All Out of Words and the Sun's Just Up

Sunday, October 27, 2013.  7am

Up since some ridiculous hour! 2.30am. Trying to fall asleep again proved futile. Up at 3.15am to meditate and hopefully drop off on the couch. Rose at 4.30am still AWAKE for crying out loud.  Too much in my head. Students taking exams on Thursday. Big dress rehearsal tomorrow.

So much to do, too little time. 

I'm late, I'm late for a very important date.

My mantras of late and forever.

So you see, I haven't died from throat cancer, not yet, any rate. I have recently though, developed fibroids, much to my chagrin. Non-cancerous, the medical fraternity assures me. Little tumours, three in total, at last count, in my womb. Causing me considerable discomfort which I am choosing to ignore for today. Awaiting another round of Specialist Appointments at the hospital. Just as my 21 months clear of throat cancer check arrives on Wednesday.

And Michael, my sweet, and I, celebrate our 28th Year of Being Together on Friday. BIG NEWS, mental note, send to Sid, (radiation doctor and life-saver extraordinaire) we are lunching at THE HANUMAN, taste sensation spice palace, for the first time since I fell ill, derailing my taste buds almost two years ago. I sometimes doubted this day would ever come. I am so thrilled it has.

Yes, yes, it never rains but it teems. How, I would love to head off to Bali, Singapore, Langkawi, just about anywhere for some solid and serene, affordable pampering. This latest health pain will keep me tied to Darwin till the gynie gives me the go-ahead to travel at whim.

Further stirring my brow, my father dearest, has asked I visit him in Melbourne, town of horrors, huge expense, massive traffic snarls, and few attractions. I just can't board a plane, at present, not till I get the lady parts sorted out.

Life has hit one of those hurly whirly times. 

Cramming is so undignified.

One more week and the worst or best will be over. Seven days, a few hours at a time. I am so blessed to have this much action in my life. I simply don't have time to die. Thank you to all my faithful readers. Please keep coming back. I'm in the mood to start blogging again. And I love checking the stats. Good on Russia, you're amazing and the US of course. Canada and UK are dragging a bit, would love to seem some spikes there. A top o' the mornin' to you all, whatever your time zone. Ciao.

Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon ...

Sunday, March 4, 2012: 1611

Feel it is high time I wrote something but I have precious little to add. Have been waiting to feel better but have given up hope of that happening for a while. It's been about five weeks of barely existing. Not being able to talk was incredibly frustrating at first but it is amazing what one can learn to live with. Admitting powerlessness and letting so much go. My notebook has many entries. Most lines of conversation can be ignored. A look can convey much. Charade communication is improving and can be entertaining.

Last time I blogged I was probably at my most toxic. Chucking back at least a dozen drugs daily, mainly combatting nausea and pain. Ended up unable to take Soluble Panadol. Chucking up water had me somewhat alarmed a month ago. Fortunately I was able to swap the preferred 24x7 pain relief I had o-deed on for an increase in morphine. It is all relative, pain, discomfort, life, pleasure, ease. I have also abandoned all tablets as nausea seems to have considerably abated. The non-stop issue of the strangulating saliva slime is most hideous in the morning till about noon. Gunk, preferably clear, is a better sign of health than the totally parched dry mouth  I am contending with at the moment, according to Siddhartha, my radiation doctor. I wonder if, when, my saliva will return to useful, bearable proportions. I surfed the net about a month ago foolishly seeking some answers on my predicament, finding a throat cancer survivors chat circle about 3 years old. Some participants wrote of still gagging on the yellow crap two years post treatment. All had been reduced to the nose feeding tube. Many had major problems swallowing solid food. It was not a cheery read. I have tried to rationalize it saying that they were some outcomes, several years ago, hopefully matters are far more improved now. But it is best not to venture down that track. What is, is what is happening today, to me. Comparing my experience with others is not particularly helpful.

