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.

Let The Chemo Begin!

Started Monday, December 12, 2011: ~11.29am

I don't do mornings. Never have. Today was always going to be a rush. And with my Chemotherapy brought forward an hour to start at 8am today, majorly tricky. Well! Up at 7 o'clock charging around. Readying child for school drop off, doffing pills,potions, swishing, swashing, brushing, the time was gone in no time.

Thinness, scragginess, stylish oriental caps, grizzly faces, and an over-riding cheerfulness greeted Michael and I in the Alan Walker Oncology Unit this morning.


 "You must be Gillian."
 Yes.
 "That was a good guess, come this way."
 "My mum's name is Jill with a J.
I haven't cracked a smile yet. It's barely 8am.

 "You seem to have lost quite a few kilos. Is the Pink Lady helping? Milk is really important. Make a milkshake with Milo or ice-cream"  ... hmmm yummm, I'm eaves-dropping on the chat just out of eye-shot on my left.


"Your white platelets .... are too low. Sorry about the (three hour) drive. You'll have to go home again and come back next week." Older couple opposite, look tired and bleak at the news. I feel sorry for them. What will be my plight over the next seven weeks...? 

I seem to be having an easy session. Other than the needle for all the drips, which killed my right hand going in. My fault. Not awake, no breakfast, one cup of tea, one glass of juice, inadequate supply of blood flow. My veins are not junky material.

So many staff away on holidays. It is my prep nurse's first day on the job. I'm already nervous without that. I try using the 12-step program. Be nice. Lachlan, my No. 1 Florence Nightingale, is cruising Sydney Harbour on New Year's Eve. When will he be back to take charge? Abandonment fears surface, let them go. I am in good hands.

I set aside the Sudoko board game to open my black plastic best buddy. Catch up on emails and notes from precious well wishers. I visualise the scent of a lovely English rose candle lit in my health. Deepening our friendship, bringing us together in peace, ease and joy.

I am presently tubed into the chemo toxins happily tapping away. Saline, steroids, and popping anti-nausea tabs all at once. The nurses wear duck-bill masks, translucent blue plastic aprons, rich lavender rubber gloves and stand well back when administering the chemo. Reassuring... They look hilarious.

Michael has chooved off after addressing the nurse's questions on my behalf this morning.


 "Any tightness of  the chest? Tiredness?". 

"No, of course not, I can't keep up with her," he volunteers.

"Well actually my chest is a bit restrained. Has been for several months now... And I get a bit huffy puffy on the third flight of stairs."

I send him off to make a cup of tea, he's good at that. Now he's having his head clipped by the barber. Can't wait for lunch. It is 11.57am. The air-con makes me starving. At least my mouth is ok today. 

Made a "last supper" yesterday. Rack of Loin Pork roast served at 4pm with a mountain of roast vegies courtesy of acting chef Michael. Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner rolled into one as another day went astray. Too long at church, dallying at the market, gathering mangoes, and an over-ripe paw paw for the new life-saving device, the juicer. To be elaborated upon.

Day gone before you know it. Amy made a gingerbread house and decorated it with loads of lollies with a girlfriend yesterday. Delightful Christmas project you may think. Wrong! I arranged a friend to come over and supervise while I packed for the oncology unit but single child threw a wobbly when her friend turned up with younger brother in tow. Three's too many ... "Not fair, they're taking over my house", etc It was all too much. I evacuated across the road. 

What happened to the joy of sharing? Is it just the selfish generation? With five brothers, I was lucky to receive one lolly let alone have a whole gingerbread house to myself. Amy "thought about the gingerbread house all last night," now deposited in the North Pole of our flat - The Freezer. She said she would share a side of the house each with her friend and the little brother could have a door! Lucky boy.

Mum, Dad, a visitor, might like a taste?  It's these matters I found exasperating and stressful!

Still I managed about half an hour lying on a bench in the full throttle of the sea breeze, deep breathing and trying to let all things go. Praying the Serenity Prayer and Meditating.

My fresh juice today was exquisite; dreamy, creamy paw paw and carrot juice.

The juicer is a miracle machine.  Can't recommend it highly enough. First talked about on Friday a week ago. Bought this Friday. Just happened to be sitting there for us at Crazy Clark's, $50, and still performing excellently four days later.  A year warranty and it has already changed my life. A sack of carrots, a whack of celery, pears, apples, two fruit, paw paw, watermelon, whatever we can find to stick through it basically. Delicious! Instant health and feeling of well-being. Still finding ways to improve the outcome. Paw paw bit extravagant - insufficient juice extracted. Must buy GINGER, in all its many forms, fresh, tea, chocolate, etc... and beetroot.

