Womankind(ness)

Oh how the side effects keep on coming. I'm not on medication currently, but I am experiencing worryingly high levels of  sappiness, particularly when it comes to anyone around me.
This is not helped by various act of kindness that have come my way over the last couple of weeks, and may I remind you that I have very little in the way of eyelashes to hold the waterworks in...

Firstly and most importantly, The Race for Life, which although it's only up to 10k, seems to go on FOREVER. Way back in June the Lookettes ran the 5k, last weekend Katie and Co. ran 10k, as did my PR friends at The Communication Store, and still to come are the Arden PR team, dedicating their efforts to Look Good Feel Better. Although there is no getting around the fact that this is all amazing in itself, it was only when the Dream Team travelled to Blackheath to cheer Katie on that the real amazingness hit me. It could have been because she had this pinned to her back so the other runners could see who she was doing it for.

It could have been because she roped in three lovely friends, who I only met recently, who had my name on their backs too. I mean come on. Standing at the sidelines with Dadjokes, mum and dad, reading everyone's backs and feeling proud and humbled in equal measures, was an emotional experience.  Dadjokes duly noted, 'it's quite a big deal, this pink running thing isn't it?' Quite.

While I have you, a little story of kindness to warm some more cockles. While I spent a measly 24 woozy hours on the ward at the hospital after my surgery, I somehow forged a friendship with Madge, the lady in the bed opposite mine. I say somehow because my morphine addled memory of those hours is blurry at best, (I was so sure I was fully compos mentis at the time too). But I only remember a couple of short conversations in between visitors and iPad movies and trips to the toilet. This was enough for her to go the lovely effort of fathoming out where I work, ordering me a helpful book on Amazon and getting it sent to the office, with a sweet note. I mean come on! Clearly she had much less morphine than I did. Madge, if you're reading this, thank you thank you x

Anyone who asks after my mum makes me want to hug something. It is certainly true that watching your daughter go through something bad, is really bad, this I know (more so now that I'm getting better, since she's more free with the truth these days; "no Sophie I'm fine, everything's fine, yes I can sleep fine!" was all basically b*ll*cks), but the ones who sent her whole care packages just tipped me over the edge. Sadly my dad couldn't benefit quite as much since he's not as receptive to Estee Lauder Day Wear or Decleor Hydra Floral Cream...

Finally and profoundly, I'm not sure how to sum up this whole work thing, but 'kind' seems to be top of the list. I am a workaholic to the point of necessitating a 12 step programme (look at me now, typing when banned - I am sitting on my left hand to stop its natural inclination toward keyboard). I am very fortunate to have such supportive management at Look that they make efforts to keep me away from the office to concentrate on getting better. I'm surprised they haven't positioned a security guard at the gates to encourage me back home. Chemo brain and rollercoaster-emotions have made me near useless when I do go in; it's likely more an opportunity to showcase my Internet wardrobe than to contribute anything useful editorially. Although I think they do read this, in which case I retract former statement.

Dadjokes' work place manages to make me a bit weepy if I think about them too hard too. It's not luck that had him holding my hand at every hospital visit, chemo administration and orders to come home and rub my back/feed me painkillers/plump my pillows. If promotions are possible at the top, I think his people are deserved, based purely on compassion and flexibility - very important managerial traits.

But please give him one too so we can go private next time... *wink*

Graduation Day

This is officially my last post as a Chemo Patient. I'm writing from my usual spot in the chemo suite, my port-a-cath (port-a-loo as my dad seems to genuinely think it is called) hooked up to my last dose of Docetaxyl, and I feel, well, a bit weird.

In December when this whole thing started I flicked through half of my new year diary and wrote 'LAST CHEMO!!!' in today's entry. At the time it felt like an eternity away, but here I am being looked after by 3 lovely nurses who have become people I look forward to seeing, for the last time. This kind of makes me sad. As does the fact that, although a horrible one, I'm in a routine, a programme. A long, uncomfortable, very necessary one where I do what I'm told and let other people look after my best interests. A bit like university in fact. And lo and behold I felt funny on that graduation day too. It's something about being chucked out into the world to work things out on my own. 6 months of chemo feels like a really long time, with surgery as something to think about afterwards. Now surgery is something to think about next, and this too is tingeing my graduation day with trepidation.

Nse and Pat x

I will also miss being the only girl in the chemo suite with an actual entourage. I'm sure the other patients must think I'm either a minor celebrity or really, really pathetic. But I cannot shake off my team of mother, father, boyfriend and lovely friend, all crowding round my bed (and I get a bed! Looks even worse...) and regaling me with stories of Bridge hands (Parents), illegally painting my nails (Claire), or running around fetching me water and filling prescriptions (Dadjokes). Still, one step closer to my I'm All Better party, no more nutropenic/hospitalisation fear and no more jabbing myself in the stomach with needles.

For some reason I look exceptionally yellow today. This happens every so often, the Jaundiced look. I'm guessing its something to do with my liver being assaulted by serious toxins on a regular basis, but I am no doctor. I can only tell when I am photographed next to other people and I go 'eurgh I look so yellow' and they always go 'yes you do.' From a beauty perspective, nope, ain't nothing doing. So my advice is this: use a processing app on your computer or iphone and tweak the colours artfully, so digital documentation of jaundice day will be forever altered in history. Easy, makeup-free, mirror-free and effort-free beauty editor advice there...

Some Retrospective Highlights (I never thought highlights would be possible within a chemo regime, I was wrong).

