's brushed down, the sidie looks particularly stupid because of all the ends not meeting, so in a months time (apparently I'll have 12 mm more) then I start cutting the very very bottom to meet the layer above, so it can all grow down in a much more civilised manner and thicken up the ends.<br />
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Make sense? If not you only need to know that a Brazilian is best. A common philosophy among women folk in a certain sense anyway, regardless of their health or hair length, yes women?..<br />
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Follow @MisterPeterLux <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/misterpeterlux" target="_blank">here</a><br />
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- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-69075966848108957012012-01-29T10:51:00.000-08:002012-01-29T10:51:54.366-08:00The High Heel Holy Grail<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">This may seem something of a flippant post, but honestly, never underestimate the power of shoes. This all started with my original character flaw: massive worry. I'm trying to live by a new philosophy regarding this evilest of enemies; When faced with a worry, try to absolve it. So, my current one regards footwear. Aside from high-diving back in the deep end of hectic word mode, attempting to sell and buy a home simultaneously, plan a wedding extravaganza and religiously stick to my 'only drink at weekends' rule (failing), I am concerned with a gentle worry about falling off the high heel waggon.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-px_tsWpbnJo/TyWT6BlI9BI/AAAAAAAABVQ/pY3SJrhRwPo/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-29+at+18.45.35.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-px_tsWpbnJo/TyWT6BlI9BI/AAAAAAAABVQ/pY3SJrhRwPo/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-01-29+at+18.45.35.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Oh yes this is a worry of the highest order of ridiculousness, but if you've ever watched that episode of Sex In The City where Carrie realises she's spent her potential house deposit on Manolo Blahniks you'll be near understanding. Imagine that horror, then imagine such a <i>significant</i> collection gathering dust in favour of necessarily comfortable Ugg boots or Converse, and you'll realise the gravity of 30 odd years of heel expertise gone to ruin. What a waste. All that sole hardening and ankle straining to pretty near Victoria Beckham standard. Those piles of vertiginous desirables that carried me from desk to, well just to meeting room, tea run and canteen if I'm perfectly honest - lost to comfort-in-the-face-of-joint pain. Heel expertise is not a 'get back on the horse' kind of skill. The tolerance for awkward foot arching wears off very quickly with my level of convalescence, so now I am practically a stiletto virgin once again.<br />
<br />
I will always prefer the elongating effect of heel height, the confidence boosting, bum lifting, attitude changing, not to mention the absence of Dadjokes favourite 'midget' or 'magoo' moniker. But with my chemo legacy hip pain still limp-inducingly present, I need a compromise. This is my worry-busting mission.<br />
<br />
Ok yes this may sound like a very wordy excuse to spend a fair whack on some <i>more</i> fancy shoes, but when shoes are as important to your feeling good as a clean bill of health or a life time supply of Malteser Celebrations, there is no such excuse needed.<br />
<br />
So, I've found them. Even before the cancer I considered it my mission in life to find shoes that were wearable for an entire day, including journey to work or even an impromptu shopping spree. Throw in a fancy label and I'm SOLD (Oh it's not just me, why else would sample sales need practical riot control?).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GeD0HrlSOyA/TyWQLHfvoKI/AAAAAAAABVI/FHiXVrwqEXY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-29+at+18.29.36.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GeD0HrlSOyA/TyWQLHfvoKI/AAAAAAAABVI/FHiXVrwqEXY/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-01-29+at+18.29.36.png" width="317" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://www.matchesfashion.com/pws/ProductDetails.ice?ProductID=53304">Acne Pistol Boots</a>. This isn't a fresh new concept in shoes, the cowboyish ankle boot has been around for a while, I just always felt stupid/masculine/stunted/fancy-dress in them. This version is boot perfection. Slim at the ankle, mid chunky heel that's tapered for a more feminine finish, not too rounded toe and nice and plain and simple. Plus they still make your legs/bum etc look magnificent, even teamed with skinny jeans. Even better, the <a href="http://www.topshop.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/ProductDisplay?beginIndex=0&viewAllFlag=&catalogId=33057&storeId=12556&productId=3253996&langId=-1&sort_field=Relevance&categoryId=208544&parent_categoryId=208492&pageSize=20">Topshop version</a> is <i>just as amazing. </i>Fraction of the cost, more readily available, but the payoff is the lack of delicious designer label satisfaction. Personally I'm happier with my Toppers versions, since I wear them every single day without feel of battering. My designer shoe collection stay in boxes and only get pavement action when absolutely necessary. How wasteful is that? Now I need never feel under dressed for the corner shop run again!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ImXPC07ThiI/TyWPoZJzYqI/AAAAAAAABU4/2Z5VRStHSC4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-28+at+15.07.01.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ImXPC07ThiI/TyWPoZJzYqI/AAAAAAAABU4/2Z5VRStHSC4/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-01-28+at+15.07.01.png" width="268" /></a></div><br />
Add to the list the impossible to get hold of <a href="http://www.mytheresa.com/uk_en/willow-suede-sneakers-134584.html" target="_blank">Isabel Marant Wedge Hi Tops</a> and I have officially got my comfy, exciting shoe/life balance sorted. I managed to get my hands on a pair. This can only be because of rare shopping opportunities not available to the full-time workers. I happened to be in Selfridges when a new delivery came in so I was one of those annoying people who made it sell out again within 5 minutes. Thank you painful operation for affording me that perk. This level of hype obviously adds to the desirability of said shoe, which makes it all the more perfect a find for the purposes of this post. I ummed and ahhed for 4 whole seasons, till I finally cracked and forked out a small fortune. These are colourful hi tops of Back To The Future magnitude. Unforgivingly hip hop and probably not quite style appropriate for a 32 year old sophisticated heel fan, but I've never had so many compliments or attention paid to any other thing I own. Including my fiancé.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ICIjd36NC-Q/TyWPmheG4OI/AAAAAAAABUw/4Lgt2qWQMYU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-28+at+15.06.48.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ICIjd36NC-Q/TyWPmheG4OI/AAAAAAAABUw/4Lgt2qWQMYU/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-01-28+at+15.06.48.png" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>so</i> exciting they get shared around the fashion desk at work</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
My mission accomplished; Cancer 0: Succeeding Style 1. Eternally comfortable, <i>very</i> exciting footwear that laughs in the face of hip pain. I'd best get selling on eBay for all my less comfortable redundant pairs. (As IF...)</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=AZ5B3ZsSxBk&offerid=216145.55205&type=2&subid=0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="new"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.matchesfashion.com/pws/images/catalogue/products/acne-c-pistol-short_sto/xlarge/acne-c-pistol-short_sto_1.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Acne Pistol Boot Perfection. Buy it <b>here</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table><img border="0" height="1" src="http://ad.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/show?id=AZ5B3ZsSxBk&bids=216145.55205&type=2&subid=0" width="1" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-21059435378100462842012-01-20T02:42:00.000-08:002012-01-20T04:14:49.985-08:00Aaaaand Relax...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5kHYWQSKKgY/TxlGlHaAv2I/AAAAAAAABUo/FeNIaSYurnY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.48.34.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5kHYWQSKKgY/TxlGlHaAv2I/AAAAAAAABUo/FeNIaSYurnY/s200/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.48.34.png" width="166" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I have finally finally had an entire <i>spate</i> of good news, that includes getting test results from my cats own lumpectomy, which happened the same week as my one. So now that we're a whole cancer-free household (so long as they got it all this time...), I'm feeling a strange sensation creeping in. One I can just about recall from mid 2010, and so alien to me I can barely remember how to spell it. 'Re-laaxaychun'.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fWSigS0h5LU/TxlELya0CPI/AAAAAAAABUY/IBnW6zaRhnY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.14.37.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fWSigS0h5LU/TxlELya0CPI/AAAAAAAABUY/IBnW6zaRhnY/s200/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.14.37.png" width="179" /></a>Starting with my hair. I'm being advised on a regular basis to control my worry by problem solving. My microphone head, growing at all angles and inclines, sticking up resolutely when I specifically need it to stick down, definitely qualifies as a worry. The gentle kind I am more than happy to be experiencing granted, but still, a worry nonetheless. I'm trying to get back to a healthy level of self confidence, and rotund hair just isn't conducive.<br />
<br />
Worry Solving Solution: Relax. The chemical version, rather than the emotional one this time. My hair angel Claire suggested a gentle treatment to help my hair grow out with some dignity. Which shamefully, in my position as beauty editor I hadn't even considered. It makes perfect sense that flat hair will behave 'better' than curly, it'll sit closer to the head and look like its following the downward rule of gravity, rather than the outward rule of post chemo regrowth.<br />
<br />
Five minutes in a child-friendly home relaxing kit for Afro hair and suddenly my crop has gone from sh!t to chic. Now when I wash it I generally know what its going to look like till I wash it again. When I wake up in the morning, or simply get up from a horizontal position I don't look like Zoe Wanamaker plugged into a wall socket, and I don't need industrial strength product to stop my (curlier than anywhere else) sidies pinging up at alternate angles.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dSHHBlMjMMo/TxlEWxdBmnI/AAAAAAAABUg/xghxA5jBrXk/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.37.44.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dSHHBlMjMMo/TxlEWxdBmnI/AAAAAAAABUg/xghxA5jBrXk/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.37.44.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">before after</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Yes a trip to a salon might be a slightly safer bet if you're home-kit shy, or don't have a hair angel to hand. But I happen to know of a BOY (who shall remain anonymous) who regularly relaxes his hair at home, and if a useless boy can do it, I'm pretty sure anyone who has hair can.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NJSpEwC_8UI/TxlC25dDNtI/AAAAAAAABUI/nNFdVWSxK18/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.14.09.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NJSpEwC_8UI/TxlC25dDNtI/AAAAAAAABUI/nNFdVWSxK18/s200/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.14.09.png" width="198" /></a>We used <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Softsheen-Carson-Beautiful-Beginnings-childrens-relaxer/dp/B000OOSO3M/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1327055207&sr=8-3">Soft-Sheen Carson Dark and Lovely for Kids</a>. It is a gentle (as gentle as chemically altering your hair can be), nourishing formula and it costs a tenner. Mine went on for five minutes, just like a home hair dye, then washed out thoroughly, then its ready to blow-dry. I'm now using <a href="http://www.boots.com/en/Aussie-Miracle-Moist-Conditioner_8843/">extra moisturising shampoo and conditioner,</a> because my hair isn't 'virginal' any more, but that's all it takes to keep it looking lovely still. With sideburns that grow in the same manageable direction at long last.<br />
<br />
