vickygoestravelling

my journey to health and well being via exotic destinations


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in which I explore alternative therapies, including Traditional Chinese Medicine

Snowdrops and primula enjoy the first sunshine

Snowdrops and primula enjoy the first sunshine

This week I have been exploring alternative therapies. Started with devouring David Servan-Schreiber’s Anti-Cancer book from cover to cover and found it put a lot of what I do every day into a good and helpful perspective, while contextualising the scientific background – lots of mice and rat experiments I’m afraid – with some good case studies.

The main take-aways are:

Inhibits immunity/influences inflammation Activates immunity/influences inflammation
Traditional western diet Mediterranean diet, Indian, Asian cuisine
Stress, anger, depression (unmanaged) Serenity, joy, laughter
Social isolation Support from family and friends
Denial of one’s true identity Acceptance of self with one’s values and past history
Sedentary lifestyle Regular physical activity (at least 20 mins per day)
Domestic pollutants Clean environment

The big change in diet argument goes something like this: our consumption of sugar and foods with high glycemic index (e.g. white flour) stimulate not only the growth of cancer cells but their capacity to invade other cells. I won’t go into the science here, you can read it for yourselves, but for instance those who eat low-sugar Asian diets tend to have 5-10 times fewer hormonally-driven cancers than those with diets high in sugar and refined food. Green tea is a well-known suppressor of growth of the new blood vessels required by cancer cells to grow and explains why in Japan the incidence of aggressive breast and prostate tumours is so much lower than in the West.

Pomelo salad, with coconut shavings and peanuts

Pomelo salad, with coconut shavings and peanuts: healthy eating!

Organic cabbage salad (Vietnamese)

Organic cabbage salad (Vietnamese)

Then there’s the recent imbalance of the Omega 3s (which we had in abundance until after the 2nd World War; in those days we relied on grass- and naturally-fed cattle, pigs and chickens) with the prevalence of Omega 6 in our diet. This is largely fuelled by the feeding of livestock on corn, soya and wheat, all of which transform our food chain from being Omega 3-rich to being Omega 6-high. This imbalance, along with the enormous increase in trans fats found in biscuits, cakes and processed foods  – all of which are more inflammatory than Omega 6 in its natural state – are also linked to the  development of cancer. Not only does the destruction of swathes of forest and other agricultural land for livestock feed destroy the planet, it is also aiding our own demise simultaneously. So go organic and, as I am now, avoid all meat and dairy products. A bit extreme I know, but as I need to re-build my immune system it is probably worth it until I have some good news.

Tp rove the point - here is my Saturday feast this week! complete with Singapore noodles!

T o prove the point – here is my Saturday feast this week! complete with Khmer chicken, Thai chilli prawns and Singapore noodles!

Given that I have always lived eaten like an Asian (no carbs, no trans fats or processed foods, although I have not been organic) and kept very fit, it is obvious to me that both Ross’s prostate cancer of two years ago, and my current sarcoma have been brought on by the numerous stresses in our lives, paramount being that of losing Louise, but in my case both my parents as well. Servan-Schreiber describes both experiments and case studies where the feelings of helplessness induced by depression and despair have contributed to cancer, and how steps taken to alleviate such feelings can lead to longer life and health. He also stresses that its good to be realistic without being negative; something I feel I do. ‘I’ve found that realistic attitude in almost all of the people who have survived their cancer well beyond the statistics they were given.’

The undrinkable spirulina infested green juice!

The undrinkable spirulina-infested green juice!

Some people are skeptical, I am afraid, as I sip my green tea and insist on soya milk/yoghurt with my home-made granola, juice my beets, carrots, cruciform veg, with ginger, fresh turmeric (only works with black pepper), garlic and apple to sweeten. I tried spirulina once and was almost sick, so not sure how I can combine this healthy immunity-building algae! I make Ross drink it too, as he needs to keep his health up. I’m not sure he’s convinced – well poor chap got the spirulina concoction on day 1! But it keeps me busy and thinking positively and I hope gives you, my friends, something to laugh about.

Home-made granola

Home-made granola

In the garden

In the garden

*          *          *

Monday 24 Feb finds me going back to the TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine) shop where the helper was so cynical when I dropped by to get some Chinese herbs for cooking. ‘Do you really believe in this stuff,’ asks the young man incredulously, his hip little ponytail wagging away. ‘Why not? I’ve got cancer and so long as it’s not poisonous, I’m willing to try anything. Anyway it’s in my Chinese cancer cookbook. And [auntie voice] do you think you should be saying such things if you work here?’ ‘Oh’ says he, ‘the boss is out so I can say what I like’.

The happy cook - with wine!

The happy cook – with wine!

I have an appointment with Dr Feng, who is my age exactly. I have come for acupuncture but you cannot consult a Chinese doctor without having the once-over. She takes my pulse, asks various questions, and says my kidney and liver functions are weak and therefore allowing the cancer to grow, my yin is out and I must stop drinking coffee and alcohol immediately! She also refines the eating list that Anti-Cancer has bestowed upon me – no curry or chilli; no meat or dairy at all and various other things like peanuts and coconut – all too ‘hot’ (this chimes with my Ayurvedic profile, given after Louise died, so rings true). Oh no, can I really do this?

Dr Feng is rather attractive and has been here 22 years (Helena Bonham Carter comes here once a month);  she owns the practice with her ex, and her two girls went to Cambridge, then one to Harvard and the other to Goldman Sachs!  She is very matter of fact as she tells me to lie on the couch as I need treatment ‘front and back’. She starts on the back of the neck, it feels like she is using a blow dart to insert the needles (later I check it out and indeed it is similar to a staple gun) as she pings them in: quick swab of white spirit and zap! In it goes; some are more painful than others especially over the kidney area (she says this is because the unblocking required is severe).

After leaving me like a pincushion under a hot lamp, she disappears for 10 minutes; the pain in my back is really severe, a dull ache rather than searing. Is this doing me good I wonder, as I practise my breathing skills. Now, she says on return, we do some cupping! Yikes, I recoil as I remember Gwynnie’s back after she extolled its virtues. And crikey are they hot! She pops them on with a huge squelch, at least ten or twelve of them …I am reeling from the physicality of the treatment so far but all I can do is shut my eyes and breathe deeply!

My back after cupping - Wah!

My back after cupping – Wah!

Back she comes, phew it’s over, think I…but, no, ‘lie on front now’! Then she applies more deathly needles to my legs including on my shins, ankles and front of foot…aaargh! The pain on my bad leg is sudden and quick, I feel a lightening jolt running down and then it is gone. This is the unblocking she explains  – kindly? Several more minutes pass as I lie on my back now with my pink cardi draped over my feet; there is a whispered consultation going on next door, the poor man is having terrible nightmares; she tutts sympathetically.

Primula

Primula

Then she comes in and starts to massage my bad leg, to reduce the fluid which has been building up and which Prof is threatening to syringe. ‘No need, we get rid of it naturally,’ she opines gaily. But it’s very sore indeed as she digs in round the ankle and passes her hands in smooth circles up my calf. ‘You very stiff, here, bend your knee back, move your ankles. You must do lots of exercise, yoga good!’ Ow, ow, ow is all I can splutter in response.

