A strange thing happened

Our house has been jammed packed with people for the past few days; it's been lovely. Now they've gone and I have time to reflect upon the midwinter gathering. All is calm, all is bright here. But my thoughts have turned to you, dear reader, because I have something really interesting to impart.  I'm hoping too that by tagging this post, I might hear from other people on the subject.

The subject is electrosensitivity.  Maybe this topic had fleetingly been picked up by my curiosity radar in passing over the years, because it was the thing that I immediately thought of back in October when, on a couple of occasions, I found myself in sitting in our local pub and experiencing palpitations.  The particular gymnastics in which my heart was engaging on both occasions was of the missing beat variety.  Between five and eight beats on average and one missed. I became aware of the missing one and felt a tad strange. Both times it happened I said nothing to anyone, just carried on and after about an hour and a half all went back to normal and I was none the worse for it. I felt at the time as if some force outside myself might be responsible.  I know, you're now thinking I've gone particularly batty.  The thing is, I'm now more in tune with my body than I ever was before and I can read it so well, and I knew that nothing was out of kilter; so the palpitations had to be due to something else.

Those of you know know where we live will be aware of a large mast at the top of the hill upon whose lower slopes we reside.  I'm pretty sure that we are in the shadow of all the various waves that the mast emits where we live, but further on down the village where the pub's located would, I'm sure, receive the full brunt. It doesn't stretch the imagination too far to summise that the titanium in my chest (with which the surgeon stapled up the bronchial tubes) might be acting as an aerial and - lying slow close to my heart as it does - could be affecting the electrical charges which control my heartbeat. You can see the titanium staples here - they look black on the x-ray.

I've been back to the pub several times since October and nothing untoward has occurred so I'd pretty well forgotton about it. However yesterday something happened which convinced me that I was right all along.  I stepped within about a foot of my grandson's infrared remote control. It was as if someone had switched a switch in my chest. My heart immediately started to beat around double its normal speed.  I sat down and tried to make sense of what had happened. Probably no more than a minute passed, but during that minute I was assessing how I felt (perfectly normal), what the waiting time would be in A&E (about four hours), what attendance there might trigger (a life on beta blockers) and other vital matters. I never got round to actually counting the speed because my heart popped back to normal. It was like that for a few beats, then it had another little sprint, before returning to its usual solid regular beat. I felt no after-effects, nothing, just surprise.

What this incident did is to convince me is that I am sensitive and I probably should avoid anything which is emitting very strong signals. I've done a bit of Googling but can't find anything which relates to my situation and Wikipedia isn't much help either. But there's plenty of advice out there for those with pacemakers which I think I'd be well advised to follow.

I do

I really cannot get excited by the controversy about same sex couples getting married. The objections I find quite baffling.  For a start marriage is a most unsound contract.  A contract between two people - and let's face it that's what marriage is in the legal sense - is based upon the understanding that both parties have the wherewithall to fulfill the contract.  However, no-one can promise that they will wake up every day of their life loving another person. They may of course and isn't that just wonderful. But the chances are that at some point they won't, because love is an emotion which tends to ebb and flow.

Love is all the wonderful things that St Paul said it was but one thing is isn't is guaranteed. It cannot be guaranteed. Ergo the marriage contract is flawed. 

But that's not to say that marriage isn't a lovely state into which two people might enter. As far as I can see, two people promising to stay together for the rest of their lives (and that part of the marriage contract is entirely valid - that is a promise which can be kept), sharing, bearing and caring for children if children should be part of their lives, is fabulous.  Why should two women or two men - or two bisexuals for that matter - not have the legal and social benefit of marriage?  No-one has provided me with any sensible reason why same sex marriage is not the most Christian of concepts.

So as the Facebook postings that I've seen recently so rightly say:  if you don't agree with same sex marriage, then don't marry someone of the same sex! 

Honestly

Now I've got over the euphoria of that good news I can tell you a little of what went on in the consulting room.  I told my consultant I was glad to see him and that he was still there, bearing in mind that NHS morale - particularly at that hospital - was obviously low.  He agreed with my summing up of the situation. I told him of my enormous gratitude to him and the whole team for my survival and apologised for not having written to him personally, whereas I had to both the chemo and the surgical tems.  My consultant suggested that I write to the chief executive of the Trust as that always boosts morale. So I did.

It was a difficult letter because I couldn't honestly say that everything had been hunky dory. If you read back through this blog you'll find times when I was at my wit's end with the bureaucracy of the system and other issues. My blog starts at diagnosis but right at the start I had a pretty awful experience.  I'd been sent to the walk in centre for a bronchoscopy.  The health care assistant who initially took my details was wearing a dirty uniform, she had a hacking cough. It was later proven that she could not spell thyroxine - as she'd started her attempted with a ph.  I bet she says fink when she means think and fort when she means thought!  I complained at the time and I made an official written complaint later. 

Anyway, back to the letter to the Trust - it was quite short but to the point.  I received an effusive response from the chief executive which he'd copied far and wide (because three hospitals and three separate trusts had been involved in my care.) He urged me to go onto the NHS Choices web site and record my gratitude there.

I tried.  But again honesty curtailed my efforts. Within about five clicks I was being asked to comment on the cleanliness of the hospital. I know from recent first hand experience of our local hospital that it is possible for a toilet to be left uncleaned for four days even when a patient reports the fact.  It was only dealt with when the patient located the cleaning staff themselves and gave them the instruction to do the job.