Now that my hair can relax, I'm taking its lead and making waves to apply the same rule to the rest of my life. This includes <a href="http://www.goodvibesfitness.co.uk/classes/glow-yoga/">Glow Yoga</a> (I'll report back soon), wedding planning (other peoples mega-stress is my fun downtime) and finding ways to sate my extreme chocolate craving without actually eating chocolate. I love a new challenge...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QAu31rzcdYo/TxlBGoEQr1I/AAAAAAAABTA/b_fU37kNrxk/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.14.24.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QAu31rzcdYo/TxlBGoEQr1I/AAAAAAAABTA/b_fU37kNrxk/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-01-20+at+10.14.24.png" width="265" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;"><u><b>Claire Hair Relaxing Tips</b></u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">1. When the product is on, keep combing or brushing through or you'll end up with it stuck in one parting or style.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">2. Keep the product on for slightly less time than the instructions recommend. You can always re-do it if you haven't relaxed enough, but if it goes too straight, there's no going back. And too straight just doesn't look like natural hair anymore.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">3. Don't use on bleached hair or put it directly on the scalp. I'd wait till you have a couple of inches hair growth.</div><div><br />
</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-17341625908463152152012-01-04T03:33:00.000-08:002012-01-04T04:25:59.708-08:00A Side Effects Text Book<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">In my formative years I was a collector of bouncy balls (by my own choosing), postage stamps and spoons (those were my grandfathers preference) and stickers (me again).<br />
In my early thirties I'm acquiring quite an impressive collection of something a bit less tangible and much more varied. If ever there was a side effect printed on a Tamoxifen leaflet, I am very likely to be experiencing it. In fact, even things that aren't printed on there, but on further research are always likely caused by Tamoxifen, can be added to my collection.<br />
<br />
Another problem is I'm a Google-phobe when it comes to anything medical. I would rather wallow in my imagination than look up some nutjob Internet theory on how my aching toe means definite metastatic disease, caused by buying apples that come in plastic bags or putting my bed 90 degrees from the window. So I'll go a good few weeks worrying about said toe before Katie invariably looks it up and tells me it <i>is</i> Tamoxifen induced. (Metaphorical example; An aching toe is just about the only thing I don't have.)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UXoe4WjDUMI/TwQ0pmeuLcI/AAAAAAAABQw/H_AcdizNJbI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.02.22.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UXoe4WjDUMI/TwQ0pmeuLcI/AAAAAAAABQw/H_AcdizNJbI/s200/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.02.22.png" width="148" /></a>So far my impressive collection consists of:<br />
Aching joints. Or joint, since its just the one hip, but by gawd is it annoying. Before my scans it was terrifying, but now I know my cancer is contained to my nit (non-tit, remember?), its been demoted to annoying again. Serious enough to warrant an occasional 'rude boy bowl' that embarrasses DadJokes no end, and, deep breaths, makes me avoid high heels. <i>That</i> is serious.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Concentration issues. A testament to this is the four half written blog posts I have in production at the moment. Also the need to re-read the same paragraph of my book 3 times before I can move on. But that could equally be because its a sh!t book.</div><div><br />
</div><br />
Bad eyesight. After squinting at one too many no. 38 buses I went to the optician, and sure enough, dry eyes and potential retina issues are to be expected for the next five drug taking years.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aSRf-A2z6qE/TwQ025veU2I/AAAAAAAABQ8/sax_5tkCCNI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.01.44.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aSRf-A2z6qE/TwQ025veU2I/AAAAAAAABQ8/sax_5tkCCNI/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.01.44.png" width="264" /></a></div><br />
The Wobbles. A collective term that covers everything from getting disproportionately irate at the lack of order in the spice rack, to crying at Hollyoaks.<br />
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Hot flushes that would make Madonna admit her age and go into retirement. The worst part is the late night duvet battle. He wants it on I WANT IT OFF OFFFFFFFFF GET IT OFF.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g-Q6jNy-IF4/TwQ0crglzCI/AAAAAAAABQk/BZSbkI-PEaU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.02.44.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g-Q6jNy-IF4/TwQ0crglzCI/AAAAAAAABQk/BZSbkI-PEaU/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.02.44.png" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desmond has no such issues</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Er, WC happenings, or not happenings as it were. Gillian McKeith would not be impressed...<br />
I'm still waiting for the promised levelling out as my body gets used to the drugs, but since I am not a seasoned tablet-taker, I'm not sure how long I'll have to squint and sweat before my body cooperates.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FYkyYKf1VXg/TwQ4yotr7VI/AAAAAAAABRU/LnVTsrQjC-M/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.28.46.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FYkyYKf1VXg/TwQ4yotr7VI/AAAAAAAABRU/LnVTsrQjC-M/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.28.46.png" /></a>In an attempt to tackle 'The Wobbles' I admitted defeat and went for some extra help. Now, I'm all for anything that will magically make me feel better, but I have a funny feeling about anti-depressant drugs since at my all girls school, a Prozac prescription was seen as a sign of extreme coolness, depth of character, and a ploy to make Mr Willis from Physics fall in love with you. I'm not sure where the reasoning comes in, but mental illness was thought to be veeery attractive in my fifth year. I couldn't get my head around it then, and still now am more prone to go the psychological route of learning coping mechanisms, than taking a pill.<br />
<br />
When you cry at Hollyoaks, psychological care is maybe not enough, and faced with my recurrence fears being realised I signed up for some magic pills. Um, if being too tired to blink and too despondent to put effort into saying words is helpful, then I can do without thanks. The 'these tablets may make you feel worse before they make you feel better' warning on my particular leaflet did <i>of course</i> refer to me, (text book), but when I was still waiting for the feeling better part three weeks later I gave up and went back to good old fashioned family cuddles and Michael McIntyre on the telly. MUCH better. The good news scan results must have helped too, but I realise if I can avoid tablet taking, I will. I'm no Jennifer Saunders, although I'd love to know what she's on such that she raves about it in the papers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BcUNr9SQDY8/TwQ468bIzyI/AAAAAAAABRg/FF1c-aFE6YQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.24.31.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BcUNr9SQDY8/TwQ468bIzyI/AAAAAAAABRg/FF1c-aFE6YQ/s320/Screen+Shot+2012-01-04+at+11.24.31.png" width="300" /></a></div><br />
My alternative therapies include retail, feline and social, so while I recover from my latest op I'm looking forward to a lot of the aforementioned, just to get me through you understand. 'Scuse me while I open a new tab; The net-a-porter sale is calling...<br />
<br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-67963535477560070342011-12-25T03:17:00.000-08:002011-12-25T03:17:40.156-08:00Keep Calm Carry On<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6WHi6K4oz0A/TvcE29MkeKI/AAAAAAAABPM/Uq9V8fwodMw/s1600/pressie.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6WHi6K4oz0A/TvcE29MkeKI/AAAAAAAABPM/Uq9V8fwodMw/s320/pressie.JPG" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>OK, disaster averted, Christmas is back on! Which is wonderful, with a tinge of argh, since I had put everything on hold until results day, which meant a frantic SIX HOUR shopping frenzy. In Oxford Circus. (One armed). On 23rd December, which nearly finished me off in itself.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GBTz06ndGyQ/TvcFTfX2F4I/AAAAAAAABP0/GF_eq3ItZH0/s1600/tree.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GBTz06ndGyQ/TvcFTfX2F4I/AAAAAAAABP0/GF_eq3ItZH0/s320/tree.JPG" width="238" /></a>So where you left me last I had received news of cancer refuting it's eviction notice and sneaking it's tiny little cousin in through the cat flap, to start building a home just under the scar left by the old stuff. Now I am not a good receiver of bad news. I know many people aren't, but I have reached a level of lunacy whereby I not only latch onto the negative aspects of a conversation, but also think the doctors are hiding information from me or just out and out lying. So far I believed the original ultrasound doctor could see the lump was cancerous, but assured me it was fibrodanoema so I wouldn't spend the whole week worrying about biopsy results. Also the doctor who delivered the news of my non-spread to lymph nodes the first time round was either lying, or couldn't read an MRI, since it had spread there. Then there were the several family members, nurses, phone help lines and subsequent ultrasound doctor who tried to convince me this new lump was residual scar tissue from the op, only to be told um, no wrong again - its residual cancer instead. </div><br />
So you see, by process of logical progression, a series of scans to determine whether new cancer had spread this time did nothing to restore my bad news receptor. A 'we don't expect it to have spread' from the surgeon loosely translates in my world to; 'there's a chance it has spread otherwise we wouldn't do the tests, plus there's been pain in your bones and liver, yes, <em>sure</em> it's liver pain, which obviously means it has spread, and since the small chances in the past have become reality, then this too must follow.'<br />
<br />
I was pretty much convinced, hence zero Christmas plans. I didn't manage to utter more than seven words a day for the week-long wait for results, and my mum actually took Christmas off the menu while we all waited for my head (or liver) to explode.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gy910pbGcro/TvcFdxkhw5I/AAAAAAAABQA/3whk0litdGw/s1600/sweets.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gy910pbGcro/TvcFdxkhw5I/AAAAAAAABQA/3whk0litdGw/s320/sweets.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><br />
Turns out I was wrong, maybe the doctors don't use lying as part of their medical practise, and this new lump, which they think is actually just old lump having another go, is treatable. The weird bit is that this Christmas I <u>do</u> have cancer, just like last; I'm facing another operation and in all likelihood another bout of chemo, but I'll take that, with some brandy cream and orange quality street, in light of what I could have been facing. I'm sure I would have picked myself up and battled on eventually, but after the year my family and I have had, I would've liked a bit longer for my body and brain to resume normal service in order to deal with the new level of sh!t. As so many amazing people I know of have and do, and are having joyous lovely Christmas days along with the rest of us. I have seen Twitter evidence of this feat of extraordinariness this very morning.<br />
<br />
So one Christmas day on, and what a difference a year makes. But in some ways, not one tiny bit...Hey ho (ho ho)...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IjvpAUOfHoA/TvcGDiV19LI/AAAAAAAABQY/T5Wot5oFivw/s1600/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IjvpAUOfHoA/TvcGDiV19LI/AAAAAAAABQY/T5Wot5oFivw/s200/photo+%25281%2529.JPG" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas Jumper ON</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Merry Christmas xxx</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-5919595205512170492011-12-10T05:45:00.000-08:002011-12-10T05:45:12.767-08:00Happy Anniversary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The good news is I'm sort of tentatively working on a book born from this very blog. A few people have pointed me in that direction, and as cathartic as the blog has been, surely a book will be even more so, with some ego boosting and official 'authoring' thrown in. My agent (ooh!) has suggested I start from the beginning. Not remarkable in book terms, but since this blog hasn't particularly been chronological, I'm dredging my memory for how it happened in real time.<br />