I have managed to read a couple of books. Jean Rhys, early feminist writings from pre World War 1. Another world, another woman's hard time, a welcome distraction. I have thought about finishing a jacket I started knitting last year but have yet to raise a needle.

10AR has practically joined another family. One of her school mates, with two older sisters, a house, a Blue Russian kitten, a cute dog, a garden and a pool. All in all, a far more attractive abode than our little unit overlooking the sea. Even her own cat struggles to get a look in. Nevertheless, despite the kitchen being a no go zone for me, I have encouraged her to fend for herself in the meals department. So far she has had a week of hot dogs, currently being followed by a week of home-made pizzas. She can, of course, cook spaghetti and rice, so I am confident she won't starve. The popcorn maker, she scored for her birthday, has hardly had a day idle.  Her DVD player has been significantly removed while her school work is haphazard despite my wilted efforts. School Disco played havoc last week, her head was definitely elsewhere and usually her body along with it. Her inability to tell the truth is our current running sore. Though we shared a lovely afternoon of watching ridiculous cat antics on U-tube today. She has an occasionally sprained right wrist depending on what the occasion is. Completing a chore or playing a game.

I had my first post treatment check-up by a triad of doctors on Wednesday morning. They took it in turns to poke around in my mouth. The first, a junior registrar, was trying hard not to lose his cool with me. In somewhat exasperated tones he admitted he was at risk of falling off his chair if I didn't lean closer towards him and open my mouth "WIDE".

 "Ow!" As if I wanted to willingly submit myself to the lion's den. The young un's sensitive gropings, which even included a head and neck massage, were followed by Sid, in large rubber gloves having a good look and feel.

"All clear, as far I can tell" he said. "Early days. Your soft palate is smooth again, no signs of the cancer. Plenty of slough, though, dead skin. The mouth is definitely healing."

Then Dr Brutal joined us, making me gag with his rough forays into my oral cavity. The nasty nose camera was presented. He was intent on shoving it up my nasal passages again without so much as a passing wave to the anaesthetic.

 "It's all placebo anyway," he said.

 His hasty early shoves reduced to me to wails, Sid, a comforting hand on one shoulder, registrar cowering near the door, wishing he was anywhere else, Michael sprinting down the corridor, claiming he could hear my sobs from the bathroom.

 "Have you done it yet?" he asked on seeing the hated implement.

 "Haven't started," the three said in unison.

"I see," Michael muttered.

 "I can let it go till your appointment next month when your mouth is less sensitive," Dr Brutal backed down. "Won't be able to see if there is cancer present behind the soft palate but it will be a clearer picture next time anyhow."

Round One to me. I took my ulcer-ridden mouth down the hall to freeze in the nutritionist's office.

 "You've lost another 3 kilos, down to 58.9. Must try to increase your intake of Sustagen, ice-cream, custard, soup, whatever, or I will have to put you on a nose feeding tube. You will lose the muscles to swallow. Your heart and lungs will collapse ..."

Total horror story. Get me out of here. I'm frozen. I'm taking as much as I can under the circumstances.
Daily Beroccas, two Milo/Sustagen milk shakes, non-stop water. I will try ice-cream soon, I promise. My appetite - what appetite? Desire to eat totally non-existent. Taste buds, dubious. At least I can taste the milo, the Berocca. I have been absorbing calories, watching every cooking TV show around with avid interest. Just about reached saturation point this week though then the political melodrama of Rudd vs Julia swung into play. "My Kitchen Rules" is still my favourite programme of the week, for February, at any rate. Pure irony, eh?

March is a new proposition. Must try to get out a bit more. Have been a hermit for some time. Have been enjoying the isolation mainly. Have found the few visitors, while a delightful distraction, a bit exhausting. Thank you to everyone for the phone messages and emails,  wishing me well. Sorry, I haven't felt able to reply to most but it is lovely to have these contacts. Hopefully it won't be such a huge gap before my next blog. And there will be marked improvement. All the best, till then, Gill. xxxxxoooooooo

Ooh blah di, Ooh blah da, Life Goes On ...

