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.

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

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 

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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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