<br />
The first bit - the dreaded diagnosis - is basically impossible to forget. Reading the doctors faces before they've delivered the news, not really listening because the blood pumping in the ears situation makes it very difficult to hear. I REALLY haven't forgotten. Not even a little bit, as much as I would have <i>loved</i> to. But JUST IN CASE, the god of sh!t timing has sent me a refresher course in the form of a shiny brand new bout of cancer. Even more poignant, since it came <i>one day</i> after the anniversary of my initial diagnosis, which anyone will tell you is a difficult day in itself.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QMN66TrSPWw/TuNiUwjdGdI/AAAAAAAABO4/RkN9idaIg_w/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-12-10+at+13.43.02.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QMN66TrSPWw/TuNiUwjdGdI/AAAAAAAABO4/RkN9idaIg_w/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-12-10+at+13.43.02.png" width="240" /></a></div><br />
So here I am again, holed up in my mum and dads house, awaiting tests, more tests and even more test results, already one operation down, and yes, thoroughly very much absolutely um, not sure of the word here. I don't think there is one yet invented for the weird, jumbled, up n' down ness of such a quick recurrence.<br />
<br />
The good news is it's not a massive shock compared to (EXACTLY) this time last year. I'm more p!ssed off, but that's far too mild a description. I went to a couple of weddings two summers ago, both of which broke down within 6 months. I felt a bit about them as I do about this - what was all the celebrating for then? I'd like a refund on my bar bill please, and I'll take that honeymoon contribution back as well thanks very much.<br />
<br />
The worst bit is how tainted all the nice stuff seems now. What a waste. I don't think my dad can afford another hog roast for my new I'm All Better Party - and in actual fact, I don't want one. Scrap Christmas too while you're at it. From now on December officially sucks...<br />
<br />
POSITIVE THOUGHTS TO FOLLOW...<br />
<br />
I have a little one for now: 'more blog fodder.'</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-88161810699678098252011-12-01T15:06:00.000-08:002011-12-01T15:06:49.446-08:00Letter Bombs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I won't go into too much detail here, since you really don't need to know the inner and outer goings on of my body on a day to day basis, but if I never have to see another one of those blue stamped NHS letters in my post cubby hole it will be too soon. Oh how they fill me with dread. So far they've ranged from 'please fill in this inpatient questionnaire' to 'you need to come in for further testing', to the point where every reading is like a postal Russian Roulette.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vQN3uYqgPiA/TtgE4R32suI/AAAAAAAABOg/DxPSEvto1yQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-12-01+at+22.46.39.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vQN3uYqgPiA/TtgE4R32suI/AAAAAAAABOg/DxPSEvto1yQ/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-12-01+at+22.46.39.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
OK, I have planned and executed my outfit for today, I have strategically planned my day from alarm setting, to tube timings, I have left and locked up my house and picked up my post on the way out. Oh hello blue NHS envelope, welcome back to the life and times of Sophie A Beresiner. You have the potential to obliterate my entire month so now, on the 141 to London Bridge, do I open and read your contents, or do I attempt to enjoy the rest of my day with the looming dread of its contents hanging over me?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m5K328tNVog/TtgE7O7gRLI/AAAAAAAABOo/XLbOlvgbtSQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-12-01+at+22.40.54.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m5K328tNVog/TtgE7O7gRLI/AAAAAAAABOo/XLbOlvgbtSQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-12-01+at+22.40.54.png" /></a></div><br />
This isn't really a quandary, since I don't have the mindset of someone who can hang onto a sealed envelope and not obsess about its contents. Thus far I've received a heady mix of CC's from various oncologists and radiotherapists telling each other about the medical intricacies of my cancer. Even though I ticked the box that said DO NOT send me these letters, since I (quite correctly and astutely) worried how my overactive imagination would deal with them. I'm not sure why I'm getting them, but now I'm too chicken to put a stop to them. What if I miss out on some vital life-saving information?<br />
<br />
Oh how I miss the days of over-inflated credit card bills and Graham & Green catalogues. I know there's something I can do about this, there must be. Short of going nuts in the Gold Label section of Tk Maxx, I'm not entirely sure what the answer is to redress the balance, but I would so like to fluff out my letterbox with normal <i>financial</i> worries say, and have the medical profession leave my body and mind alone, just for a few weeks at least.<br />
<br />
Its got to a point where Dadjokes fields my mail and breaks things to me gently. He goes through some deep breathing exercises of his own, but I'm not sure if they're of the same mental space as mine, or more the 'oh lord, how am I going to sugar coat <i>another</i> one of these to my newly neurotic fiancé?'<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eeLRjFKwohI/TtgH7sZz7ZI/AAAAAAAABOw/aWDzmlLONK8/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-12-01+at+23.04.00.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eeLRjFKwohI/TtgH7sZz7ZI/AAAAAAAABOw/aWDzmlLONK8/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-12-01+at+23.04.00.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It is true, we are a killer combination of Anxious and Anxious-er. Although a perfect match in many ways - hence the impending nuptials - the one place we're a bit too similar is the place not conducive to a calm after-care experience. Thus far Dadjokes' tactic is this; feign calmness, but don't succeed in fooling said neurotic fiancé, ('smeyesing' is only convincing when Tyra Banks does it), hold breath till professional/medical confirmation that initial calm stance was appropriate, break down in relieved hysteria. If this were BBC1, our dynamic would draw good viewing figures. But when its an audience of 2 cats and a sofa, drama isn't welcome on the programming schedule.<br />
<br />
The key is of course, moi. My anxiety is a self fulfilling prophecy. So, I have a mantra, I'm trying it out for size; Don't Worry, Be Happy! (exclamation mark imperative). The thing with Mantras is they need some kind of belief system right? Or does simply repeating a phrase so many times make it true? So far, semi good. My strenuous efforts to replace 'worry' with 'happy' has seen me take up a whole load of new (and expensive) hobbies, such as excessive theatre-going and any excuse for an evening out. These things take care of the waking hours, its the nights I'm still working on. Suggestions glady received. Not drug-related though thanks. I have too many social occasions I need to be alert for...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kxY7zZBe6VY/TtgE2cWGs0I/AAAAAAAABOY/I31_5KrHEIg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-12-01+at+22.46.19.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kxY7zZBe6VY/TtgE2cWGs0I/AAAAAAAABOY/I31_5KrHEIg/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-12-01+at+22.46.19.png" width="318" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-72645284349601847712011-11-23T14:51:00.000-08:002011-11-26T03:25:59.621-08:00The trials and errors of a pixie crop<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u4Dqi4-2ujs/Ts1296VbU5I/AAAAAAAABNw/XAfTlcAIpns/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.42.08.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u4Dqi4-2ujs/Ts1296VbU5I/AAAAAAAABNw/XAfTlcAIpns/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.42.08.png" width="240" /></a></div>OK, I admit it. being a girl with very very short hair is HARD. Yes I've been posting and postulating about how to make it look nice and what a difference a dye makes, but I'm going to come out and admit defeat; I'm rubbish with it in so many ways. All of which I'll try to resolve, in the true manner of this blog, but by 'eck this ones a toughie.<br />
<br />
1. <i> (I do love a list) </i>My Wedding Day<br />
This won't be number 1 priority for a lot of you, but since I am typical girl, and my every <i>other</i> waking thought is weddings (I work it around permanent hypochondria), it's top of mine. I want long girlish wavy, centre parted flowy hair with my big white dress. I just can't picture any other option. I have one year and counting, a year I plan to spend eking out as many inches as humanly possible. From relentless questioning of all my hair stylist friends, I reckon I can expect about a mid-ear length bob - just enough for some realistic extensions for the big day, if only I can battle through extreme urge to get it cut. It's a battle of epic proportions. Torn between extreme pride in how much its coming along and horror at the puffy sided monstrosity masquerading as a hairdo that just gets worse with every day of further growth.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xmGDZ_b_ofE/Ts13lvl_jVI/AAAAAAAABN4/baXUuoqLc6w/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.46.11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xmGDZ_b_ofE/Ts13lvl_jVI/AAAAAAAABN4/baXUuoqLc6w/s200/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.46.11.png" width="166" /></a></div><br />
Um, I failed. There were only so many times I could hear Dadjokes' gentle encouragement to sort my hair out before I cracked and went for a cut. My plan is this; keep the top untouched, then as it grows it will disguise the terrible sides and back stages. Problem is hairdressers do not seem to adhere to my plan, and yesterday I came back from a cut a bit heartbroken at the amount chopped off. To the untrained eye it probably wasn't <i>that</i> much. To my hyper alert state, where every millimetre of precious growth is practically obsessed over, I was gutted to see about a months worth of length sitting in my lap. I'm not sure anyone can understand how much you treasure your stupid, fluffy, long back and sides unless they've grown it from absolutely nothing. It didn't help when Dadjokes said 'oh, <i>that</i> much off? maybe it wasn't so bad before'.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-11w7wt8exWc/Ts120Spem2I/AAAAAAAABNY/cLtF5hXrnoU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.41.14.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-11w7wt8exWc/Ts120Spem2I/AAAAAAAABNY/cLtF5hXrnoU/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.41.14.png" width="242" /></a>2. Do I stay or do I Grow?<br />
On the other hand I have never had so many compliments in my life. I'm not sure if they're pity ones from the people I know, but even strangers are telling me they love my hair. Work took me backstage at X Factor a couple of weeks ago and Jonny stopped me in the corridor with 'oooh, love the pixie crop'. Highly esteemed praise <i>indeed</i>. I arrived for a meeting last week at a PR agency, and the receptionist pointed me in the direction for a casting. I am 32 years old, I don't get mistaken for a model in ordinary life. All of this is making me wonder if I should stick with the crop. This would solve the (currently impossible) growing out issue, but scupper my romantically wispy wedding plans. Plus I'd need three weekly cuts, and I just can't maintain that level of upkeep. Its just not me. Then there's all the other stuff to deal with. Like...<br />
<br />
3. Lady Leanings<br />
I live near Stoke Newington, Lesbian capital of London. When I walk down the high street I am astoundingly blatantly checked out from all directions. It is flattering to say the least, but I can see girls looking at Dadjokes holding my hand, thinking 'poor boy, he doesn't even know.' Why am I suddenly more attractive to my own sex? Does this mean I look like a boy? look like a lesbian (what does a lesbian look like anyway?), or am just generally looking better? It can only be the hair. Either way it's not great for absolving any self-consciousness. It also means I steer clear of flat shoes and rainbow coloured knitwear.<br />
<br />