Saturday, January 28, 2012.

It has been 18 days since my last post. I have been too ill to write. I don't know how well I am now but I am having a shot at it anyhow.
Deep nausea in the pit of my gut. Rolling screaming green reams of snot that pile and thresh there to be spat out repeatedly. Pink tinged. My tongue is raw. Here comes another hawk from the depths of the deep lime sea.

I am trying to latch onto a slug of Lucozade. A sickly sweet drink I could never imbibe as an ill child but I am prepared to give anything a go today. Never so many typos to clean up.  The little monkey, 10AR, has been told it is it is time to wrap Moshy Monsters on-line gaming addiction for this holiday and try something else instead. She is trying to bribe Daddy with a trip to the poor and forlorn at the RSPCA if she makes him breakfast in bed. He is coughing. Struggling to get up. All is more or less well at 8.28am.

I intend to make it to my 10am meeting, Women's Closed. A most supportive group. 10AR is onto her third cup of continental chicken soup in 8 hours. She can't refrain from talking despite my commands. Commands are useless and her soup makes me feel nauseas.

So the last post was the super successful birthday bash. We got off a few thank you notes and photos after that before collapsing in a heap and not rising from it much since the day of the calamitous news that I would indeed face Round 3 Chemo. This day was double-whammied with the reveal, pus was weeping from the whopping wisdom tooth site at the back of my mouth. My mood was not doing somersaults at the time. Had just heard another friend from church has been diagnosed with breast cancer. It can all get a bit much at times.

Armed with anti-biotics as big as calves I was to somehow swallow in my raw and tender mouth, to rid the pus deposit, constantly nauseas, awaiting a chemo onslaught in 13 days time. I retired to my second bed, the TV couch. Thank God for friend's lending me Bali Movies, The Australian Open, The Ellen DeGeneres show and other light entertainment such as Midsomer Murders.

While I wallowed in my mire of oncoming chemo, pus, constipation, nausea, green slime and pain I took the Morphine up a notch and discovered the upper echelons of wooziness on a new plane. Trippingly close to tinnuitis, the constant ringing in my ears, there wasn't much I could left myself compos mentos for.

A fabulous intense lymphatic massage was a stand-out in this period and I am deeply thankful for the gorgeous girlfriend who bestowed her loving healing hands upon me. I have possibly lost a further four kilos since that event but I am not particularly worried about that state of affairs. Last week when they told me I may never regain my taste-buds ever, sent me to new despondent lows. But it all is relevalant after a while. Just being able to suck on a cold drink without pain would be nice.

I succommbed to a little light retail therapy. Bought a couple of stunning frocks from the best Frock Shop on our Corner," Frock Me", owned by another good friend who always takes special care of me. I bought a Happy Frock to sail me through the last two weeks of radiation. And a glam frock for my dearest BFF who is turning 40 on February 2. Only hope I can sip more than a cold drink and smile appropriately. May the anti-nausea drugs kick in.  Fortunately, Ebay Ladies size 8 shoes were not performing as well as usual.

Forever grateful for this family also for embracing 10AR into their loving care. Taking her to Litchfield Park and the Wildife Park when her own debilitated parents were barely capable of keeping it together on the couch. Soon we will redouble our efforts to be there for you dear family friends.

Love and best wishes to all out there who read this blog. Sorry this has not been a cheery epistle. I have only 3 more radio sessions to go. Things could get a bit worse before better but Sid assures me the light at the end of the tunnel is nigh. Just don't go ordering any meals in tasty restaurants like the Hanuman for a good few months.

