All clear again

Last night I was running on overdrive. Palpitations at one point, a headache - a sure sign of raised blood pressure - occurred and whatever I did I just couldn't find a way of overcoming the anxiousness that was accumulating in advance of my check-up today.

The good news is that the X-ray looks very much like the last one so all's well. My lovely Indian consultant informed me that he now has a professorship and will be returning at regular intervals to his home where he has a visiting teaching post. I was so worried that I'd lose him. I've begun to feel quite fond of him as he's my last connection with that horrendous period when I thought my life was drawing to a close.  It turns out that he'll still be around to see me and despite the fact that really I should now be on once a year check-ups, he says - because I asked - he'll see me again in six months.  Why I should wish to put myself through the anguish of the build up to the appointment I don't know, but I will feel much safer knowing that I don't have to wait another year to know how I'm doing.

So if you're drinking tonight, raise a glass and toast the dear old NHS and all its faults; Canceractive because it has the best possible advice on diet and lifestyle, and life itself - with all its difficulties and disappointments - because being alive is after all what it's all about.

Cheers!

Hello dear reader.  My abject apologies for being away so long.  I think of you often; I resolve to write to you and then the day is gone, it's 1.30 am and I really need to go to bed.  Such is life.

I'm very glad to be able to report that my mum's now fine after her pneumonia scare and that I'm still very much alive though with another checkup creeping ever nearer, just a tad twitchy - as described somewhere in an earlier post.

When I meet people they say: "How are you?"  I tell them that I'm fine and I thank them for their concern.  Then they repeat the question perhaps with a "but" as a prefix.  After having had this happen so many times I've now realised that what they mean is: "OK so you escaped the grim reaper the first time, but with your prognosis we don't really expect you to last that long, so how many little blighters do you now have growing back again?"  The answer is, I have absolutely no idea and in fact I suspect none whatsoever - but time will tell. 

For those who want more information, here's the situation.  I'm due another check-up on Thursday.  They give me an Xray, take a look at it and usually with nothing untoward visible, they book another appointment, currently at six month intervals.

I have had a series of - probably viral - sore throats over the past few months, but I think that could be said for pretty well the whole of the UK population. I have a slightly sore muscle which manifests itself somewhere in the region of the top of my right buttock - which I had checked out; (the muscle not the buttock!)  Blood tests were done just in case it was something more sinister.  Nothing showed and my physiotherapist diagnosed crookedness - crookedness in standing and sitting. She said progress would be slow and it's been several months since but I can now report that things are improving.  Sitting straight and properly is easy.  It's the standing straight I find more difficult because the proper position feels really odd.

I suppose the reason that I was prompted to blog this morning however is something that I've noticed in my hands.  First let me say that what I thought was chemo thumbnail turns out to be (thanks to the lovely lady who stuck up a page on the net about it) simply nervous picking at thumb quicks.  I found a nervous picking at thumb-quicks buddy with exactly the same problem and that prompted me to Google again. Hey presto, a lady who diagnosed herself, stopped picking and took a series of pictures to show recovery and smooth nails when she stopped.  I can confirm she's right and my thumbnails are now in the process of straightening out.

So back to the hands. Well the last few days I have a slight odd sensation - so subtle that it's almost imperceptible - in my fingers.  I had a bit of panic because I thought it might be loss of sensation, but then when I think about my feet, I think they are more sensitive - just slightly. Now I know it's unlikely that the peripheral neuropathy will be reversed, but I'm wondering, just maybe, if my nerve damage is on the mend.  Certainly feet do feel more sensitive, there's no doubt about it.  Fingers crossed.

All other functions - as long as I don't go on a bender with sugar, fat and alcohol - are wonderfully operational. Isn't the human body just amazing? I never cease to be stunned by its ability to withstand what we throw at it.  I do continue with vitamin supplements and a blend of cottage cheese and flax oil each morning, to which I now add half an apple which makes it quite palatable. Most of all I avoid sugar though I have to admit to some recent excesses.  My only regular treat however is a small piece of very dark - as dark as I can get it - chocolate, usually daily.  It is, you understand, purely for medicinal purposes.

Exercise - ah now there's the problem. Not enough.  I resolve that I must do more.

Dear reader, I'm fine.  Do not worry and when you ask: "How are you?" rest assured, I will answer you honestly.

P.S. A steady stream of just-diagnosed cancer patients now beats a path to my door and I either buy for them or urge them to purchase Chris Woollams' Rainbow Diet. Make sure you buy from the authorised source because he updates it as knowledge is gained, and the latest edition is the one to have.

Another hospital food rant

When you are a cancer survivor people come to you for advice. It's flattering. Even thought I concocted my own survival system and I believe that because of that I'm still here,  I don't want to take responsibility for other people. I want them to do their own research and come up with their own pathway.