4. Hair Envy<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X3577cNZnjg/Ts12yUmZf8I/AAAAAAAABNQ/B6BHtH8qaFI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.40.58.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X3577cNZnjg/Ts12yUmZf8I/AAAAAAAABNQ/B6BHtH8qaFI/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.40.58.png" width="235" /></a></div>All of my friends and family are now viewed by measure of hair loveliness. I appreciate a gentle sheen, flowing ends and simple ability to tuck behind ears or put up in a pony. And I calculate how many years it took them to cultivate their manes. And then I go a bit green and ever so slightly snarly at how versatile and flowing their lovely locks are. Even when they take 45 minutes more than me to get ready in the morning. Even when they burn their fingers on their curling tongs. Oh how I remember how annoying that used to be. Still, it only takes me three minutes to wash and dry my hair all in. Hah.<br />
<br />
5. Three Day Hair<br />
Very short hair that has suddenly decided to go very curly is very difficult to style. On wash day it is resolutely puffy, no matter what exotic combination of styling aids I put on it. And I have tried nearly everything. Also Kirby grips do not grip. There is no helping first day hair for me. Second day is mildly better. This could be due to said exotic combination of products settling in to do their job properly. Its still somewhat unruly though. Day three and finally my hair looks OK. It sort of stays where I want it to, and the texture is more separated and cool. And also unclean. But I'm reluctant to wash it and start the bhd cycle all over again. Social occasions are planned around my third day hair, I just hope for minimal hugging - it leads to hair sniffing...<br />
<br />
Since I was so recently and aggressively trimmed I'm starting again with the grow out. This time my plan is more combative, including wet look gel and a relaxing treatment. That way it might grow downwards instead of outwards. Wish me luck, there are wedding photos at stake...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cdIVwEmiaMM/Ts1261fA1aI/AAAAAAAABNo/VvYqZxMhU4w/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.41.50.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cdIVwEmiaMM/Ts1261fA1aI/AAAAAAAABNo/VvYqZxMhU4w/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-11-23+at+22.41.50.png" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the last time I grew out...<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</tbody></table></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-84774366376439442802011-11-08T13:25:00.000-08:002011-11-08T13:26:15.474-08:00Stumped<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XE-QWBfRQ-c/TrmZ2lvhpdI/AAAAAAAABLw/-1ESBdvJ3uE/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-08+at+21.05.57.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XE-QWBfRQ-c/TrmZ2lvhpdI/AAAAAAAABLw/-1ESBdvJ3uE/s200/Screen+Shot+2011-11-08+at+21.05.57.png" width="166" /></a></div><br />
Whatever the opposite of a nightmare is, I keep having a recurring one, whereby I wake up (in my dream) and my hair is flowing around my jawline. Oh what a mild and pleasant surprise, two years of growth overnight. How lovely, now I can have seamless extensions for my wedding day, or even another few inches of natural growth before next December so I can look like a <i>proper</i> girl in my wedding dress. My dreams often traverse into reality like that. It just adds to the disappointment of waking up with my hair the EXACT same length as I left it the night before.<br />
<br />
Seriously. It has stayed resolutely same-short for the last six weeks. I swear its just stopped growing. OK, so I'm definitely resembling more of a microphone head every day, and my ears are slightly more ticklish, but I see no physical evidence otherwise.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3O5xgfwFmYQ/TrmZJEzD70I/AAAAAAAABLo/_cNcJaJTaYQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-08+at+21.03.02.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3O5xgfwFmYQ/TrmZJEzD70I/AAAAAAAABLo/_cNcJaJTaYQ/s200/Screen+Shot+2011-11-08+at+21.03.02.png" width="166" /></a></div><br />
Same for my eyelashes. Stumpy has muscled in where Spidery hasn't been seen since 2010. Its a lash tragedy. I'm having a RevitaLash hiatus too, since my extreme post-treatment wobbly has manifested itself in eyelid eczema. Nice huh? I didn't know such a thing was possible, but my eyelids are under the weather.<br />
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Oh Tamoxifen, Tamoxifen, how you irritate my skin (I think). After months of a chemo complexion silver lining, I'm suddenly at the mercy of screwy hormones again. Don't get me wrong, I am happy to have the drug insurance deal, but I'm sad that my skin is drier and oilier all at once, downier (this is what gave Marilyn Monroe that soft focus effect apparently - I'm in good company), and generally unpredictable.<br />
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This being SophieFeelsBetter, guess what? I have a solution. It's not revolutionary, but its damn effective. <a href="http://www.harrods.com/product/skii/facial-treatment-clear-lotion/000000000000503206">SK-II Facial Treatment Clear Lotion </a>swiped over after cleansing (twice) has restored my skin to a nicely settled state. No outbreaks for 4 weeks and counting. Miraculous Aqueous cream keeps the sore eyelids at bay, and a dab of <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Aveeno-Positively-Ageless-Shittake-Complex/dp/B005K6XAU6/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1320783911&sr=8-2">Aveeno Positively Ageless Eye Serum</a> round the outside I'm hoping counteracts the extra drying effect (that's how <i>wrinkles</i> are made) but it's not aiding my lash growth. I'm like an Angry Birds enthusiast, urging them on with mental facial straining, as if leaning my whole phone to the right will make my bomb bird travel further. The same doesn't work for the lashes either. They've stayed at half a cm since they came back. In their glory days I could add a whole 10mm onto there.<br />
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Every mascara drop in the <a href="http://www.look.co.uk/">LOOK</a> office is lucky to make it to the beauty cupboard. Don't tell my team but they may be missing some crucial new launches, since anything lengthening or volumising surreptitiously sneaks into my handbag instead. Here are my findings:<br />
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<a href="http://www.boots.com/en/Clinique-High-Lengths-Mascara-7ml_1039706/">Clinique High Lengths</a> - good for coating every lash and separating the stumps, but doesn't quite do its eyebrow tickling job as yet. This is my everyday mascara at the moment.<br />
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<a href="http://www.houseoffraser.co.uk/Yves+Saint+Laurent+Mascara+Volume+Effet+Faux+Cils+Noir+Radical/135482424,default,pd.html?cm_mmc=Googlebase-_-Beauty-_-Makeup-_-Mascara+Volume+Effet+Faux+Cils+Noir+Radical&istCompanyId=17910aed-1bae-4362-9580-b523eb87a91e&istItemId=wxpaimwa&istBid=t">YSL False Lash Effect</a> - ah, the mascara of my 'before'. I love this stuff. It really gives, well, a false lash effect. But for some reason (and I'm always going to blame the tamoxifen for this), it imprints on my top lid these days so I look like a sweaty panda. With stumpy lashes.<br />
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<a href="http://www.boots.com/en/LOreal-Paris-Lash-Architect-Mascara_6581/?CAWELAID=334481006&cm_mmc=Shopping%20Engines-_-Google%20Base-_---_-LOreal%20Paris%20Lash%20Architect%20Mascara">L'Oreal Lash Architect</a> - it has different sized bristles around the brush which is really good for coating the little lashes - my forte - but again, not quite enough. Still stumped.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GetGazwLZ2I/Trmd7soBGKI/AAAAAAAABMA/wnvIlgzvqMU/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-08+at+21.23.41.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GetGazwLZ2I/Trmd7soBGKI/AAAAAAAABMA/wnvIlgzvqMU/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-11-08+at+21.23.41.png" width="236" /></a></div><br />
The only option left is actual real life falsies. I'm racking up some serious practice these days, I'm almost <i>quite</i> good at applying them. Only almost mind, so I'm relying on my fool proof method. Cut the end quarter off and stick that in the outer corner. It's easily elongating, enough to make my eyes MUCH prettier, really hard to f*ck up, and totally observes the TOWIE anti-drag laws of false lashdom.<br />
Urban Decay do an excellent set or <a href="http://www.houseoffraser.co.uk/Urban+Decay+Instaglam+Eyelashes/141531875,default,pd.html">four mini bits of lash</a>, that's four whole comfortable photo opportunities and no need for scissors. Well worth the £11...<br />
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On the hair front I had a chat with the <a href="http://www.philipkingsley.co.uk/our-clinics">Philip Kingsley Trichology Clinic</a>. The good news is my hair is doing very well. The bad news is it is growing back at a good rate, and I'm doing all the right things to make it grow faster, but I'm just oblivious. For oblivious read horribly impatient.<br />
If you're interested, special shampoo apparently makes no difference - (mentally I am still attached to my Nioxin, it might be mythical but so is Santa, and look at the positive influence he has on life) - protein is the key. Basically your hair shuts down to protect itself, so when it feels it can happily grow again it does. I need some hair happiness. Maybe a Missoni ornamental comb? That would for sure make my hair happy. My pocket not so much...<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-43826053490486713732011-11-03T04:35:00.000-07:002011-11-03T04:38:26.468-07:00Tricks Of The Trade<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">(Dear Dadjokes and <i>man</i>kind in general. Prepare to be bored on a par with me having to watch back to back football while there's perfectly good The Hills reruns on MTV)...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GP6cwGrc2iE/TrG3k8n7WGI/AAAAAAAABIw/k6UHbYrIgzI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-11-02+at+21.34.36.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GP6cwGrc2iE/TrG3k8n7WGI/AAAAAAAABIw/k6UHbYrIgzI/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-11-02+at+21.34.36.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Its nice to feel useful. Even though I write for the UK's biggest selling fashion weekly, proffering tips and tricks on everything beauty, I sort of don't believe anyone reads them. I've been sat on the tube beaming at someone who's reading my Tried & Tested page (there's a picture of me on it every issue), thinking they'll recognise me and maybe even compliment me on my expert knowledge/black and white photo. Hasn't happened so far, and since that photo is decidedly out of date and resplendent with flowing brown waves, I'm not holding my breath it'll happen any time, well, ever.<br />
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So the Look Good...Feel Better editors day was, aside from lovely, tiring, charitable, a bit tough in parts, (not least on the old vocal chords) also something of an ego boost. People <i>paid money</i> to come and chat to me. Ok so they got an amazing goody bag pay off, and maybe that was (majority) incentive for most, but still, a whole twenty minutes of me chewing their ear off about double cleansing and where to put their eyeliner was I hope twenty quid well spent. I realise the Irish one off the X Factor will be able to add at least a zero on that figure for <i>her</i> PA's, but I'm on the cusp...<br />
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I met 15 (lovely) women, and I said the same things to a lot of them, at their request, so it seems you lot have common concerns. Since not all of you could get to London in September, I may as well repeat myself one more time. And for free too! It is almost Christmas after all...<br />
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A Lesson In Liner:<br />
When my lashes fell out, my face saviour was eyeliner. Varying between black liquid when there are some still there/growing back, to grey or khaki soft kohl or gel when nothing at all. Having worn glasses till age 27, I am resolutely rubbish at doing my own makeup. Glasses wearers who don't own those hotel magnifying mirrors will understand. So here's my trial and error trick:<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7Lg_LQq88iE/TrJ79yGhyDI/AAAAAAAABI4/-AkwiBjaBB8/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-11-03+at+11.29.30.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7Lg_LQq88iE/TrJ79yGhyDI/AAAAAAAABI4/-AkwiBjaBB8/s320/Screen+shot+2011-11-03+at+11.29.30.png" width="110" /></a><u>Start in the middle of your eyelid</u>. Groundbreaking, I know. Hold your lid taught, hold your liner brush almost parallel to your lashes, and draw a line from the middle to the outer corner. Its MUCH easier to control shorter strokes.<br />