Would be lovely to hear from you all again. My spirits need a good rivet right now. Michael and I are set to celebrate 25 years of marriage on March 21. was thinking of going to an Ian Gawler Foundation Retreat in the Yarra Valley at that time but now I feel so depleted. Time will tell. Either that or it will be a simple sunset cruise on a pearl schooner, or some such thing in Darwin.xxxxxxxxx

Would love to hear your news and what you have been doing in this crazy month of January. Love to you all. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hell in High Heels

Gerbras make the world go round

Wednesday, January 11, 2012: 0620


I am sooooo  ooooover this nausea crap!

I went to bed at 10pm last night with my anti-nausea wafer on board, for a good eight hours' of sleep. Hah! Up at midnight for the next dose of soluble Panadol, my favourite drink of the day. Back to toss and spit and gag till 2am, rising, for the back-up anti-nausea shot. Roll over with ice blocks to soothe my flaming mouth and hope I can garner a bit of repose. Up again at some ridiculous hour, 4am, for something probably not scheduled. Then 6am for more delicious Panadol and a little anti-nausea wafer. Can hardly wait for brekky....

Wish the sod in the back room would wake up and serve it to me. But then HE took it upon himself to dislodge a 30-year-old gold bridge in his mouth on Monday morning, didn't he? Of all bloody days to do that. GOD!!! Still, he was stoic, soldiering through the whole day-long 10-year-old birthday party, while eyeing off my morphine in the fridge. I'm visualizing my morphine in the fridge today. What a fine pair of 50-year-old parents, we are. No wonder 10AR, cries, "Oh my back, back spasm," any time she leans over to pick up something off the floor. Not that she does that too often.

A special BFF helped 10AR here

Wow, what a gringe! Not like me. I haven't felt this poorly for at least a week. Thankfully, I have a 12-step topic meeting at 10.30am today on the Foreshore down the road from home. It will be heavenly by the sea if a little warm. May have a breeze in the sunshine if we're lucky. Expecting a few new members to show up. Take some of 10AR's few remaining gorgeous cupcakes. I need the support of my fellow recovery mates more than ever, each and every day to keep me on the straight, narrow and flat.

Have had some wonderful emails this week. Lovely to have that connection. Saw Dr David, radiotherapist, yesterday. I am doing fine but he has run out of anti-nausea options for me because I take Lithium for my bi-polar disorder. Normally, they offer patients steroids to counter the constant sick feeling, but they may cause a toxic reaction with the Lithium. At least I have completed four weeks, he said. Three to go, so psychologically, that helped me feel a little better, passed the half-way mark. He said he would have a chat to Sid. Hopefully, they will have a solution for me today when I front up at 3pm.

I don't think I can tolerate another chemo. I will if I have to but I don't want to. I have had a gut full of this business and there are still three weeks to go. Chemo is booked for Monday, January 23. Please, please, God, remove it. Cross fingers. Pray for me, you all, please.

Scored this beautiful "discover your own style" manual at the Oncology Unit yesterday also. A Christmas present just meant for me. It is 2008 vintage but still beautiful  and untouched. I dived in for
nearly two hours after my session yesterday. Relaxing into it, I found myself to be mostly Sacred/Dramatic motivated. Not terribly revelational but interesting to see which words the writer uses to describe me so aptly. I look forward to further explorations into this book which may assist me in changing my career and steering me along new pathways in  this second half of my life, post 50, post Cancer, post Drama School, post whatever .... "Know Thyself, To thine own self be true!"

A sea of 10-pin bowlers 

10AR style!

Black Forest Torte!

10AR's birthday was a brilliant affair though it nearly polished off both her parents. Thank God, we had a host of troopers who were able to assist with the 10-pin Bowling. Despatch food and drinks, get bowling shoes to fit, golf clubs for the mini-golf. Score the mini golf. Collect paper wrappings, presents and cards. Dispense party hats, take children to the loo, all the myriad of things parents do all the time they're out with their kids at a party. The disco was a jam. Another helper came in to get the dancing happening. When I finally returned from my radio session with the help of another stalwart BFF, and five helium bobbing balloons; the five girls were casually laid back on the lounge room couch watching Jack Black in "Gulliver's Travels". It was hugely wonderful when it was all over. 10AR had a blast and loved all her presents. I'm sure the guests had a top day out also.