So that is more than enough for me today. Unable to sleep at nearly 1am on Tuesday, December 13, 2011. Rather stuffed myself tonight on roast vegies, Brie, custard creams (very ordinary and totally irresistible at the same time). Took a whole 0.5 Clonazepam at 11pm. My Circadians are pretty stuffed. The Full Moon last Thursday was belligerent. I am tired now and want to finish.


Suffice to say, Lachlan says I skied through the first of four sessions of chemo. The staff are very positive for me. Though he did mention he saw me on the slopes of Perisher. I thought that was an unfortunate choice of ski resort. Michael who had returned for this conversation with "Multi-grain Pringles in sour cream and a noggin shaved to the quickening, reckoned I was going to be Fukishimoed in the radiation section shortly. We were bandying around snowfields I think.


Frankly, all went well, though the radiotherapy mask is hellish and gives me a good 15 minutes of strangulation. Amy was 9-year-oldly underwhelmed by it when I produced the torture tool for her. She was intrigued by the pock marks it leaves however.

Thank you ALL for all the wonderful supportive texts and well-wishes today. They mean an enormous deal to me. Please keep them coming, to Michael's phone, or this blog, or email.   xxxxxxxxxooooooo

Sianara, over and out. Loads of love, Gill

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I'm Going Mad, No I'm Not

OPPRESSION with no silver lining

Friday, December 9, 2011: 0050

Bed is insufferabe, stifling. I can't sleep. I'm more wound up by the minute. The cat's gone troppo, chasing invisible prey, scuttling fine glasses on the kitchen bench. I need to establish a Drug Journal now. I have succombed to Clonazepam,  five minutes ago. The magic hammer pill should knock me out in half an hour flat giving me at least seven hours quality sleep. It will also return some time tonight to bomb me out for a longer period, such I experienced, last time, many moons ago. Tension is mounting. Three sleeps to Start of Treatment Day. Will it work? How will I survive the side-effect rigours? How much more pain will I need to endure. "Pain is inevitable, sufferng is not ..."  I feel like razoring the top of my mouth. I have a massive tooth ache in the right lower back region. Michael says it's phantom. PHANTOM, well he can have it. It hurts real to me. I think I've taken my full quota of Panamax till breakfast time. The idea of taking more fills me with queaze.

Our traditional tree, the Poinsiana, full bloom in November.
Twenty-six anniversaries of  being there for us and for all

If I can't sleep, my sensitivity sky-rockets. Pain is heightened. Anger is close, Dangerous. Speaking with force, treacherous. Needs to be nipped. Calm, serenity, breathing easily is not so easy.

Need to start scheduled relaxation and meditation. It's not like I haven't got the material. I made my own  CD years ago when I started teaching Speech & Drama. Teacher guide thyself...

I can be petulant at this hour. Mighty wilful. At least all I am doing so far is typing. Fairly harmless. Waiting for the drug to swoon in, take over control, become my Higher Power.

I have started mentally packing for Sunday night. THE TRIP to S of  T. (Start of Treatment: SofT, I like that.) Softly, softly, one day at a time. Or in today's case one hour at a time.

Sudoko game, (new); book club book, "The Happy Refugee", another book in case I get bored, portable DVD player, "Indochine", fabulous flick I enjoyed at a film festival in Hanoi last year when celebrating my 50th. The "Twilight" series; haven't watched them yet if Indochine stirs too many emotions. Toiletries: Brine rinse, mousse, Sorbolene, pink lady, cardigan, scarf, hat to cover up from the sun after radio therapy, edible food as the Oncology unit doesn't run to much, i-pod, headphones, Laptop ... O M G should just move in there! I'll be there about seven hours.