The inner corner is harder, so instead of drawing a line, press one instead. By this I mean open your eye a tiny bit, hold the brush along your lash line (or lack of lash line in my case) and press it onto the skin. Repeat till you reach the middle and voila, a perfectly linered eye line. (see how I sound like a beauty editor?)<br />
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Double Cleanse<br />
It doesn't matter what face wash you use - and I can't recommend one for everyone since we all have different skin needs - wash it twice. I think of it like the first round cleans off the dirt and the second round cleans your newly exposed skin. Whether this is scientifically correct doesn't matter, it works. And although its an extra step to add to your already boring before-bed routine (I treat mine like a child who has to eat their broccoli), my skin has gone from unpredictably hormonal - I blame the Tamoxifen - to back to it's juicing, chemo bonus glory. Since you ask I use <a href="http://www.renskincare.com/p/3230">Ren Purity No 1 Cleansing balm</a> when my skin's feeling dry, and <a href="http://www.olay.co.uk/product-range/cleansers/daily_facials_cleansing_milk.php">Olay Daily Facials Cleansing Milk</a> when its really dry. Yes dryness is my post treatment legacy.<br />
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How To Fake An Eyebrow.<br />
Flicky lines. The trick is flicky lines like you're mimicking actual individual hairs. Remember how yours used to grow and draw them in that direction, starting from the top of your nose. Try very hard not to make my mistake and underestimate the distance from eye to brow. I spent my brow less months of chemo with a very serious expression, born of nothing but my own artistic doing. Not only was it a surprise to see my brows grow back half a centimetre above my best estimate, I finally could express that sentiment too. The wonder of eyebrows...<br />
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Skip The toner<br />
Unless you have serious grease issues - which I challenge anyone on chemo drugs to maintain - toner is the evil best friend to your skins needs. It dresses up as a positive influence in your skincare life, but secretly its sapping all the goodness out of everything. Adding is better, so either go for a nourishing spritzer like <a href="http://uk.lizearle.com/instant-boost-skin-tonic.html">Liz Earle Instant Boost Skin Tonic</a>, or even a serum like <a href="http://www.boots.com/en/No7-Protect-Perfect-Beauty-Serum-30ml_44577/">this one</a> which may sound faddy and unnecessary, but will actually prep your skin to make moisturisers work harder and your face look all round better. Which is what we're going for lets face it.<br />
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Blush Is Best<br />
For everyone, I don't care how old/fun/makeup shy. Blusher is face Viagra. It is basically the key to faking good health and my ticket to avoiding consolatory stares in the IPC elevator for the last 9 months. Something with a very slight shimmer, and a colour that's not too pink or too bronze is best. I just so happen to have developed the perfect one in our <a href="http://www.look.co.uk/beauty/look-launches-a-fabulous-new-make-up-range">LOOK makeup range</a>. Handy that. There was an opportunity, I took it... Look Beauty Make Me Blush in Flush.<br />
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OK men, you can tune back in again now...<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-30585653624302953632011-10-26T09:30:00.000-07:002011-10-27T02:20:36.018-07:00A Theory Of Fun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VBwa_ht5pMo/Tqg063D3bJI/AAAAAAAABIQ/VE-I21dUmWs/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-10-26+at+15.48.23.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VBwa_ht5pMo/Tqg063D3bJI/AAAAAAAABIQ/VE-I21dUmWs/s320/Screen+shot+2011-10-26+at+15.48.23.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I apologise for my lack of posts, I've been very busy negotiating the Nemesis of emotional roller coasters - may have been apparent from my recent uncharacteristic rantings - but also packing my social diary full of FUN to counteract. This was advised by a medical professional by the way so I'm passing on the wisdom. So far this week I have seen my beloved family, Shrek the Musical (awesome), Matilda the Musical (dumbfoundingly incredible), and have yet to fit in Britney at the O2, a sleepover, 2 dinner dates and, oh yes, and work. In a week.<br />
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I think the problem is fun has been such a rare commodity over the last year or so that I'm like a chocolate addict after lent, hoovering up every offering that comes my way.<br />
All this fun comes at a cost. my flat is neglected which is not conducive to polite gatherings, so I go out to see all the people I've also neglected instead, which means chucking my clothes in a pile before flopping into bed to get up to go to work, which means more mess and less time to sort it into the zen-like abode required for proper relaxation, and guests. How did I go from being a sick Stepford Wife to a well chore-a-phobe in the space of a few months? The good news is Dadjokes can't renege on his offer of making it legal, since the wheels are very much in motion. He will just have to learn a few more skills in the kitchen...<br />
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Conclusion: Fun is hard work. On top of the work work, this back to real life business is a challenge. Not mentioning the residual fatigue I'm determined I don't have, but if I quietly reason with myself mid-yawn in the upper stalls, well, I do.<br />
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There <i>are</i> rules (this <i>is</i> me we're talking about);<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BKZBAMhttm0/Tqg06EOnwDI/AAAAAAAABIE/EUncqc3Pv8E/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-10-26+at+14.36.29.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BKZBAMhttm0/Tqg06EOnwDI/AAAAAAAABIE/EUncqc3Pv8E/s200/Screen+shot+2011-10-26+at+14.36.29.png" width="149" /></a></div><u>No drinking till weekends</u><br />
This means less toxins day to day, a childlike excitement for Friday evenings and no adding a hangover to the midweek fatigue equation.<br />
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<u>Scheduled Dates with the TV</u><br />
Thank the lord of down time for TOWIE and MIC (but shh)<br />
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<u>In Bed By Midnight</u><br />
This is not a self imposed rule but a bodily imposed one. My eyelids do not physically stay open past 23.55. If at home a chemical reaction occurs between the sofa cushion and kinetic pull to the duvet, and the time frame is reduced to 20.45. Rock and roll...<br />
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<u>Roll Up Shoes</u><br />
Yes you heard me, flat shoes that <a href="http://www.rollasole.com/">roll up</a> in my handbag. I am ashamed to say my post docetaxel legs are not friends with my beloved high heels. They spasm ache most of the time, and I very tentatively think heels might make it a bit worse. My YSL pencil heels cannot be looked upon for cold turkey purposes, I am having withdrawal symptoms from my Camilla Skovgaards, so I wore them out last night, spasmed all through the second half and hobbled on the cobbles till I could hail a cab. Expensive.<br />
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<u>Install an Early Warning System</u><br />
I think mine is malfunctioning at the moment, but it is important to detect signs of excessive candle burning. These include eye bags (I've been piling on Creme De La Mer The Concealer - so effective I failed to notice the excess baggage), an increased coffee intake (I didn't touch the stuff for a year and now I'm up to nearly 1 a day), and failure to adhere to the story lines on TOWIE or MIC...<br />
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As with most things in life, I need a balance. My plan is this: Tidy, fill the fridge, Skyplus some horror movies, and have the girls round more often than not. Maybe then I can push my bedtime to 21.30 for party season...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3pqFO-Q67h4/TqkYl_FvuJI/AAAAAAAABIg/wuit3QB0ai4/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-10-27+at+09.37.23.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3pqFO-Q67h4/TqkYl_FvuJI/AAAAAAAABIg/wuit3QB0ai4/s320/Screen+shot+2011-10-27+at+09.37.23.png" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the most fun I've ever had in my life</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-85504098048379656752011-10-11T00:55:00.000-07:002011-10-11T03:27:11.432-07:00A Holiday How To<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5pqtDb0RPPY/TpNjzDekKII/AAAAAAAABHg/lEGEiAD3lhs/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+22.05.28.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5pqtDb0RPPY/TpNjzDekKII/AAAAAAAABHg/lEGEiAD3lhs/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+22.05.28.png" width="320" /></a></div>Aside from new records in watermelon consumption and excessive wine use, I feel I've achieved something this holiday. Back in April when I mentally planned a trip to light up the end of the tunnel, and make use of my neglected summer wardrobe, I was looking down the barrel of a proposed lumpectomy. A month on and the news of a more drastic, bikini scuppering surgery put paid to my holiday plan until reconstruction, with a party taking it's place. I just didn't want to feel uncomfortable on the beach or by the pool, otherwise I would have had a mini break mid chemo, complete with both boobs, but minus any hair whatsoever.<br />
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The new news of a year to two wait for a complete pair make me adopt a f*ck that attitude and challenge myself to a normal-in-the-face-of-asymmetry beach holiday ASAP.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r0B50THC0QE/TpNjqUzSWEI/AAAAAAAABHI/o8ZamRHJDPA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+21.29.24.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r0B50THC0QE/TpNjqUzSWEI/AAAAAAAABHI/o8ZamRHJDPA/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+21.29.24.png" width="278" /></a></div>After buying my two <a href="http://www.asos.com/Mouille/Mouill-Chloe-Multi-Frill-Bikini-Top/Prod/pgeproduct.aspx?iid=1438604&cid=10085&sh=0&pge=0&pgesize=20&sort=-1&clr=Sea+blue">Mouille</a> one shouldered bikini tops in a Morphine daze, I was feeling a <i>little</i> more confident so went on with that general theme for the rest of my holiday attire. Let me tell you, camouflage dressing is a hell of a lot easier in winter when high necks, sleeves and totally covered backs are de rigeur. An obsessive daily visit to the holiday section on <a href="http://www.asos.com/Women/">Asos</a> quickly told me that a hot Greek climate would be a little more tricky.<br />
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First I filtered out all the right side asymmetrical pieces, (they'd require support, show radiotherapy 'tan' and highlight weird flat plane where hill should be). Backless, spaghetti strappy, cleavage revealing, low cut anything. This left not much, but just enough to get slightly excited about packing. I bought a <a href="http://www.asos.com//ASOS/ASOS-One-Shoulder-Dress-with-Tie-Strap-in-Colour-Block/Prod/pgeproduct.aspx?iid=1601959">two-tone floaty</a> one (left) shouldered dress that could be adjusted to suit. Plus a bandeau crop top thing to put a comfy in. I later learnt that the bandeau does not adhere to usual laws of strapless bras and requires a complete <u>two</u> anchors to hold it in it's rightful place. but the dress was worth the constant repositioning of left 'tit'.<br />
A simple high necked, sleeveless dress from CiCi with a dipped hem to draw attention below the waist. A black silk jumpsuit that yes, is backless, and even a bit side-less, but is also black so disguises my wonky abnormalities, a heaven-sent <a href="http://www.asos.com/River-Island/River-Island-One-Shoulder-Bird-Print-Playsuit/Prod/pgeproduct.aspx?iid=1780889&SearchQuery=bird%20beach&sh=0&pge=0&pgesize=20&sort=-1&clr=Yellow">left shouldered beach playsuit</a> from River Island, and finally, a waterproof prosthetic.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9G7Mn0lAaZA/TpNj3qNS9MI/AAAAAAAABHo/eY2f9ygr05o/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+22.07.27.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9G7Mn0lAaZA/TpNj3qNS9MI/AAAAAAAABHo/eY2f9ygr05o/s200/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+22.07.27.png" width="200" /></a></div><br />