The Twelfth Day of Christmas, Night of Misrule, Mayhem and Mystery

Father Christmas rests on Day 12

Love those sexy pinks and lilies Helen!!!

Radio Butterflies of change

 Thursday, January 5, 2012: 1038pm
Hi there fellow bloggers, friends and family and other citizens out there in cyber space. This blogging journey is  revolutionizing my life.Opening my eyes to the infinite world of technology and how to reach the universe at the click of a computer and the tap of a keyboard. Soon the keyboard will be obsolete, too, for those who have the "the speaking programme." Many funny stories I could share on that, another time,being married to a German who can't type to save himself.

Tonight I am infinitely connected. To my Higher Power, which I usually call "God". Sometimes I call "God" other things as well, though not so much in recent times. I attended a brilliant 12-Step ID meeting tonight. Six blokes, four sheilahs - in my truest sense of that word. We had a humdinger of a session, sharing everything from cancer treatment, to suspected cancer diagnosis, to orphaned and abandoned childhoods, to crappy days at work, to happy clean and sober Christmases for the first or the umpteenth time. It was magical.

Good card Pearl!

Indeed, our pet, Pearl Cat, drew the 'Magical' Angel Card, otherwise known as Christ, this evening, intuited by my daughter, now anonymous in this blog since her reading our Christmas day semi-debacle. She will be renamed TenAR, as of her birthday, Monday, January 9.

Today was thrilling, truly Magical. Real Christmas had arrived at last, a few days late but not too bad. I used to call such days, Red Carpet days, in my using mad bad sad years. Fortunately I am approaching my 14th recovery birthday. Days like today are undoubtedly special but they are counter-balanced with days like November 17, last year, when I was told I had cancer. Best to roll with the punches, or dodge the big waves as an infectious yoga teacher wisely told me dozens of moons ago.

All the excitement, anxiety and exhilaration of preparing for almost 10AR's six hour, two-tiered birthday party on Monday bubbled so many emotions in me it was hard to cope. Remembering my own 10th birthday when all I asked for was a massive gogo watch on a wide purple suede band. It was 1970!! It was so "out" the following year my mother took to wearing it on her wrist. I have a poor history with watches and time. It's my body chemistry. They just stop working if I don't give them or throw them away first. Today I just go with the flow and hand the rest over to my Higher Power as much as I am able at any given moment. Attitude plays a huge role. And today I was in the zone.

~TenAR does Christmas & New Year tough

Almost 10AR, doing the Angel card readings, pulled 'Love' for herself, which is also known as "God" and the cards don't get much more special than the Son and the Father. The card she pulled for me was 'Sweetness', Guardian Angel, time to treat myself with extra TLC. Lo and behold, she repulled 'Sweetness' again for my husband, Michael. Quite a blowout of a reading. No wonder the family was so harmonious and we all had such a wonderful day.

Almost 10AR and I had a mega shopping spree for her Birthday 10-pin Bowling & Orange Disco affair. We then popped into the Good Luck shop for me to cheer myself up with some little treat. I have been suffering a lot of nausea and subsequent insomnia since Chemo Round 2 on Tuesday. Every day a new blight, a new challenge. I'm almost bald at the back of my head. I desperately want to change my spectacles. A million irritations, none of which are important other than staying alive; getting through each day with joy and love in my heart to the best of my ability.

So I bid adieu. I need sleep, much as I am addicted to this game. Amen. Love Gill.