Monday morning, this is the drum:
1. Wake, stretch, rise                                                                      (2 min)
2. Rinse, take Thyroxine, Panamax                                                  (3 min)
3. Slurp from the Pink Glass Water Bottle                                        (2 min)
4. Teaspoon honey mixed with a teaspoon of Tumeric                      (2 min)
5. Slurp water                                                                                  (2 min)
6. Make de-caf Tea                                                                          (1 min)
7. Write morning pages, Connect with God, pray, off-load, affirm     (20 min)
8. Drink Tea                                                                                    (1 min)
9. Swallow 10mls Pink Lady if necessary                                          (2 min)
10, Liquid Breakfast                                                                         (5 min)         
11. Rinse                                                                                          (2 min)
12. Slurp Lithium, Sodium Valporate, Celery Seed and Mega B         (1 min)
13. Brush teeth                                                                                  (2 min)
14. Mousse teeth                                                                              (1 min)
 15. Shower                                                                                     (5 min)
16. Apply Sorbolene                                                                         (2 min)
17. Pop the pop sticks in on left side to extend the gap                        (6 min)
18. Dress with wide-brimmed hat for aftermath of radiation                 (5 min)
19. Ask Michael to carry my pack and drive me to the Alan Walker Oncology Unit  (15 min) for 9am appointment!!!!
How long is all that going to take? About an hour and 20 minutes. Set the alarms for 7.40am - same time Amy heads off for school. Not too bad timing.
May have to print that one out....
And Now, off to Ebay...  want to check on a small collection of cute clothes for the birthday girl. A whopper addiction that monopolised me fully last week resulting in a rash purchase of four pairs of funky denim shorts from the US on a dear friend's Paypal. I am unable to spend money on credit, stuff up big time with Paypal, long unpleasant headache. But I found another shorts delight in Oz and scored them too... Enough for 3 years just about. So to the next site. Adieu

Home Alone and Itching to Say Anything

Thursday, December 8, 2011: 11.56

Well it has been a crap week. The second half, at least. Decided to dig myself out of a ditch this morning. Enough is enough. Wallowing time is OVER. Michael's thoughtful tumbler of iced coffee (sorry, tepid) helped as well. He needed rent money, ergo he needed me up, dressed and out the door to get it. He talked about securing enough rent from me for the next however many months should I be incapacitated. With his financial skills I was in the shower, swishing, swashing, slurping, guzzling pills, brushing and mousse-ing teeth, sooner than I could swallow my drink. While dressing, for the supermarket onslaught, I added on Ten Pin Bowling, (to re-shape Amy's Party plan as her four BFFs from school are away for January 9 - the usual Darwin evacuation). Chemist and library were thrown in for good measure, got to keep well-stocked in Panamax. Also on the hunt for red lipstick. Can't think why other than it's Christmas. And a book I've devoured recently, "The Elegant Art of Falling Apart" by chemochic blogger, Jessica Jones. Geminis never do Anything singly.

So, a massive attack of chores accomplished this morning, probably not the best way to come out of a bed-bound week. For the past four years I have been blessed with a massive migraine prior to every period and mid-cycle (courtesy of Peri or pre-menopause, which I suspect is fouler than the full blown older sister). This week's migraine went from Saturday afternoon till Tuesday evening with a couple of respites here and there. According to literature thrust my way recently, chemo or radiation or both bring on menopause. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord. A Fringe Benefit. I hope.

Part of me feels I am to blame for bringing on the migraine. There are things I could have handled better. Rushing around a supermarket Saturday lunchtime hurling ingredients for a trifle and an afternoon tea party into the trolley. Flying home to startle the child into the kitchen - all in the cause of setting a jelly by 4pm. It could've been handled better. Whipping the cream to butter was interesting too. Haven't done that for a long time. When the tea party was deferred I took my sore head to bed.

I dragged myself to church on Sunday to collect the child who had enjoyed a sleepover and was sehr tired. Collected the tea party friend visiting from NSW who was full of good cheer. Kept it together long enough to hear loads of  news, tips and advice before collapsing back into bed again.

Thank God the Panamax is still working for I've been taking it round the clock. Popped another couple to ride me through Carols By Candlelight, Sunday evening. Thought I would spew before dark but for the glorious, green bowl of grass, the Darwin Ampitheatre and the rainbow lorikeets soaring overhead, their breasts fluorescent orange in the sunset. The wonderful brass band and Scottish pipers, the huge crowds decked out in green and red and silly headgear. The sea of red and white flickering candles as the old favourites, "Away in a Manger", "Jingle Bell Rock", "O Come All Ye Faithful" were pumped out. As our family-friendly tribe cracked nuts, Brazil, hazel, walnut, the traditional way. Now, I know why that Christmas ballet is called, "The Nutcracker". Bit slow, but then my family always had our nuts roasted or coated in chocolate...