At last she deftly removes the remaining needles – oh no, she says wait a minute, some blood here! Dab, dab. Then I get dressed and go upstairs for my daily tea mix (see photo), which I have to soak overnight and brew the next day. ‘Might taste bad,’ she warns. I imagine it must be foul if she says this now! Plus some sachets of mushroom powders to be taken twice a day, some funny brown pills (Liu Wei Di Huang Wan to treat yin deficiency – good for weak kidneys, menopause and diabetes and combatting low immunity) and my diet sheet. Nearly everything is marked X in the BAD column – see picture, on left. Oi vey. I whinge about giving up the alcohol, although I drink very little these days. ‘But surely you want to get better? Your kidneys very weak, kidney pulse very weak, only now getting better after one session. You come twice a week until you return Singapore, we make you better.’

My twice daily 'tea' - pass hte sick bag!

My twice daily ‘tea’ – pass the sick bag!

For the record the mushroom powders taste like dust, and the tea smells and tastes absolutely rank. It’s hard to keep it down, I have to drink it in one (mixed with the mushroom powder).

The list of forbidden foods with the mushroom powder drink!

The list of forbidden foods with the mushroom powder drink!

In other news, I am half way through the radiotherapy. The leg is beginning to get stiff and a bit sore, but Dr Miah assures me this is normal. My buddies come and go – said goodbye to a brave woman in her late 60s who has a sarcoma like mine but in the thigh – it was so large they had a ‘guess the weight’ at the staff Christmas party (it was 2.5kgs!). She is also under Prof Thomas; the Sir Lankan lady is almost done and my new friend from Oxford with a benign brain tumour also on the home straight.

My stick seems to attract the attention of other unfortunates: the two elderly drunks with a pit-bull lurching round South End Green, greeting me warmly, ‘Hiya, how are you love? Have a lovely day’; and Joe – we are on first name terms now  – the Big Issue seller, who always tells me I’m his first customer as he wishes me well too. The only exception was an old sourpuss at Belsize Park tube station who berated me for going up the ‘wrong staircase’. I shook my stick at her and said, ‘I am disabled and have cancer. This way saves me a long walk’. She looked at me in disbelief.

Well, it takes all sorts as they say, and even the grumpies of this world cannot take way from my determination to travel hopefully.

Daffs

The first daffs


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in which I complete week 1 of radiotherapy and suffer some immune failings

Miso soup with shitake mushroom, tofu...the best immunity boosters all in one!

Miso soup with shitake mushroom, tofu…the best immunity boosters all in one!

Six sessions down, five and half more weeks to go. It has taken all this time to get the treatment exactly right: after having the whole team round my bedside, we experimented on consecutive days with new stirrup positions, the physicist returned to take measurements, the blue sponges returned…and now we are back to Plan A – the blue sponges, and lining the camera up to get the oblique angle and protect the underside of the knee to prevent fibrosis.

I saw the lovely Dr Miah on Friday: we discussed nutrition (a little of what you fancy, lots of snacks to prevent weight loss). She also told me off gently for wearing narrow, if soft, trousers and my fancy patent boots. She said even if there is no pain, my leg needs air as all materials will rub against the soft underside of my knee. But I can dress up on special occasions! My next scan won’t be until June. So annoyingly longer to wait, but she confirmed Prof Khong’s advice that too early, and you won’t see anything. However, if they do spot a single nodule in the lung (first port of a call) they will chop it out; more than one – chemo. For the record, I did ask!

The tube strike made for a couple of anxious days – late or non-arriving taxis, but the journeys themselves were remarkably quick. The sessions also ran more or less on time; with Friday’s starting a minute early, and I was out in 10. Hope this is promise of things to come.

This week I have had cousin Christine from Geneva to keep me company: as well as some nice lunches, retail therapy, movies (Dallas Buyers Club, Inside Llewyn Davis and August: Osage County – see reviews on www.vickyatthemovies.net), we have been navigating the tube: walking to South Ken, change at Kings Cross and then to Belsize Park, rather liberating. Trying to get back to being normal.

Getting ready for Burma: pork with pineapple, tamarind, bean shoots. Scoffed while watching latest Euro cop thriller Salamander

Getting ready for Burma in November: pork with pineapple, tamarind, bean shoots. Scoffed while watching latest Euro cop thriller Salamander

We bought a Big Issue outside South Ken; as Christine scrabbled in her bag for money, the guy saw her new stripy pyjamas. ‘I used to have a pair just like that, except they were blue. In prison.’ He gave us a big toothless grin.

However, I think I underestimated the physical effects. By Saturday night my leg was very swollen and sore (not red or burned) and stiff. I have also had some immunity failings – thrush and herpes: surgeon Dave says I should be upfront as even doctors don’t really understand how gruelling RT can be. Depressing given my super-healthy diet: juicing every day with beetroot, carrots, ginger, greens and whatever I have from my Riverford box, plus Christine’s home-made granola and our wholly organic diet. Not forgetting my yoga (shoulder-stand, plus lots of contorted poses made more difficult by lack of calf muscle) and my latest discovery, meditation. 10 minutes a day. Judy delivered a freezer-load of Jamaican and traditional chicken soup, and Annita brought a delicious lunch. I am being thoroughly spoiled.

The Ladies rota kicks in next week (thanks Janie), and Ross comes at the weekend…things to look forward to. Carpe Diem.


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in which we attempt to encounter two types of ray

Cyprus12

Orange trees in the garden

Cyprus sojourn a great success from the moment I was wheeled off the plane. Despite the weather being less than kind – only two out five days sunny and warm – we had a lovely time. One day we went up into the mountains and found an eccentric tavern hidden down a side street which had a huge display of whisky bottles and where we feasted on delicious moussaka, watched by a funny little dog.

Cyprus1

Sitting by the fire in the taverna

Cyprus10

Thats what I call a moussaka!

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Spoiled rotten!

Cyprus07

They were empty, dear reader!

On another we braved the inappropriately-named Malindi Beach Bar for oysters and the grilled squid with the Chief of Staff of the Cyprus Peackeeping Forces, an old chum of Penny and Mike’s. A rainy day even found us in Zara buying sweaters!

Cyprus06

Mike and Penny with the loyal Sugar in the hills

Penny and Mike are perfect hosts, from the kettle in room and four varieties of tea, healthy breakfasts and lunches made from the freshest of Cyprus fruit and veg, the roaring fire and a fine array of champagne and wine. Their house is set in the hills, just outside Limassol, which is a grey and messy sea-side strip of a town, rather down-at-heel at this time of year. The Russians are all gone, apart from in the Four Seasons, where we went for dinner one night. Friends Roma and Mariana had stayed there a few years back – was reminded of this as they cooked me a wonderful supper the night before I left. The girlfriends are rallying round!

Before I left, we celebrated two other significant events, Tommy’s 26th birthday in the heavenly Singapore Gardens, and a visit to Little Lou’s Bench with her dear friend Cara.

Cyprus03

Birthday boy!