PS. Thanks for all the comments, it has buoyed my spirits no end, dear friends. And particularly from my four living, loving and dearest brothers, Nick, Justin, Tony and Chris. To have you on this cyber train means the world to me. It is always been what I ever wanted. To feel loved and validated by my family, especially my siblings. I hope we can rocket 2012 into the fourth dimension and meet up again in the flesh with little holidays of renewal here and there. I am particularly keen to meet my nephews, Camillo and Jude, 10 years overdue, but never too late. Life is bountiful and infinite. Seize the day and all that. Hooray for January 6. Christmas is over and so the Lord of Lady of Misrule must retire at her own peril. Especially, Major thanks to my supporters and helpers quietly working under cover. Love you all dearly.  Gill xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Bye, bye. 1203am

Three Weeks In, Four to go...

Woe betide me ...

I feel ill, so ill, so very very ill ...
What shall I do next?
Swish brine, swish brine, swash Difflam,
Take a pill, anti-nausea, anti-nausea pill, pill.
Try and eat, try and eat, try and eat something ...
Maybe a piece of battered fish. Hmm. That's a big decision that requires much planning.

The child wants to join Moshi Monsters on the computer.
She only talks to me when she wants something of mine.

I feel ill, so ill, so very very ill.

I sucked on a Wildberry slushy that was way too bitter,
the chocolate thick shake nearly sucked my mouth out and  tasted like chalk.

Eating without taste buds is a heinous crime. And a gross over-use of time.

I am disappointing my child. I am not conforming to her will.
She has the "Christmas 2011 morning, after ripping open a dozen presents, long face. The i-pad didn't appear then and I'm not giving her what she wants now. At least I am in control of my temper. Christmas kinda took me by surprise.

I'd never seen such ingratitude in the child. It was astonishingly ugly. I rose to the challenge, throwing her out of her room where she had lain buried with her old DVD player and new "Modern Family" discs. For hours. Fortunately, Cyclone Grant complied allowing her and Michael to  head off on loooong corrective bike ride. I tucked into "Mao's Last Dancer" which I thoroughly enjoyed. It made my Christmas. I am sorry I missed calls from two of my brothers, Chris in the morning and Nick in the afternoon. But I had no voice and nothing to share. Amy had left me speechless. The phone, too, was dead. . The messages were very welcome and well received. Hopefully I will catch up with them anon when I am feeling  brighter.

Maybe I should've seen Amy's moods coming but she's nine, always such a placid, easy child. Now she's happy again because I've given her the soft drink which tastes like acid to me. As pleased as punch you could say.

Not quite ready for raging hormones and sullenness. A friend, today, reckoned she had chubbed out in the last month.

"Yes, she is starting to fill out. It's all those Christmas chocolates, ice-cream and custards I've been eating of late." And she's still forcing herself into a pair of micro denim shorts too small for her.

The past week has been a blur of nausea and tablets mainly, with a considerable dose of pain thrown in. I have been getting slack at everything, barely able to complete the minimum of my regime. I had moments of pure revolt when I've thought I can't stand this any more and I just want to loll here on my bed and  die... Every day brings a new script for this, that or the other. The pharmacist at RDH should know me well by now with my mesh patterned face and aqueas cream up a nostril, post radiation treatment appearance. Oncology anti-nausea, radiation anti-nausea, morphine, soluble Panadol - generic brand is a $1 cheaper and I run out every two days.

It's been unbearably hot. I slather on Sorbolene in the middle of the night, post storm if I'm lucky. So far my skin is holding up. I've had compliments all round, despite the increasing number of isolated lumps. They are miniscule, probably feel much bigger to my touch than anyone else's eye.

Lee, my key radiographer, the popiscle man, as I think  of him, who would disappear into THIN air if he turned sideways, spent particular time admiring my neck on Friday.

So it is New Year almost. Time to do something about that I suppose. I have removed most of my hair. So now I look like a silver-hulled coconut. Most of my dark hair and curls have fallen away with the clip revealing a very grey-haired person. Michael says he likes the silver. Amy had trouble recognizing me. It is a bit shocking at first. So be it. Beauty is not hair deep or skin deep. I must trummel the inner depths of my being to find the finer me. She has been under pressure this past week. And definitely inglorious. Thank God my family love me. Thank God I made it to a 12-step meeting this morning to have my perceptions re-aligned and know that there is still much goodness in the world. It is indeed great to be alive.