It was a charming evening, capped off with captivating firecrackers, massive, beautiful, loud and splendiferous. Child and I got separated from Father and nut supplier friend at the end but after a short wait at the car and some firey gesticulations, "All's Well that Ends Well".

Monday was a recovery day, to wallow, awaiting the yanking of two wisdom teeth on Tuesday. Tuesday was  the devil warmed up and served cold day. If I never see a dentist ever again it will be a day too soon. Next appointment, December 20! Oh, the nurse and dentist were polite and kind, as far as that goes, while injecting a metre long needle of whatever into my gum while I can't open my mouth a fraction without tearing wincing in agony.

Thank God that's over! I may have slipped a few extra Panamax into the mix yesterday. All I did was mope and take pills. There was much gushing of blood, and my period joined in. A meeting in the morning, with a cheery chap from Perth, saved me from an hour of self-pity.

I indulged my lack of desire or inability to move or live Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday with the whole fourth series of "Big Love". Enthralling. Lifted me from my world of pain though their Mormon drama can be a bit full on at times. I was relieved when the third disc played out the final episode.

I thought I was going to die last night. About 9pm I was sure I would vomit from a Panamax overdose. My blood pressure dropped to a dizzying low and I was porcelain pale. My head still throbbed and there was massive toothache in both sides of my mouth, though the right lower where the stitches were was far worse. I contemplated all sorts of dire ends as I stretched out in the gloom in bed, I was definitely going to Accident & Emergency. Funnily enough, breath, prayer and meditation  got me through the night. I did not want to surface this morning. Amy had already begged Daddy to escort her to school on her bike as she was afraid of being abducted. She's been watching too much news... Michael says she's paranoid. "We'll be taking her to Tamarind (local mental health centre) next". Well we know where she gets that from.

At 7.40am, I was content to pull the pillow closer and hug my stuffed Emperor Penguin tight as I wished Amy a lovely day at school. It was not until Michael returned, mowed the lawn and made me drink tepid coffee, that I considered getting up may be possible.

The highlight of this mainly lost week was Friday when I was bathed in the fabulousness of friendships. Unfortunately, like most women, I must have talked four legs off a donkey that day. Such a pleasant break to be with witty, wise women and free of medicos. However, I outpaced myself, leaving my throat hoarse, sore, tired and ripe for the four-day migraine that ensued.

A notable feature this week has been how many dear well wishers have recommended extra treatments for my cancer.
One I managed to take on board today is:
A teaspoon of organic honey mixed with a teaspoon of Tumeric, morning and night. Yum! A little spicy. If you like your honey curried; an acquired taste.

Give up sugar as cancer thrives on it: Bit Tricky ... swap to Dextrose instead. Hmm

Lymphatic Massage - Waiting to receive notes ... and find out more

Bowen Therapy - maybe to help with the Trismus (lockjaw) - would definitely like to research this one more

A stint at the Ian Gawler Retreat in the Yarra Valley - for Meditation, Relaxation, eating organically to fight off cancer, etc and re-aligning my life: Highly Appealing!

12.43

Hot and Restless Under a Lightning Sky

Thursday, December 1, 2011: 11:26pm

From my third-storey loft, the breeze in the palms is rushing furiously. The storm, so promised, has arrived, perhaps, as I sit down with my black plastic friend, the laptop. Driven from bed again...

Another addiction to add to the infinite list. Blogging!

Writing has been a favourite escape as early as I can recall but many substitutes have pushed it aside over the years. Fags (ciggies), booze, relationships, with friends and partners, food, Heaven Forbid, exercise ... (all of them I have let go, well, not food, but that is being taken away now too .... darn and drat)

The German naked ghost, husband Michael, has emerged from our sanctuary bedroom to take in cool lounge room air. At last. Where is the rain?

Coming?

Why am I awake at this ridiculous hour rambling when I should, could, ought, am supposed to be asleep, according to last week's shrink, who said I have stayed so well for years because, "You keep your circadian rhythms." A way of saying I go to bed at 10.43pm every night.

I am also obsessed with jig-saw puzzles, TV programmes, Sudoko, crosswords, knitting, watching ants crawl up a wall, (sometimes two at a time, not ants, diversions).  Anything that allows my mind to be distracted from reality.

Last night was difficult, too, to stay in bed, though I fought it, meditated and refrained. I dearly wanted to rise and lift the black lid, push the power buttons on, had anyone read my blog??? Yesterday, I was excited. My brother Chris had rung from Brisbane, something that only happens at Christmas and possibly my birthday in June. This time he was curious about my health ...