I've been too busy to book in for my official prosthetic fitting (for 'busy', read 'chicken') so am making do with comfies on a day to day basis. I'm convinced that smaller chested ladies don't really need much more, but you can't really get them wet, and my goal here was NORMAL, so swimming and sunbathing must prevail. I went on Nicolajane.com and got a <a href="http://www.nicolajane.com/product-Nicola-Jane-Been-a-Boob-BABO/">beanie baby boob</a> (not it's real name, but certainly it's inspiration). The idea is that the tiny beads shift and mould to a natural shape; it was the cheapest option, so I followed the sizing guidelines and bought a '3'. In hindsight I should have tried it at home first. Instead I massacred my old, useless, normal bikinis and cut out their innards to make pockets on my new ones. I then sewed, packed, flew for 5 hours, went straight to the pool, resplendent in beanie boob, and freaked out DadJokes with my disproportionate left bosom, where vacant space used to be. There followed a frantic Cypriot search for needle and thread (Fred?Fred? What is this Fred?), and an evening spent emptying my boob of two thirds of it's contents before it almost matched up to my real one. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7LXPgmm-yfI/TpNj4yGshSI/AAAAAAAABHs/0IaLPBMgVrg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+22.12.06.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7LXPgmm-yfI/TpNj4yGshSI/AAAAAAAABHs/0IaLPBMgVrg/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+22.12.06.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Those in the know (i.e DadJokes) might be able to tell, if they really looked out for it, but it is now day 5 and I've been sun lounging and sort of swimming with the best of them (not sure lying on a Lilo counts), undetected and not too hot either. (In the temperature sense, I'm confident I'm considered hot in the swit-swoo sense, since 98% of Cyprus' tourism clientele are as wide as they are old...)<br />
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So, after extensive scientific trials at the <a href="http://www.almyra.com/en/hotel/profile.html">Almyra</a> hotel, I can confirm that frilly, one armed bikini tops are the key to moving undetected among the 'normals'. One armed swimsuits, not so much. I sewed a pocket in one of those too, but there's something about the expanse of material under the boob line that highlights the imperfection.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3vobmI4PMD0/TpNjs8jg1NI/AAAAAAAABHQ/ylEMyld8JJQ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+21.59.51.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3vobmI4PMD0/TpNjs8jg1NI/AAAAAAAABHQ/ylEMyld8JJQ/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-10-10+at+21.59.51.png" width="252" /></a></div><br />
My conclusion is this: Take the lead from your own wonkiness and apply to your wardrobe. A-symmetry is the best form of flattery when it comes to beach holidays, and if you can throw some bonus frills into the mix, even better. I'm happy to say I genuinely forgot about the issue a bit more than than was medically advised, since my radio tan managed to deepen even through the Factor 50. The last few days I resorted to carrying a hotel flannel round to drape over my armpit at any hint of sun. Not the <i>best</i> pool side accessory, but you can't have it all.<br />
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The lengths I will go to for the benefits of medical research are boundless by the way, I'm willing to test my 'normal' bikini theory in such far flung places as Mauritius or Bora Bora if anyone should feel the urge to utilise me...<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-4253611457857189922011-10-06T23:59:00.001-07:002011-10-07T08:20:15.420-07:00A Postcard From Paphos<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/10/06/4628.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/10/06/s_4628.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />I'm blogging from my third day of a looong awaited holiday, where I promised myself no work (which includes blogging) but I've unexpectedly reached the pinnacle of tactlessness and my sensitivity threshold has been breached and if I don't write it down I might implode. It was during a massage you see...<br /><br />I've tweeted about how a few solitary comments from slightly, let's say mentally compromised well wishers, took my fragile post treatment state, smashed it on the floor and directed raging bulls from Pamplona to the studio in N1 where I was shooting that day, to trample over it. Since then I seem to be an inadvertent collector of shit-scary comments.<br /><br />The first went like this via email: 'oh, you have the same kind of cancer as me, what a relief to find someone else in that 5-10% bracket of people who won't get better and lead a normal life.'<br /><br />Eh? I should be more intelligent than to take on board the ramblings of an insensitive nut job, over the medical professionals who have thus far omitted that important information. But I've already blogged about how intelligent goes out the post- treatment window in favour of irrational and jelly-like.<br /><br />Having deleted the rest of the email, finished up a private breakdown in the studio toilet and tweeted my angst to receive countless cheery responses (thank you thank you), I bolstered myself back up and set off for the wonderful Katie Selby's wedding weekend of joy.<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/10/06/4629.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/10/06/s_4629.jpg' border='0' width='400' height='400' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Granted it was an emotional day, so maybe I was already a bit taut when one drunk guest came to tell me how she 'nearly shaved her own head' (tip: this is along the same irritating lines as 'I have perfect vision, unlike you speccy four eyes, but I'm going to wear those plastic dummy frames because they are cool'. But x 1000). 'It's because my mum had breast cancer like you, and just finished radiotherapy like you, and thought it was all clear like you, but it wasn't and now it's secondary so all very tragic.' Um, yes, VERY tragic, but in what realms of possibility does this sound like a conversation I want to partake in? She was drunk enough to be forgiven, and not even notice my abrupt departure mid sentence, which just left DadJokes to pleasantly deal with the tail end.<br /><br />My next collectors item was procured at the Look Good...Feel Better Beauty Editor day at Selfridges. An otherwise amazing experience, this year somewhat dampened by a hijacker, who hadn't paid £20 to have a time slot with me, but came to tell me she had breast cancer in her late 20's, nowhere near as bad as mine and was I on Tamoxifen? (Yes), well be careful of Tamoxifen, because the side effect is cervical cancer. OK thanks for that. I think this must be what it's like for pregnant women, I bet they get all sorts of motherly strangers feeling their bumps and proffering stories of horrific childbirth.<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/10/06/4630.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/10/06/s_4630.jpg' border='0' width='233' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />So then came my holiday. The culmination of all this shittiness, my reward at the end of treatment, my treat where I'm testing out the powers of the miracle bikinis, the chance to escape from reality and rest properly for the first time in ages.<br /><br />So while I was looking forward to my first Cypriot massage, I didn't expect the 50 minute barrage of jabbering advice, and horror stories I was presented with.<br />My therapist was a loon of epic proportions, and since I was doubtless a captive audience, it made perfect sense to relaaaaax me with tales of lymphodeoema and her own mums mastectomy and subsequent demise ('it's the operation; as soon as you let oxygen at it, it'll take over your liver'). She finished with an impromptu 'clinical' lymphatic massage which frankly terrified me and bloody hurt too.<br /><br />I think I'll avoid putting my intimate medical history on those spa forms until I'm a bit more on the mental mend. The view from my sun lounger is certainly helping, as is the lack of wifi and email avoidance. No offence dear emailers, 99% of my inbox is amazing, so at the risk of sounding a bit Dear John, it's not you, it's me! <br /><br />Unless you're one of the aforementioned idiots of course...<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/10/06/4631.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/10/06/s_4631.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iSad RIP Steve Jobs<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2090430847904502711-425361145785718992?l=sophiefeelsbetter.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div><br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Pathos,%20Cyprus&z=10'>Pathos, Cyprus</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-22127704283304839042011-09-26T13:24:00.000-07:002011-09-26T13:24:20.067-07:00Is it just me? or...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UmnrZPSFsNc/ToDfGqUfd-I/AAAAAAAABG0/4j5oPnjZPRs/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-09-26+at+21.18.20.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UmnrZPSFsNc/ToDfGqUfd-I/AAAAAAAABG0/4j5oPnjZPRs/s320/Screen+Shot+2011-09-26+at+21.18.20.png" width="320" /></a></div>So this might be one of this posts where I do a bit of off loading and blather on about how I'm really feeling, in the hope that it will be a common theme among a portion of the online population.<br />
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I'll be honest; I'm struggling a littlest bit. I'm three months post mastectomy. 2 weeks back in full time employment, 10 months fully fledged cancer patient. About 5 weeks neurosis about what I'm supposed to do now. I understand this isn't anything new, I'm expected to be a bit flummoxed at this stage, but seeing as this is just me and I'm not so au fait with the rest of the afflicted world, I'll put it down on virtual paper so I can at least record my mini meltdown for the benefit of hindsight.<br />
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The problem is this; everyone is so happy I'm 'back', and they can relax into me being me and normal life again, that I think it's easy to forget what a sh!tter it's been. And so they should too (by they I mean everyone who loves me, my colleagues, employers, etc), since it <i>is </i>technically behind us. But while they were all struggling through emotionally, I was very intently focused on doing what I was told and getting on with the treatment. It's only now that I'm resuming normal service, that I'm really thinking about it properly. You could say I'm slow on the uptake. Its a bit frustrating, I don't like being last in class. So herein lies the problem.<br />
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Part of me wants to forget it, but a bigger part of me can't, and the result is a pretty pessimistic jelly type hypochondriac who is so aware of my own mortality that I'm a bit afraid of crossing the road these days. Silly isn't it? Inconvenient it certainly is; There are several roads to cross to get from my front door to the desk that I so want to be sitting at every day, so I can do the forgetting part of this deal. And that's another thing. I'm impatient to get back to the old, forgetful me, so I've filled my days with an abundance of work and weddings, ignoring my body's minor protestations and shoving sensible thoughts about napping or deep breathing to the very bottom of my to do list. Until today that is, when I failed to concentrate on <i>anything</i>, spent a quarter of the day with my forehead on my desk, and finally acknowledged my shaky legs on every trip to the toilet. Damn it, I am not immune to after effects after all. Those blinking radiotherapy and post-treatment leaflets were right. Normal life will have to wait a little while longer.<br />
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I hope that I will get it back. Pessimism is not a happy part of my character, and I'm sick of not being as happy as I think everyone else is. You could say jealous even, but I realise there are a lot of blows that come with being a cancer survivor. Not least the one that sees you develop a fear for your future. I hope I get braver, I hope I stop thinking that every twinge is something sinister, and reluctantly washing my scar in the shower in case I feel the start of something that shouldn't be there. You see? Mental.<br />