And thank God for movies! I have watched at least one, if not three, every day since Christmas and it is a wonderful space to be in. "Meet Joe Black" - yummy Brad Pitt, Anthony Hopkins, humorous expose on impending Death; "Failure to Launch" - Sarah Jessica Parker - light and funny; "Yes Man" -  Jim Carrey, Rhys Darby, entertaining, "Anger Management" Jack Nicholson, delightful and a number of Gerard Depardieu flix recorded from SBS. So now, to assess the weather and decide how best to bring in the New Year. 2012!
The Last Sunset over Darwin for 2011 

10 days in which I died and got up again

So I've survived the internal torching and come out the other side to tell the story. Actually, feel quite cocky at the moment. Could live to regret that. Arrived home minus handbag and all fired up at child, at life, at God knows what. A tad too much sausage roll sans tomato sauce. Vinegar makes the roof of my mouth jump and tastes totally metallic. Yuck ... Energy misfiring. Eaten more today than I did in the entire of last week. The supermarket was sooo inviting! Three days to go to Christmas!!!

It has been 10 days of food issues. Major and None. Since last I wrote light years have passed. Yes, I've been into the blackened pit and lain, spread-eagled unable to move from side to side or lift my cranium. Sleep was respite. I lay 20 hours a day. From Friday evening, post Christmas party unplanned fade-out at 7pm, I wallowed from bed, to bucket, to toilet, to shower and back. Modus operandi, the flop! Crawled back, clutching my big yellow bucket as a spittoon. Never leaving my side. Dreadful oozing black substances dripping, causing consternation. Is it bile? What is that stuff? Rank stench. More tests for possible infection, menopause... Don't talk to me about constipation please! Loving husband administering pills for pain, nausea, hiccoughing, reflux, heartburn and mood stabilisation. Round and round and round the carousel careened.  He proffered powerful sustaining potions of powered protein drinks.

 "Line the stomach walls. Keep the pills down. Aah!!"

Thank God Sid wrote out a script for some decent hard-working anti-nausea drugs that kicked in yesterday, after I was told to double the dose. So pleased was I for managing to scoff three tiny chocolate bars on the way to radio therapy yesterday. In my usual over-exuberance I think two would have sufficed. Yet, it was a far cry from tiny slurps of vanilla custard, ice-coffee making me gag, ham that tastes of old socks,  or even the questionable two fruit. The juice machine has also lain idle with a kilo of blackened carrots going to compost. I plan to rectify that situation tomorrow. Hopefully the pears will comply.

Post Chemo, 10 days ago, I enjoyed a short-lived honeymoon. I remember thinking when the lunchtime sandwiches had come around the day before how few recliner chair recipients were tucking into the free meal. By Wednesday, after my first round of anti-nausea pills had ceased I joined the rank and file of the ne'do-eats. Thursday, with no more steroids on board I was all at sea. And it was rough.

My sessions under the white mesh Darth Vader contraption have been bearable and infinitely better if I can muster a relaxed starting position. Deep abdominal breathing, the Serenity Prayer and some decent songs later and the operators are wrenching it off again.

"Another One Bites the Dust" 10 down and 25 to go! Hooray!! So far I've noticed a roughness in the skin on my cheekbones. One glorious white-head on the side of my neck, which Michael had to pop this morning and wickedly applied some drying eucalyptus oil, has now developed in a spotty outcrop loving placed over my larynx.

Fantastic news today. Only one or maybe 2 more sessions of chemo to go  and three weeks apart not fortnightly after all. So my next doomsday is set for January 3 and there may just be no follow up required after that pending my radio therapy sessions and whether they've ended or something. More to be revealed when the gorgeous Meena returns from wherever she's gone.