The cat came too

What a lovely day - very cold but deliciously warm golden sunshine. We went for a walk around this afternoon, along the lane through Back Wood, back up the track beside the new plantation, along the top, through the gate and down someone's drive (it's a public footpath). When we got to the hill a drain cleaning lorry was doing its thing and making a horrible noise so we cut back through the Wicks and ended back in the lane.

All the time Simba our cat walked with us. Well, that's not strictly true - he kept a good 20 yard gap as if he was a child and pretending he wasn't with us. When we stopped he stopped and with a nonchalant tilt of the head sniffed a twig or examined a leaf, as much to say, "you might think I'm following you but actually I'm doing my own thing". It's the second time he's done that - he followed us one day on the same route when it had been snowing. I remember that when he was amongst the bracken he was almost impossible to see being white and ginger.

I looked at my watch when we got home - 45 minutes of good walking and lots of deep breathing, so the rowing machine can take a break today.

Row, row, row

Lazy Sunday eh? I found I was still in bed at 9.30 am which was somewhat of a surprise since I've often 'run out of sleep' by 7 am recently. It must all be part of the healing process. From feeling a little bit fatigued a week ago, I'm now quite confident that I've managed to get the old haemoglobin levels up to more or less where they should be. Liver, spinach and various other iron-bearing foods have been playing a large part in my diet again and today I am rewarded by nice roses in my cheeks after the 10 minutes spent on my rowing machine. My feeling of well-being was confirmed by the fact that just 10 minutes seemed quite an easy target (it hadn't been the last time I tried it when I wasn't aware that there was anything 'up' with me). If felt good to be doing something really quite physically arduous and to be breathing deeply as recommended by that friend (thanks, you know who you are).

A bit of skirt and resolution

Found I was too busy to post earlier today and have already had a telling off! I spent a couple of hours this morning operating on a lovely floor-length linen-mix multi-panelled charity-shop-sourced skirt. I've had it for a couple of years and though it was purporting to be a size 18, it drowned me. There just hasn't been much time for sewing until now so today I bit the bullet and took off the shaped yoke and the side zip, cut a good four inches out of the side seams and reassembled the skirt into what I suspect is now a true size 18. (Note to self: must remember to get on the scales and see what I weigh these days.)

Had a message from a distant friend through a third party today. I've got to do some lung exercise - yes, I knew I really ought to. Walking halfway up the hill each day doesn't really pass for proper aerobic exercise* so I'm now resolved to do 10 minutes on the rowing machine that's tipped up forgotten in the corner of a bedroom. I'm writing about it here because by the time you have all read about it, I'm going to feel really guilty if I don't do the exercise.

*I've always thought that aerobic exercise is a daft name, because if you respire without oxygen you get cramp!!

Positive vibes rule OK

It's official - as far as breast cancer is concerned at least - and I can't believe it's any different for other types.

"Good friends and family are vital aids in helping women recover from breast cancer, a new study has found. Women with high levels of “social well-being” in the first year after diagnosis cut their risk of the disease returning by 48%, and were 38% less likely to die.

Dr Meira Epplein, who carried out the Shanghai Breast Cancer Survivor Study, said: “Social well-being in the first year after diagnosis is an important prognostic factor for breast cancer recurrence or death.” Dr Epplein said the findings could improve future treatment. However, by the third year a support network lost its power to heal."

I guess by the third year everyone's got used to the status quo and those strong vibes aren't flowing quite as strongly. But what an encouraging piece of research. Thanks everyone - keep the vibes coming please.

CT Scan

Up early this morning and arrived at MK hospital in good time which meant that I was already scanned by the actual appointment time. First I had to strip down to knickers and put on a gown, then lie on a bench which moves in and out through a lozenged-shaped piece of equipment. My chest, liver and thyroid gland were to be scanned.

I long ago decided that such tunnels were potentially claustrophobic, so I always close my eyes. I had to take a deep breathe and hold it a couple of times. A second scan was done after some sort of contrast agent was injected into a vein in my arm. After that I dressed and had to wait 15 minutes with the cannula still in my arm, just in case of a bad reaction to the contrast agent. Once that was removed we were off home. Now before you ask, you never get scan results immediately. I'm seeing the oncologist next week and that's when he'll give me an interpretation of what the scan shows.

Slimline me

Many of you reading this won't have seen me recently and maybe have a vision of a shaven headed gaunt figure. Nothing could be further from the truth. No-one apart from me seems to notice the hair loss - it's got thinner but it's still long and it's certainly not time to cut it yet. As for the chunky frame, well it's still chunky but it's changed. I've lost what I can only describe as blubber from my upper arms, my bottom and my thighs - which has probably left me a size and a half smaller on the lower torso. At the moment loss from the bust is minimal so I think less size-loss from the top half.

This weight loss is not as a result of the illness nor the treatment but due to my virtually fat-free and refined sugar-free existence. With one or two odd exceptions I've eaten very little bread, cake, bisuits or sweet puddings for the past couple of months. I rarely drink coffee or tea - and when I do it's a real treat. Even the glass of medicinal red wine has been sacrified. The results are very pleasing but I now have the dilemma over whether to start taking in my clothes, whether to buy new ones or whether to just hold on a while and see if I continue to lose blubber. There's still a fair bit to be lost around the tummy area even though I'm now acquainted again with my waist - and it's been a long time!

I've never been very bothered about food until now and what is most surprising is that - apart from the three or four days each 21 when I feel 'icky and horrid - I spend a lot of time thinking about food and planning the next meal. We've eaten like kings recently and hubby's been hard put to get into the kitchen, let alone cook a meal. But as I don't want you to have the image of me as a paragon of virtue, let me spill the beans on last night's dreadful excess. We had visitors who brought their Chinese take-away with them. I really fancied the odd spoonful (even though we'd eaten only a couple of hours earlier) but I'm not allowed takeaway food - it says so in my chemo passport. So instead I gorged through nearly the whole bag of prawn crackers. Now that can't have done me any good at all.

Frog skin

There is one thing I have noticed about my skin since starting this treatment; it's rather unwelcome and reminds me of my maternal grandfather. He had tight, shiny skin on the backs of his hands; it was mottled by browny-orange-spots - age spots (or liver spots as they are often known, though they have nothing to do with the liver apparently). My grandfather when sitting in his armchair used to rub the middle fingers of each hand continuously on the wooden arms of his chair. Over the years he'd rubbed away the varnish and was now working on the wood. I can recall as a child being both revolted and transfixed by his taut sinewy mottled flesh which I thought looked just like a frog's skin.

Now as I gaze down at my hands there are unmistakeably enhanced brown age spots. They were there all along but now they are larger, brighter and determined to make their appearance more apparent. I blame the chemo but maybe it has nothing do with it, since apparently age spots are a result of sun damage. Horror of horror I can also see that I'm developing them on my face too.

Then I do a reality check; let's face it I'm no spring chicken. How old would my grandfather have been when I remember all this, soon after he retired? Sixty-four, that's only three years older than I am now. He seemed so old but actually he wasn't. Time's a funny thing eh?