Cravings... Thunderings. Pearl Cat is also excited on the window ledge studying the weather. It has been a torrid-hot evening and day.

Christmas is nigh. "What shall I send for Amy?", Chris leaves a message on a phone I rarely answer in time or decidedly don't. Voice mail and texts are invaluable. A fantastic innovation. Besides mobile reception by the sea is woeful.

Pouring rain has started, a loud, luscious, tropical downpour, roaring and shaking the trees. It smells wet and green.

What can I say? My new full-time job is swishing and swashing my mouth out with bi-carb and brine umpteen times a day, brushing my teeth, gently, applying mousse afterwards. Taking multiple cold showers (hot showers are out) - the weather has been favourable, soon to clean only with Sorbolene, slopping on moisturiser, guzzling the insides of my pink glass bottle. Refilling it many times a day.

I had a first attempt at stacking the pop sticks in the left side of my mouth to increase the gap, to reduce the trismus. OW! Five minutes was enough. Endless, endless, endless. Repetitions and so necessary. Handfuls of pills, as many as I can swallow and remember to take, for the mouth pain, gout stabbings, mood stabilisation. Food is dodgy, monotonous, ridiculous or, at worst, excruciating. Garlic needs to be cooked. Same for spring onions. Don't even go near chilli or spices. All pieces need to chopped mighty fine. Eggs are good. How many ways can you cook egg? I had mashed potato for tea one night, sloppy and lumpy, yet nourishing and filling. A drama; home-Dad, Michael, had been too tired to exert himself over a hot saucepan of boiled potatoes. I couldn't lift myself off the couch.  Let's just say, love did not find the kitchen on this occasion. A better evening was the famous carrot and ginger soup affair; super yummy but can't be stomached too often. Boredom. I'm thinking of trying pancakes ...

Ventured into a larger body of water today. The local pool. Having suspended my gym membership till March, I suddenly craved, ... Cracking thunder preceded by blinding light. Baby, terrified, emerges from her room for a reassuring cuddle.

The weather is spitting on me now.

Where was I? Needing exercise, all of sudden. Felt like a large blob, despite dropping three kilos in the week after the biopsy. Might have had a bit to do with the pain I took force feeding myself Turkish Delight, Lemon Cream biscuits and soft drink, last night. So Amy and I donned our new togs and toddled off to the pool. A sweaty 15-minute walk. On arrival, we were told, "the water is piss-warm". Nice. Anyway, we plunged in with only one pair of goggles between us. Such is the sensibility of a 9-year-old. It was lovely, so long as we didn't move. Two and half laps, had me puffing and feeling weird. All this chemical water infiltrating passages where doctors and their scopes or scalpels had so recently been. Phlegm surfaced and I decided that was probably enough exertion for one afternoon. Certainly with the head submerged. Amy was also tired, still being on anti-biotics for her recent infection. It was a short visit. Revealing and worthwhile I feel.

What else have I done? Further pushed the priority housing issue along seeking the support of our local MP, also a friend and fellow member of the church I have turned up at for about 20 years. Long time. Had a gorgeous extended chat with  BFF school-friend, Sues. Managed to grab the phone in time AND find a connection on the back balcony. She may visit Darwin in the first half of next year. Lovely. Took another step along the path to setting up Amy's 10th birthday party in January, including asking for my second round of chemotherapy to be deferred to the following day.

Now I really should be in bed. It's Friday December 2, 2011: 0039. Happy Birthday fellow blogger and dear friend David.

Good night. Over and out and may I rest in peace. Amen

A Date For Treatment Has Been Set

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

It has been a week since my last entry. So much has happened. My energy crashed along with struggling to understand how a blog works. My life has spun around. Will it return to vaguely similar? Do I want it to? New career prospects, new home, new eating habits, new neck complete with skin colour and tautness?

My 9-year-old daughter has sung and danced her way through another school Christmas Concert. I have been wished well by several parents in an uncomfortable, over-filled theatre foyer.

The Top Dog on my case, Dr Brutal, Head of Ear, Nose and Throat, dropped the worst case scenarios on me last Wednesday, having rifled a nasty scope up and along my nasal passages. Reduced me to weeping and gripping my husband's arm hard. Cancerous Tumour, T3 (medium stage) most likely, T4a (possible recovery, virtually terminal) if it has entered muscle tissue, T4b, in the bone (forget it, you probably won't have long to live). He was mildly reassuring while blunt. More information overload.