So I haven't contributed to the NHS web site. I'm in a quandry. Do I do what they want - say how wonderful the result was - but on other matters 'dis' the trust or do I just forget the whole thing? Currently I'm just shelving the decision.

Phew! - thank goodness that is over

Today was my first six month check up since completing my lung cancer treatment (held at 9 months because of the appalling appointment system at the local hospital). I underwent a chest x-ray and the lung consultant says it looks fine.  It was interesting to see how much more the remaining lung lobe had expanded - quite extraordinary.

I hadn't realised quite how terrified I was of re-entering the whole NHS system again.  My pulse was raised and I'm sure my blood-pressure - though acceptable when taken - was up too. But the feeling of elation when it was over was enormous.  I can relax again until the spring.

Freddie Starr ate my hamster!

I was initially against any press regulation on the grounds that I really wouldn't want to be in a country where whistle-blowers could be silenced, where politicians could not be held to account and where a less benign regime could abuse the original intention of any legislation.

However, upon giving it a lot more thought, I now realise that the genie is so much out of the bottle with Wikileaks, Facebook, Twitter, etc. that the press can no longer claim their right to first disclosure of public interest matters as a defence against compulsory regulation.  That argument no longer holds water. 

Ah, but I hear you say, how will be know whether or not to believe what we read on social media?  Well, in response I ask you a question.  How do you know whether the established media tells the truth?  It's a wild world out there in swamps of gossip and the only solution is "reader beware".

That's it

That's it, I said, rushing to find a piece of paper to write the exact words down.  Dame Stephanie Shirley has just been on Radio 4. She was explaining that still, all these years after arriving here as a refugee, she feels she has to "make my life worth living to make my life worth saving"; to "justify my survival".  And that's exactly how I now feel.   Dear Dame Steve summed it up exactly.

The other piece of information I picked up was from a contributor whose name I didn't record but he said "there is no such thing as an unwounded soldier".  How true.  I remember my father who survived the second World War against all the odds after being parachuted into France, bombed by the Americans and taken prisoner. He volunteered to become a paramedic, to parachute, and to carry out bomb disposal.  And yes, he was damaged psychologically in so many ways that even I as a child and young woman could see. I guess the stress also damaged him physically - he was dead at 61. It certainly put paid to the pacifist that originally joined up. 

Every Remembrance Day I stand at the war memorial thinking how fruitless and stupid war is.  I do it for him really because he no longer can. I don't do it to glory in the men who didn't come back or to satisify some nationalistic trait. Standing round a war memorial for a few minutes each year and donning our poppies forces us to face the reality of legalised murder by others on our behalf. It's still going on and we have to accept some of the blame. 

And in that context, how relieved I was to hear that Obama is back in the White House.  The endless analysis of USA politics by British media has been very boring, but today I was glad to hear the news. I feel that the world is a much safer place today.

Getting old

I guess it's pretty much the same for anyone who has had cancer and recovered.  Every little twinge, every little muscle spasm, every little sensitivity anywhere is potentially an indication that things are going wrong again.

I'm no different from anyone else in this respect. We're getting near that appointment that I had to set up - you know the one that should have come six months after the last consultation but hadn't because of the appalling appointment system. It will now not occur until nine months after. I suppose because I know that professionals will be assessing me, I'm also doing it myself more than I otherwise might.

In terms of my physical shortcomings there's my knee. Actually I don't worry about that as it's been on and off problematic for so many years. Then there's my hip or is it my back; a slight muscular twinge every now and then. Some thickening on the hip was identified during one of my CT scans. They asked me if I had hip trouble and after the PET scan told me it was nothing to worry about. I suppose I should have realised that if it wasn't visibly normal then at some point it would begin to play up. 

There's been the odd flutter of a muscle deep inside my calf. It started when I strained the calf muscle while walking. It continued for about a week. You know, a bit like when you get an involuntary muscle flutter of your eyelid. Not painful but very annoying. It's completely gone now. Occasionally I feel a slight pull of a muscle in my back similar to the odd back sensations I had when I found out I was ill with lung cancer.

A couple of weeks ago I had an odd twinge around the front of my chest; rather as if a rib as playing up. Of course, anything on the right as this was, in the vicinity of the missing lung lobes, puts the wind up me. A few hours later as I went about housework I felt a click and suddenly all was well again.  Goodness knows what that was about.

But the nastiest of these completely inconsquential aches and straings was when the other week I over-ate terribly. Fish and chips were being served down at the pub before the harvest auction. Despite the fact that my portion was too big, I finished it.  About thirty minutes later I realised that for every five or six beats my heart was missing one.  Not nice. It lasted an hour or so then went back to normal. I realised later that the feeling I had was not totally unfamiliar. I think I've had it in the past when I've overdone it food-wise. The difference this time was that I realised my heart was playing up. Anyway a quick Google and hey presto, as I rather suspected, palpitations can be a symptom of over-eating.

So there you have it - all my aches and pains. None of them add up to anything I'm sure and I wouldn't be suprised that for a woman of nearly 63 with a near-sedentary life-style, I'm a damn sight fitter than most. But before I go there's one more physical thing that I must tell you and that's about the feet.  The damage to the nerves in the toes of both feet and extending under the sole of my right foot. Well, and I hardly dare type this for fear that I'm imagining it, but I think there is some improvement.  I can't be absolutely sure and I'd be amazed if it were so because it's so long after the event (eighteen months since my last chemo) - but  my peripheral neuropathy does seem to be reversing. Fingers (or should that be toes?) crossed!