Cyprus02

Vibernum, hellebores and other flowers form my garden; Cara decorated in Louise’s favourite colours, form Columbia Road

Cyprus01

Cara

The week was full of coincidences: on the way out at Terminal 5 I bumped into an old friend Roger Hooper, a wildlife photographer who had been with us to Mana Pools. He was a useful and charming bag-carrier. On the return flight I sat next to a woman and we got chatting, as you do. Turns out she was half Chinese, brought up in Malaysia, had lived in Barbados, now lives in Cyprus, but had worked in Deloitte, her daughter had worked for the previous Black Rod (as was Mike), her husband and family are Jewish but, most strangely of all, she was in recovery from lymphoma and as going to London for treatment. We had a lot to discuss! To cap it all, yesterday as I waited for my abortive – yes, see below – radiotherapy treatment, the man next to me had a brother living in Pyrgos, which is the very same village in Cyprus where Penny and Mike live.

Cyprus05

View from bedroom window

I come back refreshed and revived and ready for the start of the six-and-a-half week slog. To take my mind off it, and because my juicer and Riverford veg boxes had arrived the previous day, complete with Seville oranges, I spent the morning making marmalade. I had only just bottled the last jar when the taxi came…

suncyp

Rays!

As usual everyone at the Marsden nice and kind. After my start-of-treatment briefing, I waited and waited (hence the conversation with my neighbour, also waiting. The most common question seems to be ‘what time is your appointment?’ I was asked this three times…I have decided I am going to fill this time profitably: I have re-ordered my daily Guardian to be home–delivered; and I am going to suss out who all the people are being treated. Very little English was being spoken, which I thought was interesting, as this is the NHS, not a private hospital. Although there are one or two private patients – not the norm – such as myself.

By the time I am invited into the room, we are running 40 minutes late. I put my leg in the cast and Kirsty and Anisha explain that they will align everything, test the machine’s movement radius (it has to go round and under my leg to zap it from several angles) take some photos and then ping! The treatment itself is 7-10 minutes. Sounds OK, think I. How wrong could I be? After admiring my pedicure, we make small talk including, Me: ‘How many leg sarcomas do you see?’ Answer: ‘This unit only deal with limb sarcomas so we see many, from all over the country’.

So an hour later, I am wondering if they have ever seen anyone with two legs before, as they cannot work out what to do with my good leg – we try the spongey mats (no good as they can’t align the machines through them properly), next two different stirrups, which remind me of visiting the gynaecologist, and then senior radiographer supervisor Mary is called into consult. Whisper, whisper, whisper…meanwhile my leg is firmly clamped into the vice-like cast and I am trying every variety of yogic breathing I can recall: ‘observe your breath’ I keep saying to myself, ‘in 1,2,3,4,5; out 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10’. To no avail. My leg is on fire. Glad I took the tramadol, even though it doesn’t seem to have worked!

Finally they admit defeat and I am asked to wait outside while they consider the options, while not lessening the efficacy. This includes re-planning the whole treatment. ‘How long will that take? I’m booked to go to Singapore on 21 MArch,’ I wail. Nadir.

Mary re-appears after 15 minutes, having seen Dr Aisha, who said ‘She has a flight to Singapore’. Phew – we are on the same page! It is now 5.15, two hours after my appointment time. In fact the treatment plan does have a Plan B (why they couldn’t find it on the system is a mystery), which involves zapping me from a different trajectory so the good leg is avoided. They will do this tomorrow at 3pm in order to get time to re-calculate everything. So bang goes physio and probably my weekend pre rush-hour escape from London to Doctor Fi’s for the weekend.

Cyprus04

Just in case you missed Pickle

 All I can think of in my frustration and misery is the large G&T waiting for me when I get home. But joy of joys, there is the added bonus of a gorgeous bouquet from friends Anthony and Carrie – she has had radiotherapy too (and the rest) – but now well and happy, and knows what a girl needs to cheer her up! The evening only gets better; other friend Philly and Sandra arrive with a four-course meal: home-made soup and smoked salmon, followed by cod with spicy lentils and a Pavlova! They announce a competition to see what you need to do to get a blog mention. Well done Ladies!

marmalde

Flowers and my marmalade – organic of course!


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in which I get measured up for my cast and try to look on the bright side

Thought we needed to see Pickle again

Thought we needed to see Pickle again – where else but on my lap?

The past 10 days have been rather depressing, waiting for things to happen. I feel like I’m in a waiting room – for death. Morbid I know but limbo land is no fun. Two weeks for radiotherapy to start and another three months until the first scan, which will indicate whether the cancer has spread. And in trying to maintain a brave and smiling outward face while struggling with inner fears, the bigger things can be put in perspective but it’s the little things that get blown out of proportion and are very upsetting. So if I ever explode at something minor, it’s not that thing that is the problem, it’s the wider challenges I am facing.

On the plus side, I have been doing some nutritious cooking (Tom Yam soup, steamed chicken, fish curry, and now about to go Japanese) and have been to the movies twice (12 Years a Slave and The Railway Man –  see what I thought on http://www.vickyatthemovies.net). I also had a moment of inspiration and exchanged my lovely red-hot mini for a slightly newer, automatic mini cooper. But black and not so dashing. Today I drove to the hairdressers at the O2 centre, where I had some good therapy: thank you Joe and Eli! Mani/pedi next week!

The metallic black mini Cooper 1.6

The metallic black mini Cooper 1.6

My friend Cindy in Mumbai has sent me a book on yoga for cancer, and I am determined to learn how to meditate and do some simple poses. I think it will help. My physiotherapy – Pilates – is energising and I now have my own wobble board and special exercises to add to my sit-ups and weights. It’s quite hard work though; Tommy was most amused when he took this picture.

On the wobble board!

On the wobble board!

My mobility is improving daily and the pain is diminishing, so I have almost stopped taking the tramadol and paracetamol, only taking any when I feel pain. But for some reason this week I have been getting exhausted and energy levels are low. My weight seems to be going down and then regaining the 55kgs, whatever I eat. I find this worrying. Of course I am angsting about the impending radiotherapy, and now the little insidious niggle of the histology results and the mental picture of those nasty little cancer cells whizzing round my body. It’s all about keeping my immune system high so I continue with the healthy diet and exercise; I’m sure feeling down doesn’t help though. I am learning it takes (too much?) energy to be upbeat, cheerful and superwoman. My new resolution is not to let anything or anyone annoy me. Challenging!

Two appointments at the Marsden this week to make the cast for the radiotherapy and then to do the scan and make the aligning tattoo marks on my leg. The cast is necessary to keep the leg in place so that the rays can be directed to the exact sites for treatment. I go into the ‘mould room’ and lie on a flat operating table; I feel like a fakir on a bed of nails! Then my leg is elevated but only supported by the ankle, and they heat up a large sheet of plastic in a bain marie, which emerges like a giant gelatine leaf, and which the technicians then press round my leg until it is a snug fit. All sorts of adjustments are made and then a wait for it to harden. Meanwhile my leg is in agony as there is no support for it and of course I have no calf muscles so the quads are in overtime. They make a small spongey cushion to place just above the knee to help, but it’s not terribly effective. Sadly I am not allowed to photograph.