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Most of all if I live my life that way then technically I'm not much of a cancer survivor, since it's somewhat ruined my life regardless. I'm not quite at a point where I believe my own philosophy yet, but I'm certainly getting there.<br />
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Apparently I should plan something nice for myself every day. That is a lot of nice to fit in. Any suggestions gratefully received. But they need to be centred around sleeping a lot and getting someone else to do all my chores. Now that <i>would</i> be nice...<br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-68664118700115122322011-09-20T04:21:00.000-07:002011-09-20T05:09:31.011-07:00So He Says...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZV44NKwYMsM/Tnh2SuCzzeI/AAAAAAAABGE/7IGc-RAuXtA/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-09-20+at+12.15.29.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZV44NKwYMsM/Tnh2SuCzzeI/AAAAAAAABGE/7IGc-RAuXtA/s320/Screen+shot+2011-09-20+at+12.15.29.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Since my fiancé (how grown up) pretty much has his own fan base these days, I'm posting this guest blog even though it's been lost in the depths of inaccessible malfunctioning hard drive for the last month or so, along with all my photos and iTunes. Lesson learnt: back up back UP.<br />
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</div>Much like the hair thing I had issues about how DadJokes would deal with me wonky boobed. I'm sure this is a common wobble among women having mastectomy's so I asked him to write about it and hopefully be a bit helpful. Of course after the lovely response from the hair piece I was never sure if he was saying what he thought we wanted him to. Turns out there was a marriage proposal on the cards from way before then (cheeky bugger been planning it for 6 months!), proving men do actually think this way, so I'm satisfied that women with one boob can still expect diamonds. LOVE I meant unconditional love, of course...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VjXbeUD7M10/Tnh2VATvOPI/AAAAAAAABGI/i7y1suBpZ8c/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-09-20+at+12.15.49.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VjXbeUD7M10/Tnh2VATvOPI/AAAAAAAABGI/i7y1suBpZ8c/s320/Screen+shot+2011-09-20+at+12.15.49.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000;"> <!--StartFragment--><span style="font-size: 12.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To be quite honest, I wonder if anyone really thinks about what the other halves go through when it comes to a horrible situation like this. Quite rightly so too, after all, this is much more about the ‘victim’ (oops she told me I’m not to use that word, sorry).<br />
I however, think of the grief of the person </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">with</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> the patient as my mind wanders sitting in busy waiting rooms. I can fully relate to the anguish on their faces and am pretty confident I can read the thoughts and questions spilling out of their heads. In this case I felt I could read them like tangible sentences.<br />
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<br />
So I’m in the waiting room, waiting to hear if Soph would lose her breast, and I’m thinking: What can I possibly say to make her prepare for this? What will I say to her after surgery? Pre-cancer life was happy happy, will it ever be the same for us again?? I’m sad for her, it’s so unfair, but is it wrong for me to feel like it’s my loss too? It's a tough one. I never really thought it would come to this and in the end I decided that Yes I’m scared for what’s coming next, but I will be strong.<br />
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It’s impossible to imagine what it feels like to lose a part of your body like that. Especially a part that makes a woman so very much a woman. And dare I say it, a part lusted after by the large proportion of the opposite sex since puberty – that I </span> <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">do</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> know about. I’d imagine this is a big part of what makes it upsetting for Sophie and it's that very thought that helps me know how to remain strong and be supportive throughout.<br />
I recall standing bedside as Sophie had a small metal marker inserted into the core of the tumour, so when the chemo shrunk the bastard completely, doctor's would know exactly where it had been.<br />
I felt semi-confident that the long treatment, albeit hard work, would eradicate this mess and the mastectomy fear would be nothing but a bad dream. As you followers of this blog will know - the Chemo did not quite do its job, the tumour was an aggressive Grade 3, so the inevitable decision 8 months down the line was to remove the offending boob. F*ck.</span></span> <!--EndFragment--> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bVJVBi10iEY/Tnh2VozVzBI/AAAAAAAABGM/H6-PQa9lKP4/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-09-20+at+12.16.08.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bVJVBi10iEY/Tnh2VozVzBI/AAAAAAAABGM/H6-PQa9lKP4/s320/Screen+shot+2011-09-20+at+12.16.08.png" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000;"><span style="font-size: 12.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000;"> <!--StartFragment--><span style="font-size: 12.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think by the time the surgery had come around, we were both looking forward to getting the alien out of there, desperate to in fact. Our strong desire to get rid of a whole breast should give you some idea of how painful this whole saga had been. It was going to be a relief. <br />
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I continually spluttered as much positivity about the actual deed as I possibly could, I wanted her to be assured that there was no shame in being left asymmetric, that it was medically the most positive action to date and that I loved her and found her beautiful no matter what. In fact, I was the first person to step up and take a look at it moments after she had woken up post op. "Ah ha" I said with a smile "it's so neat and clean and tidy, well done, it's over, it's all out".<br />
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In truth, I was preparing myself to have to lie about it, but honestly it didn't faze me. There were times I worried it would, but happily and genuinely it really didn't. The sheer relief that she had woken up from the surgery seeming fairly calm and collected was insurmountable. I’d expected a breakdown so monumental it would require roadside assistance.<br />
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I hope Sophie believes me when I say I don’t see her any differently to how I did before. On the contrary she’s a far stronger and more inspiring girlfriend, with a greater perspective on life.<br />
An insensitive colleague of mine recently said ‘if it was me I'd feel like a freak.’ It was only because I know there’s nothing further from the truth that I didn’t jump over the desk and rip off one of his testicles to see who the freak was then. Don’t think HR would have taken too kindly to that though…<br />
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So, I can happily say we are on the way back to some sort of normality now, in fact the other day, I caught myself singing out loud to cheesy 80's music. Club Tropicana drinks are freeeeee….. Not remarkable until you consider the fact I haven’t done that for 8 months. Meh, the mastectomy is the mastectomy, it will always be there for us but it really doesn't get in the way, quite literally of course!<br />
The two of us are lucky that we can talk about our thoughts, fears, insecurities and underwear needs, so she’ll always have someone to help her clear the hurdles that come her way.<br />
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I will love her whatever happens, should she one tit or not... sorry, </span> <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">want it</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> or not.</span></span> <!--EndFragment--> </span><br />
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- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-1428123237515161562011-09-09T07:57:00.000-07:002011-09-09T09:14:06.698-07:00Beauty Editors Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SYCdGrno8PM/Tmn_zLC6JxI/AAAAAAAABF4/5yA3MyBPdh4/s1600/self.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SYCdGrno8PM/Tmn_zLC6JxI/AAAAAAAABF4/5yA3MyBPdh4/s320/self.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>We beauty editors do this thing every year where we go to <a href="http://www.selfridges.com/?cm_mmc=PPC-_-Google-_-na-_-selfridges&_$ja=kw:selfridges|cgn:Brand+-+Main+-+MTE|cgid:3796297074|tsid:32733|cn:Brand+-+Main|cid:87439194|lid:135927344|mt:Exact|nw:search|crid:15458707674">Selfridges</a> for a day, sit in a personalised directors chair in the beauty hall, and meet readers who want to test our beauty expertise/get giggly and nervous in the presence of such magazine celebrity/get free stuff in their goody bags. Or annoyingly tenacious PR's who take up a whole slot to try and pimp out their products. Not a great move when you consider this is a charity event, with all proceeds going to the wondrous <a href="http://lookgoodfeelbetter.co.uk/site/index.cfm">Look Good..Feel Better</a>, and there are people who genuinely get excited about twenty minutes of our time (how lovely is that?!) but can't book for said PR's being weirdly pushy. And they're always rubbish products because good PR's know that is not great conduct, and getting an editors back up does not good business sense make...<br />
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Last year I had 20 mins with a lovely young woman who had come across the editors day event while reading a waiting room mag, in hospital receiving treatment for cervical cancer. I was completely floored, in awe (I get like this about women who have had babies too - massive respect for that feat of terrifying endurance), touched and shocked. She was so young! And seemed so normal!<br />
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Not too long after it was my turn, - I most likely had it already as it happens - so I know that she was in fact young <i>and</i> normal, and went through a crappy time but had a nice 20 minutes of beauty pampering and gossip to fill her diary a little<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RjXq_6vx23o/TmoowDdjv9I/AAAAAAAABGA/U2_ScBbLWjI/s1600/handshake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RjXq_6vx23o/TmoowDdjv9I/AAAAAAAABGA/U2_ScBbLWjI/s320/handshake.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This year I feel completely differently about the whole thing, since I can seriously and properly relate to <i>all</i> the women who come to see me, even the sick or recovering ones (its for anyone by the way, we get lots of lovely LOOK fans too). And if I can't <i>exactly</i> relate (we get some perfectly healthy 73 year olds on occasion), I'm ecstatic to be doing it for a charity that means so much more to me personally this time around.<br />
<br />
So, if you fancy a ticket, or know someone who might, here are the details:<br />
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<b>Where</b>: <a href="http://www.shiseido.co.uk/">Shiseido</a> counter at <a href="http://www.selfridges.com/?cm_mmc=PPC-_-Google-_-na-_-selfridges&_$ja=kw:selfridges|cgn:Brand+-+Main+-+MTE|cgid:3796297074|tsid:32733|cn:Brand+-+Main|cid:87439194|lid:135927344|mt:Exact|nw:search|crid:15458707674">Selfridges</a> Beauty Hall, Oxford Street, London<br />
<b>When</b>: Thursday 29th September<br />
<b>Time:</b> 12-19.00<br />
<b>How to book</b>: Call <a href="http://www.selfridges.com/?cm_mmc=PPC-_-Google-_-na-_-selfridges&_$ja=kw:selfridges|cgn:Brand+-+Main+-+MTE|cgid:3796297074|tsid:32733|cn:Brand+-+Main|cid:87439194|lid:135927344|mt:Exact|nw:search|crid:15458707674">Selfridges</a> on 0800 138 8140<br />
<b>Cost</b>: Tickets are £20, with all proceeds going to LGFB - and for that you get a goody bag worth much more, a little makeover if you want one, plus a glorious chat with moi - that is serious value for money people...<br />
<br />