Despite an agonising 40-minute wait to see this man, we were out in time to enjoy a supportive meeting with a friend by the seafront. A quick turnaround back to the Oncology Unit for a prolonged and delayed session with Nurse Kate on how to look after my skin during radiology. "It will burn. You must use Sorbolene at least three times a day, in the morning, before and after the treatment and last thing at night," I think she said. Haven't absorbed all these instructions yet.

She said a lot of other things and gave me a fat folder of handouts none of which I can recall.

Social worker Vicky stole us while we waited for Kate, telling us about the additional Carer's Payment Michael may be eligible for through Centrelink. We had a long yack about nothing I can recall.

Thursday was a distasteful trip down memory lane to the Local Mental Health Centre, which I frequented often in my late 20's and 30's. Suspicious at first of the slender hippy chick psychiatrist she was actually okay. Later that day she rang to say she had written a letter to move us along in priority government housing.

Friday is a complete blank. A chap at a 12-Step meeting at which I had shared about my cancer said "my level of acceptance was inspiring". I was grateful for that.

I had my usual lovely Saturday morning with friends and 12-step members. Managed to score a couple of $2 skirts from the church op-shop I can wear.

My daughter fell sick on Sunday, earache and fever. This was upsetting and depressing as she sickens just before her Christmas concert each year. She said she was more anxious about me than anything. My behaviour lapsed into occasional shrieks of frustration. It would've been better for all of us if I had gone to church.

Amy was drugged and dispatched to school on Monday. I heaved a sigh of "Thank God" when the final curtain plummeted. A planned ice-cream trip post-show was aborted when the shop had closed down. Not a fabulous night. Still.

Tuesday, dentist!! Pommy Andrew, who likes to admire his 'masterpieces' went to town on my mouth, scaling and cleaning and plying me with top shelf toothpaste for "sensitive teeth prone to decay". Not that mine were too bad considering, he said. "You mustn't have a sweet tooth". I've only lived on ice-cream pretty much since the biopsy on 11/11/11 at 11am. He also gave me a mousse, like tooth conditioner, with bulk fluoride to bolster my enamel. Vanilla flavour. Yum! Something that tastes good at last.


I saw him again today. Despite having my trismatised mouth (left side lock jaw) prised open for over an hour we had quite a jolly time while he repaired a filling and polished another. Talking about the horrors of tooth whitening toothpaste and bleaching treatments, and pros of coffee.

My BFF, Sam, escorted me today into my journey of pain horror. It was lovely to have such a caring friend pick me up and be there for me, take such an active interest in the cancer.
Dentist, final questions with ENT, the formal date for start of my treatment, chemo and radiation therapy is set. Monday, December 12, 2011. Bring it on.

One disturbing wound continues to bother me.... more than some others. The centre of my hard palate feels raw, like it's been sliced open and the area refuses to heal. What is that? The cancer?

Thanks to Sam being so generous with her time, I have also connected with The Cancer Foundation today. They were welcoming and responsive. Left with a load of booklets and calls to come back whenever. Now just two wisdom teeth to be extracted on Tuesday. Fun, fun, fun. And Amy has her orthodontist appointment on Monday. Another big tooth week for the family. A few days to recover and read the literature before Treatment begins in earnest!!

More stunning tropical beauties arrive from friends and supporters

C'est La Vie till next time.

Into the Cancer Whirlpool

Wednesday, November 23, 2011: 1751

A week ago my mouth was in agony following a biopsy the week before that.  I went to see the ear, nose, throat specialist to deal with the pain. He looked at me cheerfully and said, "You're here for the pain aren't you? I did your biopsy on Friday. You probably don't remember."

Instantly, I felt like strangling and punching this butcher, the pain was so intense.

"You have throat cancer. A big one. That's why it hurts so much. Five centimetres emanating from your soft palate."

 I started disassociating -  falling apart while remaining seated, staring at the specialist. He spoke on drowning me in information, details, facts. I felt submerged, half a metre under water. Kind of numb, a buffer of something between him and me.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011:  2.43pm

A major vegie omelette under my belt and a little snooze I am feeling ready to face the second half of the day. Child to arrive home soon so time is precious.

This morning started ominously knowing that the results of yesterday's CATSCAN would be delivered around 10am. Do I have lung cancer? Has the lesion spread to my lymph nodes that hem either side of my neck? Nausea, tension were present.