Back the next day for the scan. By the way all these appointments run on time. Another cheery bunch of staff. Back on the bed of nails, but with a large scanning machine and my instrument of torture is fitted. Oh dear, it needs adjusting! I am dreading they may have to re-make it but, no, they can heat it up and stretch it. It is then stuck down by Velcro to the plastic sheet with an outline of my measly leg drawn on it; more Velcro has been attached to hold the mould in place. Simple but clever. But all this fiddling around is taking its toll and my leg feels on fire, and we haven’t even begun the scan. By this time, I am wracking my memory for my yoga breathing (alternate nostrils) and counting and observing my breath to try and make the pain go away. It passes the time at least.

It’s not over yet though, as they have to make a couple of tattoo marks to align the cast. Blob of black ink followed by some scratches – not at all painful, although they have to re-do one of them. At last, it’s all over, 45 minutes later. I’m told that the treatment won’t be as long. I hope not, as I don’t think I could take that pain daily for 6 ½ weeks!

My pin-prick tattoo, with remnants of marking pen

My pin-prick tattoo, with remnants of marking pen

To add insult to my injuries I get ripped off by the cab home; and when I go on the C11 to my physio, no one gives me a seat! Wah!

On a positive note, to counter all this misery, I have booked myself to go to Cyprus for 5 days – air miles in business class – to stay with lovely friends Penny and Mike, who will pamper me and cheer me up. She has been through it all – surgery, radio and chemo – so knows where I’m coming from.


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in which we talk radiotherapy

We have dates! Went to the Marsden yesterday, all by myself, armed with a stick so I look disabled and people steer well clear. Saw the lovely Dr Aisha Miah, who remembered me from the last visit. She is a tiny, but very reassuring, presence; someone you can ask all the nagging questions. Like the one about the hotspot in my groin lymph glands that the PET scan had picked up and I have been angsting about, knowing the cancer cells could have travelled. No need to worry, sarcoma cells do not become lymphatic cancers; if they do spread it is to the chest/lung and liver (not sure quite how reassuring THAT is!). So my next scan will be in April and then three-monthly thereafter.

Next Thursday (16th) I go to have my leg cast made; then Friday a localised CT scan of the leg so they can position the ray machine correctly. Then start properly 30 Jan, though I am hoping she can bring this forward a few days, so I can escape to Singapore for a couple of weeks before coming back for Easter and my first scan. Each session will take 30 mins. For the first 5 weeks they will irradiate the whole leg, and the last week and a half they will notch it up a bit to concentrate on the sarcoma area to zap any remaining tumour cells.

I have signed a consent paper, which is rather grim reading.

Intended benefits: improved survival; prevention of recurrence

Serious or frequently recurring risks:

Acute – skin reaction (redness, tenderness, breakdown…severe discomfort); tiredness, oedema (very likely)

Later – permanent skin discolouration; thickening of skin; impairment of joint/limb function (esp. knee joint) fracture risk; secondary cancers; lymphoedema.

She says I will need wide trousers to prevent irritation – so a visit ot Primark in Oxford Street is called for! Help! and lots of aqueous creams…

So not much to worry about then!

We had a giggle about the Prof’s views on training women doctors: I was interested to gauge her views. She said, ‘I told him he had better wear shin pads in addition to full body armour’.

*                 *                *

Meanwhile, to help me prepare and boost my immunity and general well-being,  I have started doing free weights and sit-ups in addition to the physio. I am also working my way through a lovely Chinese cookery book of recipes especially for cancer patients. Luckily we have a TCM shop (traditional Chinese medicine) just down the road for foxglove root , hyacinth bean seed and the like.

I am also walking unaided: last night went to 12 Years a Slave  – by bus! – and walked up the road to the Chinese restaurant; I can do the half-mile aller/retour to England’s Lane  to do shopping, and I have just traded in my sexy red mini Cooper for a rather less glam second-hand metallic black automatic. Arrives next week. So I intend to live as normal a life as possible during my incarceration in London for treatment.

Pickle loves to  rub her face against my legs. See how form the front my calf looks almost normal!

Pickle loves to rub her face against my legs. See how from the front my calf looks almost normal!

I was reminded of the fragility of life last week (as if I needed reminding). On the way to Geneva airport we saw the most terrible accident; a white van with all windows blown out, children’s toys, bikes and sledges scattering the road and bank, and the family dog – a beautiful red setter – being stroked by a paramedic. It was the only living thing left at the site, but not for long.  It raised its head woefully to look right at us while the vet sent him to sleep.

I am haunted by the image of that family: one minute returning from a lovely Christmas holiday, car packed with presents; the next and their lives are forever blighted.

All the more resolved to make the most of it.


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In which we greet the New Year with some good and bad news…but lots of hope!

Rossdents

Ross ski touring with Tommy, Dents du Mid in the background

New Year’s Day

 I greet 2014 with renewed hope and vigour! 2013 played a very curved ball in injury time as up until November it had been a great year for us with the move to Singapore and all the travelling to exotic oriental places.

Only a few days left of mountain magic and then back to London, histology results and radiotherapy. Wah! And Ross departs for Singapore so I will throw myself on the mercy of all my dear friends to accompany me to physio and radio. A roster has been suggested. Volunteers please!

On the plus side the wound looks good. New Year’s eve saw me tackling the cable car and lunch at the restaurant panoramique at the top with the Mitchell family; not only great to see them but to get two consultations for the price of one: David is one of Britain’s top vascular surgeons and knows the Prof, while Anne is a GP, so lots of comfort about how the pain will be bad, it’s normal, and then healing will take up to two months. A peek at my leg in full view of the sunbathing crowds causes some raised eyebrows!

With Ann and David Mitchell at the Croix de Culet

With Ann and David Mitchell at the Croix de Culet

However, this little expedition knocked me out and I had to retire to bed for a couple of hours; so exhausted that was fearful that I would not see in the New Year, which kicked off with apero for 25 or so chez nous…champagne and canapés, foie gras and sauternes, all brought by friends – Fenwicks, Poolers, Serikoffs, Huguette et al. My brother and his girlfriend who is having a little boy in May, are also here, and it has been wonderful getting to know Melanie and see how happy they are. New life for a new year.

Sasha flanked by Melanie and me on NYE

Sasha flanked by Melanie and me on NYE

We tottered up to cousin Christine’s for main course: Diego and Diane have prepared hams, and Tommy and Olivia have made sweetcorn and courgette gratins, all delicious. It is a beautiful clear night and we stream out on to the balcony on the chimes of midnight as the sky explodes in a flurry of brilliant fireworks, which illuminate the Dents and rain down green, purple and red over the village. The beacons atop the peaks are lit and dominate the skyline as red dots. The sky is full of lanterns bobbing upwards.