Apart from anything else, it illegal for me to recommend anything thanks to the 1939 Cancer Act.  Thank goodness for Canceractive - a most wonderful respository of information.  And if you're one of those who has taken photos without make-up and want to make a donation to a cancer charity, why not donate to  Canceractive instead?.

You can imagine my distress when a couple of days ago I received an email from someone whose daughter is fighting cancer. He asked me for suggestions for beneficial foods he could cook (on a tiny stove in the hospital car park!) to supplement the nutrient-deficient diet served by by the NHS. He wrote:

"I am ..... amazed/distraught at the brick wall that the NHS seem to have whenever you mention diet, or food. All emphasis is on bulking up to keep weight up, as opposed to quality of food. "just keep on eating, whatever that is." Mention diet and they all (from consultant, to specialist and nurses and dinner staff /dieticians) go into a collective shut-down, completely 'out-talking' anything you try to say or ask about!"

What is the matter with our health service staff? Why won't they consider diet, nutrients, supplements and the like? Their stance is illogical. 

Rant over.

My ninety year old mother is in hospital.  In fact, unfortunately she became ill with pneumonia on her 90th birthday. Much of my week so far has been spent in A&E at a hospital some 45 minutes’ drive from my own home.  The deterioration from having a “bit of a cold” and staying in bed to the refusal of her organs to combat the illness was fast and furious; a matter of minutes. One moment I was fixing up a house-call from the GP and the next dialling 999.

I hate hospitals – even though I’ve spent a good amount of time in them during the last few years.  Actually that’s probably not accurate – to be more precise, I should say that  I dislike hospitals intensely.  I am scared of doing something wrong, contaminating something – I guess that comes from my OCD tendencies but I also guess that it makes me one of the right sort of visitors, because I do wash my hands and I do use the hand-gel.

So I’ve spent the last couple of days observing the NHS as its busiest, at its best, but also at its most lacking common sense.  For a start, to get to the ward – Clinical Decisions Unit – designed only for short assessment stays, the shortest distance is straight through A&E triage! Everyone appears to use the route and if you ask a porter he’ll direct you that way on the basis that CDU is part of A&E.  If you ask for directions to a toilet from the A&E-side reception, you’re directed via the waiting room into the innermost corner of the rather small space.  Even a primary school student could have designed it better.

They could also have designed better the way-finding system which is the worst I have ever experienced.  I set out each time – I’ve done it seven times so far – to find CDU without taking that A&E shortcut and on only two occasions have I managed to land in the right place without asking someone to help me.  I've Googled the hospital map, but it is absolutely no help and doesn’t list CDU!

What about the care? – I hear you ask. Well, it is good but my overwhelming memory will be people in uniform walking about with pieces of paper.  Lowry would have given a very good interpretation – lots of matchstick men and women, with lanyards, badges, different uniforms, all trudging somewhat despondently – that’s the predominant stance – trudging round the place with their pieces of paper.  Of course, that’s when they’re not hanging over reception desks waiting to speak to someone at the other end of the phone.

The food? What can I say? It’s hospital food.

The illustration here passes for an evening meal. Albeit mum chose it, but tinned fruit must have the minimum of nutrition. The white break sandwich was chicken with sage and onion stuffing with mayonnaise. How on earth that could be described as a balanced meal without even a leaf of lettuce to mitigate it, I have no idea.

I would so love to change the NHS culture.  It wouldn’t cost much but I think it would bring amazing changes to the outcomes. 

1. Fresh fruit delivered in very small packets to all patients able to eat. I saw yesterday how mum perked up after a piece of real fruit. The body absorbs fruit sugars very easily; they’re like instant pick-me-ups. 
   
   
2. Eye shields to obscure the light which pervades even at the dead of night, and ear muffs to deaden the interminable ringing bells, banging bin lids, rolling beds, staff gossip and all the other unfortunate noises which make sleep so difficult. If you don’t get sleep you can’t heal.
   
3. Vitamin D for all who spend any more than 48 hours in these airless artificially-lit rooms. You don’t see daylight when you’re in a hospital bed, but I know from my experience this winter just how essential this vitamin is and the beneficial effects I felt within days of first taking it.
   
   
4. High dose Vitamin C - won’t do any harm and I have a strong suspicion it would do a whole lot of good for those admitted on generally poor diets.

I have no doubts that just these little changes would more than pay for themselves in more successful outcomes.

And just to top that, I would insist that everyone working for the NHS conducted themselves with a sense of purpose, a smile, picked their feet up and didn’t trudge wearily. If they did I reckon everyone would feel a great deal better.

The devil incarnate

Happy new year everyone.  I do so hope that 2014 is full of love and laughter for you - because laughter is so very good for the body as well as the soul. 