Now it seems like such a long time ago I can barely remember what happened before Michael and I got out the door at 9am to visit first Amy's school principal and then the Oncology Department.

I dress with particular care aware that I would be jumping up and down off a number of high narrow tables, including having a second CATSCAN, and a plastic mesh mask melded to my face. Simple fun tunic top and leggings. Cardigan essential for the hospital air-con.

The power of prayer is everywhere

The Angel Cards called me again this morning and I was blessed with Saint Dymphna - the St of Mental Illness, which I found comforting since I have bi-polar which may go haywire under the duresses of the next three months. So far so good. I am feeling remarkably stable. Eating well-ish, sleeping, not TOO irrational, though I almost lost it over the lack of home-brand bread in Woolworths yesterday. I mean, please, a loaf of bread? Get a grip, girl.

The greatest love of all, the hardest to live up to

Dymphna urged me to let my emotions out, so I freely expressed myself today much to the amusement of the gorgeous radiation therapy doctor. More on him later ...

I was to focus on "finding it", courtesy of St Anthony. Not sure exactly what I have lost (health, confidence) but we picked up a new bedside table for me at Crazy Clarks along with a vaccuum cleaner, and a couple of GLASS water bottles. No more drinking out of "carcinogenic cancer-causing" plastic if I can avoid it. Mine is pink to match the "pink lady".

+

I almost had a meltdown at the school when much kindness and empathy was shown. Though I am becoming used to that reaction now. It is always beautiful receiving humanity at its best. My 9-year-old's end of year situation was discussed and sorted so that she would be understood and allowed to feel her way through my illness. Counselling sessions at call and the Assistant Principal in line for her to talk to any time she needs another adult to lean on. I am so glad she is at that school.

Amy drawers a prayer - These Hands, our family's hands.
 Pearl Cat is pulling her paw.

After our shopping capers we head to the hospital. A woman in the queque behind, frustrated with me asking the price of an item, barked a nasty remark. It caught me quite off-guard after all the love and kindness we have been swamped with since Friday. Fortunately, I responded in a civil manner, though I wished HER a dose of cancer when I was in the car with Michael moments later.

We had an interminable wait in the Oncology unit. We were early and the doctor was about 20 minutes late. Waiting for death sentence results seriously slows down time.

Priscilla, the speech pathologist, sprung a diversion with her series of questions and swallowing tricks. She even offered me a tub of two fruit which quelled my hunger beautifully. Apparently I am doing quite well at this stage, eating and talking wise. It will get worse, a lot worse, when the ulcers erupt about three weeks into radiation.

At last, Sid, swoops into his office where we are ensconced, medical student Emily in tow. I am the "radiation doctor" he introduces himself and brandishes a business card. "Siddartha", my favourite book, I blurt upon meeting this endearing individual, instantly likeable and who clearly knows his stuff. It's "quality assurance" with Sid all the way and he sets back my treatment start date to December 12. This is "high intensity" and we must get it absolutely right. Takes three weeks to prepare. Make sure everything is spot on. Try out the radiation on a dummy patient, make sure it is hitting the right spot. Wouldn't want to make a mistake.

Not the slightest bit concerned about my death scan he checks it out for us anyway. "All clear, as far as I can tell". "Are you sure?" I ask. Sid has had a very quick look. "Yes, yes."

So after a few more rudimentary questions and an information buffet I sign a treatment consent form. We move along to the next stage via some super comfy recliner chairs. Lee arrives to whisk me off to have my second CATSCAN in two days and fit the plastic mask.

The white plastic mesh which looks like a hockey goal, descends upon my face, hot and wet. It is rapidly pressed and clamped securely in place. Every instinct in my body pushes me to wrench this suffocation off me. "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change ...". At last Lee returns to free me and I'm out of there. Waiting again for more nurses and more information regarding skin care.

No, I can't take any more of this today. We're gone, into the sunshine, home for lunch. Rest, relaxation. Meanwhile, a beautiful friend has invited us to her home for dinner. Amy slaves in the kitchen making her signature dish, "Spag Bog" for our tea tomorrow night. C'est la vie!

Then the phone rings - Ear Nose and Throat doctor wants to see me TOMORROW morning. But I have an appointment for next Wednesday. "No, tomorrow, please" I hate the urgency of the nurse. What dread does this mean? What choice have I got? I must go. I negotiate for my 12-step meeting at 10.30am. Yes I'll be there at 9am. 