Tommy with Christine and Katie Pooler

Tommy with Christine and Katie Pooler

The Youngies: Charly, Olivia, Tom  and Katie

The Youngies: Charly, Olivia, Tom and Katie

Then Ross, Tommy and Tom Pooler light our own Chinese lanterns, which soar up, up and away in an orange glow to meet Louise whose spirit is with us this night, in the mountain air and in the effervescent glow that lights up the sky. The stars twinkle down on us as we stand, me in my bare feet (kills the pain I say when told I’m mad), and exchange New Year hugs, kisses and warm embraces of dear friends willing this to be the year that I regain my health. If the power of positive thinking and vibes could cure cancer then I would be clear! So much love is humbling and I thank you, all my friends, for it and the support over the past couple of months and for those yet to come.

One of our lanterns winging its way to join Louise

One of our lanterns winging its way to join Louise

I am sorry that the last blog sounded so bleak, but writing is part of my therapy, and like an exorcism…once captured in black and white the negativity is out of my system, leaving room for happier thoughts.

Let’s hope that 2014 is a year of health and healing for all of us, filled with the love of friends and family.

Mitchells, Fenwicks, Cattells, Olivia & George Stoy

Mitchells, Fenwicks, Cattell boys, Olivia & George Stoy…Dents…NY Eve

6  January – Histology Day

Finally the dreaded day arrives, and Dr Fi and I assemble to see the Prof. The past few weeks have been rather unnerving, not quite knowing, yet fearing, today’s meeting.

Dr Fi is in fine form: the Prof has been busy writing for the Daily Mail on why he believes the NHS should stop training women doctors (they go part-time and it results in fewer doctors etc etc). Red rag to a bull, but she promises to zip up as the meeting is about me…

The good news is that the Prof got the clearance, as in margin,  on the tumours, ie better than he expected. However, he confirms what both Fi and I already suspected, that it is a stage 3 and – here he brings his chair round the table and sits next to me, boy this IS serious – they found the tumour within a ‘large vein’.

Gently he explains this means it may have already travelled as tumour cells migrate via the blood. However, there is no point in doing anything until a scan in April as new sites will not show up until the cells have grown enough to be visible. As Dr Khong said, the cells are so microscopic at this stage, they are impossible to identify. So it is going to be a long haul. But I think I knew all of this even if I didn’t share the anxiety, so I don’t feel shocked, weak at the knees or nauseated. Just resigned and even more determined to live life to the full. As Prof says, we just have to hope that I will be lucky.

On the other hand, I am hugely cheered by his admiration of my mobility.  Him: ‘You can start going up stairs properly now.’

Me: ‘I’ve been doing that for 2 weeks already.’ I am doing far better than he expected. But he gives me a stern talk on being too ambitious as a fall downstairs (which I can’t manage yet, one foot after the other) would be dangerous.

Him: ‘Have we finished the medical bit now?’ Cue for media discussion; we always end our sessions talking about journalism.

Me: ‘Yes.’

Him: ‘ Did you see I had two articles in the Mail last week?’

Me: ‘No – these are the ones on female doctors I assume. I bet you’ve had some interesting feedback. I’ll read them and give you mine if you like, but I am a feminist you know!’

He gets all excited and writes out how to find them online; he slides the paper towards me, then deftly removes the duplicate and gives it to Fi: ‘Would you like to read it too?’

Fi: ‘No thanks. I promised Vicky I wouldn’t say anything as I am here in friend, not doctor, capacity, but I have read them and I disagree completely.’ There follows a lively exchange of views, friendly yet feisty as only Fi can be… Finally he asks Fi, ‘Do you know Penny? (another of the monstrous regiment of fierce women…and a good mutual friend of all of ours). This confirms that the Prof likes women like us, despite what he writes. He wants to keep me on as his patient: ‘I keep the ones I like’.

And now home, cat on knee, contemplating the long road ahead of living with cancer. Next stop: radiotherapy, first appointment Friday.

Dear friend Hilary and I on NYE

Dear friend Hilary and I on NYE


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In which my leg improves slowly but sorely

Champery is as pretty as a picture in the snow!

Champery is as pretty as a picture in the snow!

 Woke on Christmas morning to the sound of torrential rain! Not what the doctor ordered in a ski resort…

I had spent the majority of xmas eve chopping veg, preparing stuffing, making the cabbage, prepping the bread and apple sauces, and balefully eyeing our rather small goose. The boys go off skiing and narrowly avoid getting stuck on the French side – brings back memories of that terrible day I was waiting for Louise on her third attempt to leave London [her last xmas, 2010] and they got stuck in France and were not there to calm my nerves…had I known what a narrow squeak Tommy had getting here this year, with the English storms raging, I think I would have been beside myself. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Spent a very nice xmas eve chez cousins Christine, Diego and their boys, oysters and empanadas, their Chilean tradition. We did a rather fun Stealing Santa where you can steal someone else’s secret Santa when it is your turn! Tempers got rather frayed at one point…

Tommy on xmas day

Tommy on xmas day

Christmas morning itself is always a big reminder of Louise’s absence: she adored opening her stocking at the end of our bed, just as I adored finding silly things for her. The best present in 2010 was the burka I got in Oman, which she wore at lunch in France, just after they had been banned. We were doubled up with laughter at lunch and, later, when she skied down the mountain wearing it!

Louise in her burka on xmas day

Louise in her burka on xmas day

Tommy is just as big a child and he is thrilled with the contents of his stocking. As ever we gather on our bed and open our stockings in turn. I had some lovely extravagant gifts, Jo Malone, Molton Brown, edibles – felt very spoiled. All the smellies a girl could wish for and perfect for the pampering phase of my life.

The master chef!

The master chef!

After lunch – there was plenty of everything, even the goose – with Tommy playing sous chef to shouted instructions from the sofa, charades were called for and I remembered we had a box game. When I opened it I discovered scoring sheets in Louise’s handwriting, evidence of past fun. The shock of seeing her childish, teenage scrawl brought her absence into a palpable reality and my mood never really recovered.

Ross and me exhausted by xmas; the charade box is in the foreground

Ross and me exhausted by xmas; the charade box is in the foreground

In fact I had spent most of the day feeling queasy – a mixture of grieving and reaction to drugs – and so much food and drink make me feel worse, an unusual situation for me. On top of which my leg is hurting like crazy. In the end I leave the merriment and go to bed, but cannot sleep. Feel very anxious and vulnerable; the unspoken thought which I had been trying to banish all day now creeps into my head: is this my last Christmas? I wonder if others are thinking this as well; I try to gauge the meaning of those kind words and looks.

xmas lunch with brother Sasha, George and Beth, Hannah and Charlie

xmas lunch with brother Sasha, George and Beth, Hannah and Charlie

I have been trying not to think morbidly but what with my leg swollen and throbbing, it is hard not to imagine the worst. And all this terrible tiredness; and no matter how much I eat, I am still getting thinner… Is it just the price of healing or something more sinister? Only time will tell…

*                     *                    *

Wake up at 5 am on Boxing Day to the sound of the snow plough. The rain has turned to snow and there is at least 4-6 inches outside, and it is still snowing. Good news for the skiers and I can thus spend the day in bed writing and reading with my leg up. Which is now back to normal, thank goodness. They always say things are better in the morning.