Well, that's a surprise I must say.  At last sugar, or I think to be more exact, glucose has got the media coverage that it so richly deserves and been labelled the devil incarnate. Chris Woollams at Canceractive has been banging on about this for years. If you aren't subscribed to his newsletter I do urge you to do so. It always arrives with some wonderful nugget of information on the latest research. And don't feel you have to have cancer already to sign up for it. Prevention is to be desired.

So the big question is - now that sugar's getting the bad press: are we now to have fats reassessed in the light of this revelation?  There always has to be a baddy to aim products at. And if so, what on earth is the pharmaceutical industry going to do if the true cost, in terms of side effects, of statins ever gets out?

You see, when it comes to science at cellular level, what we know now is a dot in an ocean of what's really going on.  Forgive me if I've ever lectured you on this before, but just contemplate for a moment if you will, the sperm and egg which go to form an embryonic cuckoo. Miniscule form in single cells.  Then think that not only contained in those two microscopic entities are all the key signatures that go to form the bird itself but also the urge to fly, with no example being provided by a parent because no such influence is available, halfway across the world to Africa and back. What memory must there be stored there - what enormous quantity of information.  The mind does indeed boggle.

And then consider cellular memory in light of transplant information.  There's plenty out there on the net if you care to look, about how people with transplants are somehow different and sometimes with spooky results. The theory of cellular memory certainly makes sense of Journey Therapy which I can thoroughly recommend if you want a quick fix for emotional damage.

And last week I read an article in a magazine about proper scientific tests on water that had been so diluted (yes, we're talking homeopathy here) that the remains of the original substance it was mixed with had well and truly departed, yet it retained the signature of that substance.

This led me to ponder water from the tap.  Chlorine which my thyroid won't like.  Even if I filter my water as I do, it will have the chlorine signature within it.  I briefly contemplated collecting rainwater but then I wondered about the pollution because goodness knows what arrives via the sky from continents half a world away.

There are some things you can change about your lifestyle, there are some things that it's more difficult to change and water's a big problem.  But one of the easy wins is sugar. If you are reading this, I do so urge you to cut it out.  It won't be easy.  About 98% of the supermarket food shelves will be irrelevant to you because sugar is in pretty well everything processed. You know they even use it to cure bacon.  But if you succeed you'll feel so much better; I know I do.

On Christmas night

This evening I had a revelation and what better place to have it than in a church. I listened to the lesson I have heard many many times before, Luke chapter two, verse 16:  "And they came and found "Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger."

Note the comma. This is a very important comma. A comma which prevents the image of Mary and Joseph all together in the manger with baby Jesu.

But maybe that interpretation is actually the more accurate. As a mother I know that when you have just given birth to an amazing miracle of life from within you, you want to do nothing other than hold your baby, to explore the tiny hands and feet and of course to breast feed straight away.

Your baby - equally strongly -  not realising that it has become physically separated from you, wants to be snuggled warm and close to you and to hear your heart beat, just as it's heard the beat for a whole nine months' gestation.

I'd wager that swaddling baby Jesus and putting him amongst the hay on his own probably wasn't on his  agenda, and likely he was vocal in that regard. With everyone being so tired, and not being in a house but in an animal shelter, what's the betting that Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus were actually all snuggled together in the hay for warmth. - without that comma. It's a scene most parents of newborn will recognise and far more likely I reckon.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Ho, ho, ho

I can't quite believe that it's six months since my last blood test. I duly turned up earlier in the week to submit myself to the phlebotomist. Then today I did something that I've been meaning to do for a while. I saw my GP in the hope that I could gain some reassurance about the odd twinge of discomfort I have in my right hip when I turn over in bed at night. It's been around since the summer when it seemed to be just a case of camper's hip - something from which I've suffered on and off during my sixty odd years of camping activities.

During the day it causes me no trouble at all - but in bed, by morning I'm aware that there's the odd nagging ache if I get into the wrong position. Actually I knew that at some point my right hip would cause me trouble because I was told that it had glowed on one of my PET scans - though whatever it was that showed up was obviously not considered symptomatic of anything nasty at the time.

After asking me to touch my toes, which I am able to do with great ease, and examining my hip, my GP said it was probably muscular. He confirmed that all the recent blood results were now OK - which was good news. However just to be on the safe side he's going to do a couple of other blood tests for cancer markers - just in case the hip issue is something more sinister.

It's a long time since I've had that awful adrenalin rush which comes from an irrational panic of blind fear. It's not nice, but it passes quickly once common sense takes over. All other cancer survivors or sufferers who read this will I'm sure know what I'm talking about.

At the moment this has rather put a dampner on the festive season, but I'm sure by tomorrow I'll have put it to the back of my mind - that's until my appointment with the phlebotomist.  Hey ho!  - or perhaps that should be instead at this time of year - Ho, ho, ho!