And also, because they're so lovely and realise not everyone lives in London, Shiseido have given me a few skincare starter kits and fragrances to giveaway. I need some kind of a competition...hmmm. Best competition suggestions win an amazing Shiseido skincare starter kit? How about a simple RT? First five win... <b>but @i_love_lipstick me in, so I know you've done it!</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fquaw9rloQ0/TmoooJHUD3I/AAAAAAAABF8/RzEimODOjKk/s1600/shiseido+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fquaw9rloQ0/TmoooJHUD3I/AAAAAAAABF8/RzEimODOjKk/s320/shiseido+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-36635060723237839732011-09-04T12:06:00.000-07:002011-09-12T05:10:39.298-07:00A Day In Pictures...(pop!)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WRSkHlWHteg/TmPIwmOrAMI/AAAAAAAABFo/bga9PbXIbCY/s1600/woohoo%2521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WRSkHlWHteg/TmPIwmOrAMI/AAAAAAAABFo/bga9PbXIbCY/s320/woohoo%2521.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nnC27aHgGGw/TmPHuO-28bI/AAAAAAAABEU/nuh84_-6bQU/s1600/hairy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nnC27aHgGGw/TmPHuO-28bI/AAAAAAAABEU/nuh84_-6bQU/s320/hairy.JPG" width="274" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_OZl4HanH8U/TmPImuuN20I/AAAAAAAABFc/Ity379JUD8k/s320/simon.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kFCvZxXBaic/TmPHpK31EQI/AAAAAAAABEM/unaKNtGEyko/s1600/dad+panama.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kFCvZxXBaic/TmPHpK31EQI/AAAAAAAABEM/unaKNtGEyko/s320/dad+panama.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TyxENGfO3_Y/TmPH2LrPHrI/AAAAAAAABEg/MeP2B3HrDwQ/s1600/me+n+dad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TyxENGfO3_Y/TmPH2LrPHrI/AAAAAAAABEg/MeP2B3HrDwQ/s320/me+n+dad.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PGJNfsMFXak/TmPISV45utI/AAAAAAAABFI/e6EwkertsNQ/s1600/photo5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PGJNfsMFXak/TmPISV45utI/AAAAAAAABFI/e6EwkertsNQ/s320/photo5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SpGO4XjTQxs/TmPHz5YY38I/AAAAAAAABEc/pmjHEW3-ltI/s1600/kenna+cake.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SpGO4XjTQxs/TmPHz5YY38I/AAAAAAAABEc/pmjHEW3-ltI/s320/kenna+cake.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CKDTTDlsuzA/TmPHZP4L3qI/AAAAAAAABD0/4bX63hQVANI/s1600/amy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SQCorm3uPdU/TmPH-tSX9pI/AAAAAAAABEs/2XjK0zoD9KI/s1600/me+nkjatie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SQCorm3uPdU/TmPH-tSX9pI/AAAAAAAABEs/2XjK0zoD9KI/s320/me+nkjatie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wyt7wNHoW0Y/TmPIh7S0_eI/AAAAAAAABFY/AkDYgUnjpSY/s1600/sam.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Wyt7wNHoW0Y/TmPIh7S0_eI/AAAAAAAABFY/AkDYgUnjpSY/s320/sam.PNG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Onh9bURMz8I/TmPItK3akRI/AAAAAAAABFk/fC5HA3FKas0/s1600/veg.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Onh9bURMz8I/TmPItK3akRI/AAAAAAAABFk/fC5HA3FKas0/s320/veg.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iki4pCrFHF0/TmPIqDdb4qI/AAAAAAAABFg/UOPcCbuHokY/s1600/speech.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iki4pCrFHF0/TmPIqDdb4qI/AAAAAAAABFg/UOPcCbuHokY/s320/speech.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-74dDOLnQ46s/TmPH8abc4lI/AAAAAAAABEo/RTNr69gnrTI/s1600/mum.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-74dDOLnQ46s/TmPH8abc4lI/AAAAAAAABEo/RTNr69gnrTI/s320/mum.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--sdxG8FmkVs/TmPIX4wmHVI/AAAAAAAABFQ/NPZFU1K6QkM/s1600/rajakatieme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--sdxG8FmkVs/TmPIX4wmHVI/AAAAAAAABFQ/NPZFU1K6QkM/s320/rajakatieme.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">...ahem...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nXk_chH8QOM/TmPY5Jtzs_I/AAAAAAAABF0/BOf2KDExmVY/s1600/jo+box.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nXk_chH8QOM/TmPY5Jtzs_I/AAAAAAAABF0/BOf2KDExmVY/s320/jo+box.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-616uEy-6MYM/TmPLQB1HBfI/AAAAAAAABFs/3IFhGsgqXes/s1600/turn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-616uEy-6MYM/TmPLQB1HBfI/AAAAAAAABFs/3IFhGsgqXes/s320/turn.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.popthequestionring.com/marry_me_ring.html"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DIIX8LUWm8g/TmPID7dIiyI/AAAAAAAABE0/hD-X4VPIzOA/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.popthequestionring.com/marry_me_ring.html"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2aqzp4nQArg/TmPIPz3kYuI/AAAAAAAABFE/q98CRdM1uJk/s320/photo4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KLSC9qLkkQc/TmPHgwwIB7I/AAAAAAAABEA/2JkqiJX-t0I/s320/cry+2.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vCF1FA9R9fs/TmPHjTEeCdI/AAAAAAAABEE/lXfsP30FU5M/s1600/cry+katiechris.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vCF1FA9R9fs/TmPHjTEeCdI/AAAAAAAABEE/lXfsP30FU5M/s320/cry+katiechris.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oPFnMqMj7IE/TmPHrim0uPI/AAAAAAAABEQ/0_u2qr11rOQ/s1600/dad+yey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oPFnMqMj7IE/TmPHrim0uPI/AAAAAAAABEQ/0_u2qr11rOQ/s320/dad+yey.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZN2U4I_II8c/TmPHelZHfsI/AAAAAAAABD8/w1CMdPdufC0/s1600/couple+wooho.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZN2U4I_II8c/TmPHelZHfsI/AAAAAAAABD8/w1CMdPdufC0/s320/couple+wooho.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/09/12/901.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/09/12/s_901.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />...aaaaahhhhh.<br /><br />oh, and p.s...<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B3HMib0C1wE/TmPXaad6_kI/AAAAAAAABFw/8cuweSogyf8/s1600/lottery.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B3HMib0C1wE/TmPXaad6_kI/AAAAAAAABFw/8cuweSogyf8/s320/lottery.PNG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090430847904502711.post-20623881266672160912011-08-30T13:59:00.001-07:002011-08-31T02:19:17.412-07:00Radio Ga Ga<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/31/328.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/31/s_328.jpg' border='0' width='233' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">While I try and urge my over-tired brain cells to come up with intelligent conversation, please bare with me. Writing this blog is cathartic, fun, indulgent and even intelligence boosting. I always maintain that I was a lot cleverer before, well, before I don't know what, but I'm not as clever as I used to be. I usually rely on the excuse that since I'm a journalist I use my daily word allowance up quite quickly at my desk, so by evening I am a bumbling moron. I think it might just be that fashion doesn't stimulate my brain like university and coursework and philosophy did (you don't say), so my grey matter isn't getting such a good work out these days. This extra curricular writing is definitely helping on that front, plus it's like a virtual support group, and since I'm not a support group kind of a person, I really appreciate the friendly email opportunities this digital journal presents.<br /><br />But writing it nearing the end of my treatment - let me say that again, the <i>end</i> <u>of</u> <b>my</b> <u><i>treatment</i></u> - is challenging.<br />I've got two days of radiotherapy left, out of three weeks. My doctor said I would feel exhausted, I should think about not working through it, or having a couple of weeks off at the end. This is me we're talking about, I'm allergic to not working, so I did the sensible thing of going in part time as a happy compromise. I also switched hospitals so I'd be near work, which means travelling there every day anyway, which means it'd be silly not to pop to the office on my days off, since I'm right there...<br /><br />So yes, I <i>am</i> quite tired. This intelligence boosting trick is not very effective these days, instead I am mildly aware that I'm babbling nonsense. This is a less commonly documented side effect of radio, along with these:<br /><br /><u>Tattoos</u>. You don't tend to hear about this until they're standing over you with a needle and a biro (I don't think this is the literal technique, but its certainly along those old school prison variety lines), then you get various dots forever tattooed on your body, to perfectly line up the machine every time.<br />A) why use permanent ink? Fading ink does exist! Its what 16 year olds always plan to get as a token act of semi-rebellion. I have enough scars from this experience without adding three blue freckles to the equation.<br />B) why use blue? Brown ink does exist. If you're going to mimic a freckle, think human, not smurf...<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/31/329.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/31/s_329.jpg' border='0' width='233' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><u>Route boredom</u> is more irritating than radiotherapy itself. When I was a student at Bristol University I liked the novelty of driving up the M4 for two hours the first couple of times. Then I started to recognise that tree that indicated another 97 miles to go, the service station sign that meant I was not quite half way there yet, until the trip was mind numbingly boring and dangerously sleep-inducing. In much the same way travelling across London for an hour every day to have a 5 minute Xray is so routinely rubbish I try to find novel ways of jazzing it up. So far I have invented 'beat the song', a race to get from bus stop to waiting room before the ipod shuffle song choice finishes.<br /><br /><u>Association Sadness</u> I like to invent names for new afflictions. This one happens when I feel tired, as is expected of me, but then lump on slightly depressed too, because being tired reminds me I'm having treatment for cancer and makes me feel like a sick person again. Stupid I know, the tiredness is nothing compared to chemo, but I'm impatient for the not feeling tired, and knowing what it feels like to have a good few weeks of solid sprightliness before normal winter flu hits me or something sufficiently less stressful like that.<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/31/330.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/31/s_330.jpg' border='0' width='198' height='230' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />The good thing is radio is such a walk in the park compared to chemo that these whole <i>three</i> side effects are decidedly more 'meh' than 'ARGH', so I can forget about them long enough to enjoy the rest of my day. Until I try and put on a low cut - by which I mean slightly below collarbone - top, and am confronted by lopsided sunburn and a blue freckle.<br /><br />Which brings me onto skin. I heard lots of horror stories about how my skin would go scaly/black/rock hard/dinosaur like/agonisingly painful, but unless I develop these symptoms in the next two days, I seem to have escaped relatively unscathed. The redness started creeping up after about a week, but its so mild I genuinely had to ask the radiographers if they were doing it right. I put my faith in their medical prowess that I'm not receiving a placebo, but my sensitive skin is kind of alright.<br />Uncomfortable, a bit unsightly in a 'Brits Abroad' kind of way, but generally OK. I put it down to the magic of Aloe Vera (as does my radiographer, but only on the sly, since they're not allowed to recommend it; There are no clinical trials that confirm it's good to use, but in their experience, everyone who uses it alongside the approved aqueous cream fares better skin-wise). I slather it on straight after treatment, then moisturise with aqueous after showers and before bed. The purest is best - anything less can cause a worse skin reaction, but <a href="http://www.victoriahealth.com/product/Organic-Aloe-Vera-Gel/1279/0/">this 99.9% stuff</a> is amazing.<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/31/331.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/31/s_331.jpg' border='0' width='170' height='228' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Where I failed quite miserably at chemotherapy, radio I pretty much excell at. On my first day my radiographer Beth said I was what they call a 'dream set up'. What this means I have no idea but praise for anything is always very nice. After the initial few sessions of hoiking my body about for ten minutes to line up the freckles, I seem to have got it down where I naturally lie in the right position, and every new day with minimal to no hoiking makes me feel inordinately proud. I find my achievements where I can... Today to add fuel to the smug fire I was told my skin was doing really really well, well done. A+ for me for radiotherapy 101.<br /><br />So next week marks the start of my return to full time work. It's just the Tamoxifen to go now, which has its beauty challenges in itself, but at least I only have to travel to the kitchen for a glass of water to wash down this treatment. I can't wait to get stressed about normal things like a normal person once again and not waste my best outfits on a radiotherapy waiting room. Maybe I need a new back-to-work wardrobe? </div><br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/08/31/332.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/08/31/s_332.jpg' border='0' width='233' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1