Tommy enjoying the powder on boxing day

Tommy enjoying the powder on boxing day

I am pleasantly surprised that I do not feel envy as they kit up to go skiing, even on a gorgeous day with deep powder in the offing. Instead I feel a great sense of relief that I can snuggle up at home with a good book (The Luminaries), a jigsaw and Radio 4 for company. It makes me realise how much energy it takes to heal my wounds, both mental and physical. At least six weeks…

My latest worry is whether my leg will be healed enough to start the radiotherapy in January. Despite the sudden improvement in walking – I can now flex my foot with each step rather than advance with a fixed, stiff knee joint – the pain comes winging back, a dull ache combined with a terrible tenderness where my calf used to be. I suppose this is how an amputee feels. But it’s difficult to rest the back of my leg on anything as it is so sore. And by the end of the day, my lower leg is tight and throbbing despite being elevated most of the time.

I took the dressing off yesterday, and Ross removed and replaced some of the steri-strips. Pleased to see the bruising has gone down a lot and the wound is looking good. So good I am showing it to you!

the much improved leg!

the much improved leg!

Last tummy jab administered yesterday too, thank God. Stomach a patchwork of blue, yellow and grey bruises with long lumps marking the needles’ length! Think this is a reflection not so much of my lack of skill but my loss of tummy fat, resulting in the injections going into the muscle rather than subcutaneous fat. Wah! Only wearing the DVT stocking at night now.

Another week of rest before coming back, so I am hoping that these small improvements will gain pace. Meanwhile, fret not, I love being on my own; the day is punctuated with visitors, the evenings alternate with meals in and out, Tommy’s girlfriend Olivia has arrived and the family feels complete again.

Louise, xmas 2010


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in which we finally arrive in Champéry for Christmas

The Dents du Midi on the day we arrive - glorious!

The Dents du Midi on the day we arrive – glorious!

We made it! Here I am with my boys in the mountains, getting ready for Christmas: the goose is collected, we smuggled the chipolatas and bacon through customs, the champagne is chilling, presents wrapped and last-minute instructions for shopping issued! It’s Christmas Eve and Ross and Tommy are off skiing while I am left to some retrospective musings.

The first one is of a practical nature: even if the weather is gorgeous, the snow is terrible so I don’t feel I am missing out. I had been dreading the feeling of unadulterated jealousy, listening to tales of knee-high powder and virgin slopes, instead it’s a litany of overcrowded, muddy pistes and closed runs. Sigh of relief!

This is always a very sad time for our trio: the last Christmas we spent with Louise was here in Champéry, and the memories are still so vivid: the tension and heartache when she nearly didn’t make it due to the British weather – it took four days, three cancelled planes and a £65 taxi before I scooped her up from Aigle station, her presents and possessions spilling out of broken bags (so Louise!); her garish New Look jumper; the delicious goose; the fairy-tale weather; the company of good friends – in other words, a perfect family Christmas.

Louise in her New Look jumper on Christmas Day 2010

Louise in her New Look jumper on Christmas Day 2010

Being on crutches up here evokes the time when I broke my hip three and a half years ago. Despite all the obvious downsides to such an injury (nine weeks no weight bearing followed by a further 12 on crutches), it also brought Louise and I very close. She came to look after me in Geneva while Ross was away and we had a riotous time with her wheeling me round the park and to restaurants, she so little she could barely control the chair! We then went to Barbados together for a fabulous 10 days recuperation with friends Heather and JP in their beachfront villa,  and we had a very bonding and girly time sharing a room, fuelled by fine dining and drinking. I feel so privileged to have these memories. And now Tommy is manfully filling this gap by looking after me, both here and in London, in a similar fashion. It is very special.

Putting on the Ritz in Barbados, summer 2010

Putting on the Ritz in Barbados, summer 2010. I wear Louise’s necklace every day

My lovely GP happily prescribed the forgotten painkillers – don’t know how I’d do without them…tramadol, paracetamol and anti-inflammatories. The pain is constant and aching.

My not-so-lovely leg post clip removal

My not-so-lovely leg post clip removal

I had a pedicure to cheer me up! After all my feet are on constant display!

I had a pedicure to cheer me up! After all my feet are on constant display!

The rest of my clips were painlessly removed by one of my nurses. She took a photo of the wound – not for the squeamish. It has been bleeding a bit behind the knee and it is quite bruised there. But everyday it feels a little better, though I foolishly keep forgetting to ask how long the pain will go on…perhaps not so dumb as it might only add to the vague air of anticlimactic depression that has descended. I apologise to you all, but I’m afraid it is not possible to be superwoman all the time.

A kind friend sent me a link to a book about cancer, obviously meant to give hope. However it only served to send me into deep angst about secondaries. Not knowing the histology yet (I know I said I was going to forget this for two weeks, but…) and the mitotic rate of the various tumour cells that were found, there is this faint niggle which can only be assuaged by quarterly scans for two years, and then six-monthly ones for a further three years. So it’s a long haul. I guess my status remains ‘living with cancer’.

But today I must make the bread and apple sauces, the red cabbage and do my physio. Tonight we will feast on empanadas and oysters with cousins Christine and Diego and tomorrow morning we will open our stockings, have a light but jolly lunch with friends, before tackling the goose with my brother Sasha and more friends. Tommy is donning the head chef cap.

I will enjoy this Christmas and be thankful for being with loving family and friends: three years ago it was Louise’s last, how could we have known?

Pickle enjoying the Simon's Cat video xmas card

Pickle enjoying the Simon’s Cat video xmas card

So Bonne Fête as we say here! I will raise a glass of Christmas bubbly to you all and those less fortunate than ourselves. I will especially be thinking of my friend Brigid, who is trapped in Juba having evacuated her team from Bor, the heartland of Sudan’s civil war. Just a week before this she had told me how much she was enjoying her work there…see how life is constantly balanced on a knife-edge.

Carpe diem!


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in which I begin the long road to recovery

Me in the botanic gardens - just because I like the picture and it might be one of the last times in a summer frock!

Me in the botanic gardens – just because I like the picture and it might be one of the last times in a summer frock!

So here I am sipping champagne in BA Club Class. My leg is supported by two large blankets and I’m feeling pretty chilled.  Before I left for the airport I gave myself the second tummy jab – piece of cake! Decided that in the scheme of things why be scared of one tiny injection? Though trying to get the needle though my extremely tough epidermis is – literally – harder than I had anticipated, but pain there is none. I am a tough old boot, remember.

Ross cannot be with me today on the first part of my journey to recovery; he comes on Tuesday. Too much to do to at work before he leaves for a month or so. It’s hard saying goodbye to him, even for a few short days. But the thought of the other man in my life, son Tommy, waiting for me at the other end, is cheering.

The worst moment is going through security when, despite my wheel chair, everything is of course scanned. My syringe is nestled snugly next to the oxycontin, a controlled drug in Singapore, and my sleeping pills, aspirin and other emergency supplies. ‘Madam, we have to check your bag.’