Elton John

This is what myself and my entourage call a particularly grumpy fellow patient who doesn't seem to realise that people are trying to help her. I really shouldn't judge, or nickname, but I find my highlights where I can - and she is unintentionally quite funny. She seems to be taking her fear out on her nurses, which is understandable but a bit inappropriate also. Her 'do, spectacles and attitude have the Elton John about them (I should mention here that I am one of his biggest fans, so I'm not being as mean as I sound), to the point where she exclaimed loudly that she refused to be treated with all these other people, then sat behind a curtain next to my bed swearing and complaining that who am I to get a bed when she should have one. You see? She even walked out that day. My friend Alex remarked that her cancer must be an aggressive one. boom boom. (sorry)

my lovely mum

Bonding

Its bound to happen in these here situations, but I'm so happy to see my parents smiling faces every three weeks. What with me being in North London, my family in Surrey, I didn't hang out them as much as I would have liked. Now they drive up every chemo day, which takes them around 2 hours each way, and stay the whole time just to keep me company. I owe them one. Not least for petrol money and hospital parking...

Familiar Faces

It took a good few sessions, but aside from the nurses, I also have some regular 'hello, how are you's? and particularly love seeing my bed fellow, Jonny, (not literally, he has the 2nd of the two beds in the suite, so we have that in common), who seems to be youngish like me and is so smiley and cute that he makes me feel better about being where I am. And he says things like 'keep at it girl' and 'girl, you look great today' (always a winner).

Relaaax

I've had a few emails from readers worrying about their chemo sessions, but believe me when I say, actual chemo day is the nicest day of the 3 week cycle. Ok, it hurts for a second going in, but that's the worst thing about it. Contrary to Hollywood belief, there's no nausea while you're there, there's free sandwiches and tea, and its akin to a much needed bikini wax in the slight-pain-for-ultimate-good sense, so that you feel comforted to be physically helping the situation along.

Pat, Sacha, and Nse

My wonderful regular chemo nurses who should win awards for fabulous bedside manner, patience (with Elton John types), calming influence and multi-tasking. I will miss them.

Run Team Look, Run

While I'm hooked up here, there are a load of my friends anti-chaffing themselves and lining up to run 5k for the Race For Life today. I think I would actually rather be having chemo than doing that, so bobble hats off to them, especially the Look ladies. Later next month will be the turn of The Communication Store PR company, who have been keeping me up to date with their fundraising efforts including a bake sale, aww. They tell me I inspired them to do it, so the fact I got west London's most glamorous office girls out of their pleated midi skirts and into some pink Lycra is enough to take the edge off the graduation trepidation and make me feel proud of me, them, Team Look and everyone else doing it today.

In a few more weeks the more hardcore of my band of charity nuts will doubling their efforts and sweating for 10k around Blackheath. This is team Katie Selby, led by Katie, with even one or two celeb runners thrown in for good measure. I bet the Lycra will be luxurious among this team.

Please sponsor one or all three teams here, its for the most great of good causes, and if you knew how loathe the fashion industry were to wear trainers for an entire day, you would realise the importance of their sacrifice and dig deep immediately.

Team Look
http://raceforlifesponsorme.org/LOOKettes

Team Selby
http://raceforlifesponsorme.org/katieselby2510

Team Communication Store
TBC - I'll update this when they've stopped baking and organised a justgiving page!

Which they've done already! Running in July, so plenty of donating time, at

http://raceforlifesponsorme.org/TCSRACE14

Right, I'm off to toast my non-chemo patient, graduated with honours status, with some chicken broth and GCSF injections, tra la la...

First ever chemo day, complete with post-bawling puffiness crossed with I Am Dead Brave face. Fooling anyone? er, no

p.s. OK, ok, as requested: My dad's ever present and outlandish efforts to make me laugh... (they work too)

Just Some Happy Thoughts

Just been thinking, I keep remembering some of the positives I missed off the list from the positive thinking (ish) post. So here they are. How could I forget these?..

1. Never having to shave or wax anything
 How could I gloss over this gift from the chemo gods? I truly realise the joy since developing a love of ankle grazing trousers, as part of my wardrobe overhaul. Even though I get up 2 hours before I have to leave for work, I'm always rushing for my taxi 5 minutes before it gets here. It's nice to know I can grab anything in my wardrobe and wear it without the extra, and often painful, bathroom time. Ankles showing? NO problem. Vest top? - yes I can hold onto the overhead bar on the tube, no problem! Emergency bikini situation? Er, I haven't come across one of those yet, but I'm safe in the knowledge it'll be NO problem...

2. Well there were a number of positives in that no. 1 positive I just picked up on, so:
- Wardrobe overhaul - fun!
- Getting up 2 hours early. This sounds like a negative, but its because I'm waking up fresher, without the need of an alarm - no hangovers, no instant lethargy from steak digestion etc.
- Taxi. I'm a sucker for a lazy journey to work. Compromised immune system means public transport is out for a week, and I don't have to feel frivolous for abusing my Addy Lee app. Like I say - medical necessity.

3. Two of my very good friends have given up smoking since and because of my D-Day. And found it pretty easy too. Yey!

4. Katie Selby is leading a load of my friends, her friends and girls from the office in the Race For Life this summer. I (no longer) secretly think they're mental, but I'm VERY proud of all of them. I'm happy also I have an excellent excuse not to take part.

5. I have a new found extreme excitement for lots of little things.
The strangest being when I start to feel better after chemo week. I get so excited by not feeling rubbish, its almost worth feeling rubbish for. Almost. Shopping - so exciting! Cooking - exciting! Fresh Air - mm, exciting! Sunshine - tra la LA exciting.

6. Not having to do everything
Its a bit of a bonus getting out of the washing up on a regular basis let me tell you.

7. Realising what's important in life. Its kind of sad that it takes something like cancer to put my own head into perspective - I'm not sure if its the same for everyone - but from realising how fantastic some of my friends are, to seeing my family much more, to knowing that not being able to find my keys does not require a full-blown sit-down protest.

Any more peppy ideas, please comment below xx