"I'll get you through first up," the nurse says. So 9am, 10.30am, 1pm to see the Onconology nurses,deferred from today. Phew!!!

Then another message - make an appointment please to see the psychiatrist at the local mental health centre.

"Thursday, 9am," and on and on it goes .... Am I going to get a break here? Amen.

Love you heaps,

Gill xxxxxxxxxxxxxoooooooooo

Monday, November 21, 2011:  1pm

"So far today I've had the chemo chief, Meena, lovely, lovely lady with a generous behind who plied me with info before softly seeking the history of my sick life. Michael nearly fainted - turned a whiter shade of pale - No wonder that's his favourite pop song.

She introduced us to nurse Paula who rambled at length about something to do with appointments and chemo and radiation before passing us on to Louise, Nutritionist, who beamed health at me, said little. She just asked a few questions about what I was able to eat while nodding beatifcally.

Then Kate, nurse, invited us in to her cubby hole and waxed lyrical about "the pink lady" potion which would numb my mouth and throat for up to two hours, enabling me to eat pretty much anything I fancied but it would all probably taste like cardboard. Start with 10mls, you can go up to 30mls when things are tough, see how you go. "It doesn't taste very nice".

Then it was off to have the CATSCAN to see if the cancer has spread anywhere else - lungs, neck. Waited long enough to freeze and dry out, then whoosh, through the scan with dye - hot rush and icky feeling all over. Out again to finalize the paperwork and have the other arm pierced, and about 6 vials of blood extracted for base line levels of all my drugs and conditions. 

Finally home, a nice hot cuppa coffee. Had already sculled Michael's 600ml concoction of Milo and coffee, in the sun, the moment we exited Royal Darwin Hospital.

Reclining on the couch studying a stack of Christmas "light reading", a calm moment of normality. A delicious mango later, (after numerous blood spits possibly caused by a rush of Milo?) I check my emails.

Taking the time and opportunity to respond in full ...as I intend to start a blog asap, So there you have it Muse M.  Shortly I will re-dress to head off to the hospital for the second part of today - the JOLLY Dentist!

To continue: at 2200

 The pink lady is disgusting but it numbs my mouth fairly effectively. I am ushered into the dentist almost immediately. He is Indian. I can barely understand a word he says but he does his best to assure me nothing bad is going to happen to me today. An agonising half hour later, opening the mouth wide is far from easy, let alone the other things dentists get up to... The upshot is a scale and clean, a filling replaced and a filling repaired, one on the left on Tuesday and one on the right on Wednesday next week, oh Joy of Joys. He says he will also make me a dental guard that I can fill with fluoride to protect against the rapid decay caused by radiation therapy or some such hideous thing. Can barely wait. Looks like sugar may be history.

Home just in time to beat the little one's arrival at 3pm. Knackered. Decide we have to tell her I have cancer before she finds out from somewhere else. Michael is compulsively cleaning to the point that, at great expense to my throat, I shout at him to SIT DOWN, and then blurt out to Amy I have Cancer. She bursts into sobs and we console each other for about 10 minutes. Then she starts the rapid fire questions. "Will I die? Is it catching? Who can I tell? What's going to happen?" and so on. Then she seems quite settled. We opt for Subway for tea, I swallow another revolting 10 mls of Pink Lady. No sooner than we arrive at the shops I spot Nana May and Lynde, who I haven't seen in months. Amy gets to break the "news" for the first time and handles it admirably. Another member floats past. I don't believe in co-incidences. We jump into the Good Luck Shop so Amy can choose a lucky charm. She finds an orange kitten hologram which suits her and my budget down to a tee. After nabbing a few items at Woolies we head off for our meal. Helen has tracked us down finally after being on our tail since 2pm. She presents me with a massive bouquet of stunning purple orchids and white lilies barely opened, a floating "Hope you're feeling better" balloon and an assortment of my favourite chockies, Turkish Delight (soft), Cherry Ripe and a Toblerone for Michael. It is a lovely meal, after an enormous day. Embraced in love and caring friends.

Home for Master Chef and solid relaxing. Sorry for those calls I missed. My phone has been off all day and it is playing up a bit as well.  Thanks for these beautiful peach roses and all the well wishes.

Abundance of joy. Biggest Heart Helen

Peachy lovely ladies keep my spirits up

xxxxxxxxooooooooo
love Gill