Here we go…but the expressionless guard pulls out my jewellery bag and peruses it carefully. It is stuffed with Omani silver necklaces, beads from Bhutan and Somali gold…I surreptitiously take my handbag with its contraband onto my lap while she does this and we sail though. Phew!

On board the Singaporean steward has been charming and solicitous. I pop half a sleeping pill after a glass of champagne and sleep like a security guard, only to wake up 3 hours later. So off I toddle to the tiny cramped loo and prime my syringe for another jab, as prescribed by the doc, take the other half of the sleeper and fall asleep immediately.

I feel very strange the day I leave Singapore. I can’t help but ponder if and when I will be back. I know ‘If’ is not positive thinking, by my leg has been so painful the past 24 hours and seems to be trying to burst out of its stocking. As I give myself a mini pedicure, and slather on the Jo Malone lime and basil, I wonder if my left leg will ever receive such a treatment again.

The last picture of me with two perfect pins (Patrick Mavros eat your heart out)

The last picture of me with two perfect pins (Patrick Mavros eat your heart out)

I look around the flat for the last time, which we have made our own with favourite pictures: a Barns Graham, an Eileen Cooper, a pair of David Prices (chosen by Louise), a Margaret Hunter sculpture and our latest additions, a couple of Indian granite Buddha and Vishnu heads. We even have mementos of Mum – her favourite Arab Chest and a pair of fine Omani copper coffee pots. The words of the song pop in to my mind: ‘When will I see you again?’

As if in sympathy, two little sunbirds visit us today, male and female. We decide to change the blog header to reflect the symbol of hope and Louise that they represent. Then, in the middle of lunch, a massive storm breaks and it pours for 5 hours, so heavy our lift lobby is flooded.  ‘Singapore weeps at my departure,’ I tweet, ‘I may be some time but unlike Scott, I will be back’.

*                      *                      *

Now back in London, it’s 2 am and, despite taking a whole sleeping tablet, I can’t sleep: yesterday the mix of drugs, the long flight and general build up of stress left me feeling queasy and exhausted. I couldn’t even stay up to watch the Strictly dance-off, a treat I have anticipating in my sojourn abroad.

Dear Tommy drops in and stays all day, cooking a delicious late lunch of cod, crispy chorizo with pea and spinach puree. How spoiled! The only bad news today is watching Liverpool lose 1-3 to Hull in a lacklustre game, which has son throwing cushions around the sitting room (he’s 25!). His girlfriend has brought me a tiny bag containing Guatemalan Worry People. The Maya Indians put this woven sachet, containing 8-10 tiny figures, under their pillow at night so that the worries transfer to them. Despite the early hour I am feeling remarkably fresh and whole lot less anxious than last night, when I felt very tearful and afraid for what today has in store.

The other highlight of the day is an exchange of email with Prof Khong. He will be amused, I tell him, that I have managed to inject myself.

He replies: ‘I was very sure you would give the injections yourself given your determination and decisiveness. You remind me of Helen Mirren in Prime Suspect. If I may, I shall keep updated through your blog as well.’

So Prof Khong if you are reading this, you made my day!

*                      *                      *

Morning brings the darling Lewins at 9 am with chicken soup, guineafowl casserole, and chocolate cake! By 11.15 Dr Fi, now taking on Auntie role, has arrived and we sally forth to the Marsden in a cab, after greedily devouring the soup.

I have a really good night’s sleep with my little worry people under my pillow and feel refreshed, though still in great pain. Of course we arrive far too early so have a cup of much needed coffee opposite.

photoflatwhite

much-needed coffee while we wait anxiously

Checking in to the Private Out Patient wing of the Lister/Marsden in the Kings Road, I realise that, in order to avoid any confusion as to my identity I need to become Victoria Cattell as per my insurance. In Singapore, I was interrogated, Gestapo-style (You Unwin or Cattell? Need to change wrist-band and sign all documents again…) while on the trolley waiting to be wheeled into the operating theatre. I’m afraid I completely lost it!

Unfortunately this completely throws Professor Thomas and we spend the first 10 minutes of this precious appointment being administrative, changing my names and numbers. Whether it’s this or a bad morning in theatre, I am disappointed that he has not read the files and reports I had sent in advance. There are two terms, he says, I need to become familiar with: the ‘powerhouse plantar-flexor muscles’, which comprise the soleus and the gastrocnemius, and it appears the cancer is in all of them, putting large amounts of muscle tissue and movement at risk; and ‘clearance’: the amount of tissue they will have to cut out to prevent spread.

It is customary for surgeons to want to do their own path and histology, and this is going to cause further delays: I had hoped that we would get on with whatever almost immediately, but no, the first offer of an operation is over a week away. Slightly horrified by the thought of further hanging around, not least because of the pain, I ask myself what DI Helen Tennison would have done, and plump for sticking my neck out at the risk of unpopularity! Fi the while has decided not to let on she is a doctor, just my PA, scribbling frantically throughout the consultation. That’s what good friends are for! As I tweeted later, she was ‘a brick’ the whole day and I don’t know what I would have done without her comforting and wise presence.

Pointing out I had hotfooted it back specially, we manage to negotiate a date for this coming Friday 6 December, provided he can get the path completed. He kindly arranges an appointment with the radiologist at the Marsden for that afternoon to speed things up, and writes a prescription for more oxycontin and anti-coagulant injections.

The prognosis is good he says. ‘What prognosis, my leg or my life?’ He laughs, ‘Oh your life should be fine, and so should the leg…that’s what I’m here for’. Although as I later learn my leg will not look the same – withered and horrid to start with – and I will always walk funny. ‘No change there then, Mum,’ quips my lovely son.

Cheered by this yet dismayed by the thought of more time-killing, we stagger out to find a stiff G&T while we wait for the radiologist. We decide to try and get the prescription in the chemist opposite the pub (the same one we went to before my father’s memorial service at the Chelsea Arts Club, just last year). Oh no, they can’t dispense oxycontin as it’s a controlled drug and he’s written it on the wrong prescription! So they suggest we try the Marsden, where we have the same problem, even though the Prof is one of their consultants. Even worse than Singapore, where they insisted Prof Khong fill in my address himself on the prescription before they gave it to me! At least that didn’t take three hours!

Dr Aisha Miah is young and petite and absolutely charming. We click immediately, and we admit that Auntie Fi is in fact Dr Fi, and we therefore have a very grown-up discussion about my leg.  She answers all the questions we forgot to ask in all the shemozzle over my split identity. Like: how long with the wound be? Several inches so they have good access; how long will I be in hospital? 4-5 days; how long in between op and radiotherapy? At least 4 weeks (Yay, maybe I can go to Champery for Christmas and New Year!); how long will the radiotherapy last? 6.5 weeks, the first five being ‘conformal’ with the last week-and-a-half being intense. This to preserve the lymphatic drainage system and prevent lymphoedema later on; how quickly will I be on my feet? He gets you up straight away – be warned! Will I need chemo? No, even if tumours elsewhere are detected later on they will be treated as localised lesions.

She also gives us some statistics: 70-80% of tumours as dealt with successfully by surgery; a further 10% respond positively to radiotherapy, leaving about 10% with a bad prognosis rate. This is very good news. She also writes out a new prescription!

However, on examining my leg, she is concerned at the position of the tumour and re-visits the advantages of radiotherapy pre-op, which means 6.5 weeks of 5 times per week. Then the burns have to heal, another 4 weeks or so before the operation. This is mainly because of the proximity to the vascular and nerve bundles, but she and Prof Thomas need to sit down together and look at all the scans properly and will tell me on Wednesday evening which route they will take.

I had hoped for more clarity by this stage and am naturally a bit frustrated I don’t know which way this is going, although I realise its crucial to get it absolutely right.

I will therefore sit at home like the Queen of Sheba, being waited on hand and foot, catching up with all the Borgen and Homeland episodes I’ve missed, and await the final decision.  The most wretched thing is that the booze and the drugs don’t go together at all – feel queasy a lot of the time – so that solace is denied. I’m not giving up that easily though…

And, horror of horrors, when I open my new pack of tummy jabs, instead of the pencil type I was expecting, I discover a whole new set of long needles to torture myself with until Friday! WAH!

those needles! they joined me in my own mile-high club!

those needles! they joined me in my own mile-high club!


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in which I get the low-down on my biopsy

I hope it doesn't get to this....thanks Annie for sending me your cartoon!

I hope it doesn’t get to this….thanks Annie for sending me your cartoon!

It’s been a tough couple of days since I received the biopsy report. The phrase that keeps on leaping out at me is ‘high grade’, scattered liberally amongst all sort of nasty-sounding long words  – hypochromatic, eosinophilic cytoplasm, karyorrhectic, even the cancer type, myxofibrosarcoma – which all mean absolutely nothing to me. As I am avoiding the internet, I will have to wait until I see Prof Khong again for enlightenment. But there’s a couple of days to kill…

My conversation with Prof Meirion Thomas (my surgeon from the Marsden) has left me feeling extremely anxious, not least the demand I hot-foot it back to London. Not to mention his cross examination of the Singaporean methodology…I tell myself that surgeons are well-known to be a bit gruff; later Prof Khong laughs when I tell him this.

Now come the questions: should I have gone back to London straight away? Would it have saved time? would it have stopped the cancer spreading to teh lungs and other soft issues (the biggest worry)? Deep breaths, Vic, calm down. I have to remind myself that it was not clear until AFTER the biopsy and PET scan that the tumour was malignant, so these thoughts are counter-productive. All the same, once JP has left and I am on my own, these anxieties niggle away and I envisage the little spindle cells  wriggling their way through my blood stream like a sperm seeking an egg.

 A couple of stiff drinks and some Nordic Noir are pretty successful distractions. However sleeping is becoming increasingly difficult and the pain-killers seem to do no good at all. The stocking seems to be growing increasingly tight as I  imagine the tumour growing within its confines.

In the meantime my phone rings constantly and emails ping around, lots of good advice and loving thoughts alleviate the underlying fears which, along with the pain, interrupt my sleep. No Ross to reach out for…he is in Korea.

So time for a bit of pampering: spend an hour topping up the tan by the pool, but as I can’t get my leg wet it’s too hot to stay for long! Then off to see a friend, who I have been helping with various articles on fans, so we escape into a world of Chinoiserie and the French court while we sip home-made barley water. Can’t do a pedicure as one foot is bandaged and they will only remove all varnish as soon as I step into hospital; anyway its too far to walk and too near for a cab. So as I settle for a cut and colour, I can’t help wondering if this is the last time I will have hair to indulge in such a way. I’m thinking of asking Louise’s friend Robyn Coles to design a special post-chemo hat for me; if she can make the princesses Beatrice and Eugenie look nice I’m sure she can sort me out.

‘Oh, what you done to your leg?’ asks Alvin the androgynous hairdresser. ‘Don’t ask,’ say I, ‘cancer but I don’t want to talk about it’.

‘OK, la, we talk about nice things…’. And utters not another word the whole two and a half hours. The word cancer has that effect on people.

Conversely taxi drivers here are delightful, full of concern and ‘God Bless’.

Which brings me on to the God question. I am delighted that so many people believe and are praying for me; even if I don’t share that belief I am sure that every positive thought helps me. Please keep all your prayers, positive vibes, messages, comments  and love flowing my way…

Finally we get to the debrief appointment. For the first time in my week of private medicine in Singapore we are running on time. As ever, Prof Khong is straightforward and honest, and explains everything to me in great depth.

To summarise: it is a high grade tumour and very fast growing. I don’t ask the stage number as I don’t want to scare myself and know that everyone is different so it is meaningless. More significant is the replication rate of the mitosis, which is ‘bad’ at 26. Anything over 10 is a cause for concern. He thinks it has not been there for very long, less than the 6 months he originally guessed.

I ask him what he would do if I was his patient. Operate immediately he says, and then do radiotherapy. These tumours – there are several ‘extremely rare’ present, one of which he has not seen before – do not normally respond to chemo, so he would not automatically do it since the tumour is contained. But other doctors may decide to zap any rogue cells on a ‘just in case ‘basis. He reassures me that it is possible that some cells might have already ‘spawned’ but they are so tiny that they wouldn’t show up for at least 3 months, the time it takes for them to reach 1mm when they can be picked up on a scan. ‘And in those early stages, its very treatable.’ The delays I have been angsting about are put into perspective.

He further explains that the big challenge facing the surgeons is the proximity of the tumour to the main vein, and how they remove it without damaging the main flow and losing it: there are three veins forming the vascular tree in the lower leg, can they damage one and survive on the other two is the question? He draws me a lovely diagram. Skilled stuff. In order to do this effectively he thinks that the English surgeons may want to do a CT Angiogram as it would help them be precise. They cannot rely on an MRI taken two weeks ago as the tumour is growing so fast.

I had taken the precaution of checking out my anticoagulation injection kit: imagine my horror when I remove the protective sheath to discover a needle one and a half inches long! The last ones I had were like an insulin pen. This is in fact my major concern today: it’s funny how anxiety can channel itself into something so seemingly irrelevant in the scheme of things. Hmm, they don’t do those in Singapore…so I am trying to work out if I have enough courage to jab myself inflight, as well as before and after… WAH! Am making contingency plans never fear…my bravery has its limits!

Now I have visions of being arrested and executed as a drug trafficker before I even get off the ground. I will be boarding the flight with a fully primed sharp and a load of the painkiller oxycontin, a highly addictive prescription drug which kills thousands of people each year in the US. Phof Khong is highly amused when I verbalise this fear. ‘You’ll be OK – no white powder,’ he reassures me.

After much hanging around (Singapore loses out to Switzerland on efficiency I’m afraid), I now have my MRI scan on disc and the biopsy slides, so I am all set for the next stage of my journey. There’s thunder and lightening outside,the oxy is kicking in and I feel mellow and relaxed as I write this…bring it on!

This darling sunbird, sometimes joined by its mate, comes to sing to me every morning on the balcony. Its yellowness reminds me of Louise...

This darling sunbird, sometimes joined by its mate, comes to sing to me every morning on the balcony. Its yellowness reminds me of Louise…